Joseph

‘I’m a quiet person, complicated but yet simple. My little brother Micky, I love him. My dad, I love him, and mum I love her too. While I am painting, I think about my little brother Micky. He is the loveliest person in this world, the most giving, loving, heartwarming soul. He works day in day out. Every Birthday of his family, girlfriend, friends, and Christmas. He gives. He doesn’t take from other people. He’s a beautiful guy. Attractive too. I want to write this because I don’t know how long I’ll live. I don’t see him much these days. Ever since he moved out. I’ve got my problems and he’s got his. But this part of my journal. I dedicate to him.’ I finish writing into my journal about my brother and go to grab a cigarette from my packet on the cabinet.

Openly I feel my chest tightening and shooting pains clearly near my heart. I take a puff of my cigarette slowly. I inhale and blow out, panting. Lips become loose and my whole body softens whereas my eyes focus less while I hum to music. Sounds of a saxophone, trumpets, bass guitar and drums with a jazzy tempo blasting out from my computer. As I cough I taste the fresh icy air and the oils around my painting. I look at my hand and notice saliva and itsy-bitsy drops of a red hue mixed around in it. I go get my barbell and do some incline bench presses on the bench press to relieve myself as my head pings back and forth with ideas. I feel the tiny bumps on the barbell’s grip and the buttery smooth middle. Carrying on with the incline lifts. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight . . . ” I say. Placing the barbell on the armrests then go to get a protein bar from the old wine color cabinet next to my painting. Smelling my armpits which stink of sweat. “Mph. Power. Prospect. Passion.” I crack into laughter.

The bright, warm, sunny day is the display of life at its core. The warm light torching onto my painting. The blue tongue lizards out of the window sun baking. Worker ants collecting crumbs of food for their lively breeding queen. While I eat my protein bar to nourish my internal body. Fuelling the muscle fibers to birth new muscle. Life is good.

I continue to paint a powerful picture of myself while sipping on a plate of coffee. The importance of drinking coffee with a little plate is a staple I must stress. Instruct everybody to do this because from my knowledge a cup of coffee will and is going to be a slow process for it to cool down without a little plate. Importantly a person must pour it onto the plate for it to cool at a quicker pace. I rush to drink all of the coffee and carry on to paint. Accidentally getting a splat of paint on my tongue as I hang it out. Tastes of nail polish mixed with bread yeast and my saliva build up in my mouth while my stomach churns.

The dark pine floorboards creek as I step a bit closer to the picture. Mum’s gonna love this. Or will she? No, she won’t. It’s too much. Too little? Dammit. Dipping my brush into an ill colored green and dabbing it onto the canvas. Smearing it across the middle and flicking bits of charcoal color paint with my other smaller brush. The warm sun of an orange hue directly hits the picture through the sash windows while the light globe oddly flickers. Out through the window is a plane soaring passed in plain view. Size of an extremely large blue boat or an air-balloon. I don’t notice where I step when I take a foot forward. The floorboard breaks. My footfalls. I graze the knee. Blood drizzles out. The canvas falls as I reach to grab it. “Fuck,” I say. My throat becomes raspy as I yell loudly and my veins on my neck pop while throbbing.

My mum steps into the studio. Mum’s nostrils widening while she smells a mix of strong funky chemicals, vanilla and rancid sour milk scents coming off from the old and fresh solvent paint. Writhing my neck as I look to her and my head begins to ache also a little dizzy. I pick up the picture and grab a dark red cloth to cover the painting. “Don’t look. It’s not done yet. How long have I got? Till 1 PM?” I say.

“You’ve got around 20 to 30 minutes. Oh and I don’t care. Let me look now and can you turn the light on?” She says. Rapidly tapping her foot on a stool crossing her arms as well as grabbing a paintbrush. Eyebrows forming into a v-shape. “Let me touch it up. Also . . . did you drink all the coffee again?” She tip-toes to the painting and faces me blowing hair out of her face. “W--the-- are you going balder?”

