Page 33 of Homebound
“Good thing we didn’t wait on you.” That came from Leena. “The food’s all cold by now.”
Aunt Herise was looking at the foot Gemma was gingerly massaging. Her face scrunched even more in displeasure when she realized that Gemma wouldn't be helping to clean up the kitchen tonight.
“Figures. All the chores are mine on Christmas Eve.”
Gemma’s head came up. Tonight was Christmas Eve! Days had blended into one, and she completely lost track of time.
“I’m sorry, Aunt. Merry Christmas, everyone.”
They didn’t say anything back.
Uncle Drexel roused himself from the table. “We’ll help wash dishes, Herise. The dinner was delicious.” Collecting his plate, he left for the kitchen. Everyone else followed his suit.
Gemma swiped some cold vegetables and a piece of bread to take to her room. She didn’t care how the food tasted. She was bone tired.
Propping her right ankle on a pillow, she munched on the bread and stared blindly out of the dark window. Another Christmas had come. Another Christmas she celebrated alone in her room. And in the new year, she had absolutely nothing to look forward to.
Zeke had fallen out of her life, and she could no longer comfort herself with imagining how the two of them would one day decorate a small evergreen with handmade ornaments and sip warm cider in front of a fire. Or maybe not the fire - such a cliche, and who needed it when you could get cozy and snug in each other’s arms?
Tears slowly started. Not for Zeke, she had let him go. But she missed holding hands, getting hugs from her loved ones, the feeling of wonderful comfort when you cross the threshold and see someone smiling, happy because you came home.
She remembered the last Christmas before Foy was killed. She and Zeke had just fallen in love, and they were sitting on a sofa in the home she shared with her parents. She had put on a pretty dress that left her slim neck and toned arms bare, and it drove Zeke wild. They had held hands, and he had been sneaking small kisses from her willing lips when mom and dad weren’t watching. The house was filled to the brim with the smells of fresh evergreens and baking pastries.
She remembered vividly how the door had burst open, and her brother stood there, dark-haired and handsome, dazzling in his space officer uniform. He hadn’t been expected home for the holidays. She never knew how he had managed to get away from the base. That was Foy, he could do anything. They had all rushed him and formed a tight knot of clinging love. Unbreakable.
Four months later Foy had perished defending his home planet from alien invaders. A vast space was now his grave. When she raised her face toward the sky, Gemma sometimes thought that Foy was out there, drifting in the form of a million detached molecules, watching over her.
His death had been hard on Gemma, but harder on her parents. It was like a pall had fallen over her mother’s soul. Two years after his death, she had refused to flee The Islands from the chemical spill because she had been clinging to their old house, hoping for Foy to one day come home to her.
Angrily, Gemma blotted her wet face and blew her nose. She was going to make herself sick from nostalgia. It was Christmas, after all, time for cheer. Yes, she was alone. Yes, her life sucked. But she had survived where so many hadn’t, and she refused to waste the precious gift of a second chance.
Chapter 10
“Merry Christmas, girl!” Ruby greeted Gemma as she hobbled in, with only seconds to spare, to start her shift. “You look a fright. What happened?”
Gemma cringed. She knew she looked a fright. She’d made the mistake of looking at herself in the mirror before leaving for work. The face that had looked back was bloated from last night’s crying, with puffy red eyes underscored by deep purple semi-circles from her lack of sleep. Ho-ho-horrible.
Her foot had been troubling her all night, and when she managed to fall into a light slumber, she had been plagued by dreams of Zeke, Foy, and Simon, all smoking weed together in wheelchairs, and then a volcano erupted and Number 34 cackled about her playing with fire, and she watched everybody go up in flames. She was running toward them and falling, unable to save them because she had no legs.
“I fell last night and sprained my foot. Where’s Arlo?”
“Today’s his day off.”
“Oh.” Of course, Arlo would manage to arrange to be off on Christmas Day. Which wouldn’t have mattered if Gemma were up to her full strength. “I’m fine. The foot’s just sore.”
“Uh-huh,” Ruby had already noticed how Gemma moved around. Like a fat man on a pogo stick. But hey, it beat crawling.
“I’ll take care of the roll call,” Gemma volunteered. “If you go down and get breakfast, I’d appreciate it. I can manage on the flat surface. I think.”
Dubious, Ruby left her, muttering something about stubborn mules. Gemma watched her go, gathering strength.
The corridor stretched in front of her, seemingly for miles. Slow as a snail and with no ability to pivot, hop, or sprint, today she ran a real danger of being sprayed with the fluorescent yellow semen or liquid shit from Little Green Man’s cell. She thought hard about slacking off and not roll-calling today, period.
But she went anyway, drawn by the all-eclipsing need to reach cell 35 and see Simon. Just one look, and her inner peace would be restored. Just one little glance before the dreary grind of the day would sweep her into the never-ending rotation of menial tasks.
He’d become her drug.
Or she was losing her mind, which was more likely. If she weren't careful, she could end up like the Green Man in a special cell, throwing shit at passersby. Wouldn’t it be fun? To completely let herself go. There were a number of peeps she wouldn't mind hitting with shit.