Squinting my eyes resting my arms on the back of a chair and the clock ticks to 12:00 PM. “No and uh-uh.” I run my fingers down the paintbrush and I yell “EEK.” I get a splinter the size of a toothbrush in my thumb.

“You alright?” Says, mum. Mum rushes to the painting. Dabs a black splash of paint onto the picture. “There. You should have already done this. An hour ago. You like it now?” Her lips curve upwards smiling and a hand on her hip. Wild winds force the sash windows open and screeching mice run all over the dark pinewood floorboards.

I yell out to her. “Why’d you do that? No. I’m not alright. It’s a splinter.” My heart races. Pulse quickening and pounding. Veins throbbing. Muscles go rigid. Thoughts of the blizzard ping back and forth. “Bloody bollocks. It looks like a blizzard. Probably five minutes before it gets bad. Is Pup outside?”

I turn around. Dip the paintbrush into the red paint. Splashing flickers of the paint onto the canvas. Smudging just a bit to amplify the effect and accidentally getting some paint on my tracksuit pants. Mum’s eyes widening and both of her hands cover her mouth then hiding her eyes. “Oh dear. That doesn’t look, good sweetie. Oh, bottoms.” She cracks into laughter.

I smile and aim the brush at her while lifting an eyebrow. “Bottoms? It looks great. Why don’t you think so? I bloody amplified the black against the red,” Glaring at it. “You did this. I told you. I need one hour.” I feel an urgent need to go to the loo so I rush to the toilet. “Just going to the toilet. I’m coming back.” I say.

I pull down my pants and do a wee ignoring that the light is off. I look down and notice hints of blood in my urine and put my hand to my mouth. Must be the alcohol. I zip up my pants and walk back to the studio. Tripping over my dumbbells I plummet to the ground hitting my nose and bruising my chest, knuckles, and knee. “Well, that hurt. Ouchie.” I say. Blood coming out from my nose. I quickly run to the toilet for some paper squashing it up and pressing it against my nose.

Walking into the hallway, the hospital white floor with its broken floorboards and a few holes. The wine color walls. This hallway always makes me feel uneasy. A feeling of impending doom washes over in my mind and waves of dark musical lullabies. A slow musical box tempo as well as a child singing.

The power goes out. Nothing can be seen all in complete darkness and the curtains are drawn. It doesn’t help that a willow tree is blocking the sunlight either. Groping around to find my way through the hallway into the studio. The solar power lights flicker. The smell of poop and wee, thoughts of me tripping into a hole, the icy taste lingering in my mouth and while I feel the wall it’s canvas-like texture, the slime, and grit of spillages, food, whatever else God knows what. I feel a slithering sensation coil my leg. Curtains flap as the wind whined and a cold breeze brushes my arm. Coldwater drips from the toilets tap. I hear a car door slam and Pup howling in the distance. Waves hissing against the shore. Water gurgled in the drainpipe. An eerie feeling overwhelms my mind. I see the clouds thicken the sun, blizzard must be getting stronger. Jaw shakes rapidly from the cold. I hear the squeaks of mice and footsteps creaking, sneaking around, feeling the wall I feel grittiness and slime. My arm muscles tighten and legs tremble.

All I smell are clouds of smoke. Taste of blood on my tongue. Rapidly my heart clenches up. Feeling as though ice is stabbing it repeatedly. Like a fist SQUEEZING it. I plummet to the floor. Knocking a chair over. Dizzy. Everything is blurry. Feeling lightheaded. Swiftly grab my chest. My eyes shut.

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I ease into a dream state: I see Pup snorting the autumn leaves wagging its tail and my parents upside down house as usual quaint and picturesque. The glow of the white beams holds up the valley of the house. Everything around me is spiraling and spinning. Outside the yard across the street are the variety of white, pink, yellow roses, the old sign ‘Friendships Start with Seeking Out Friends’, and the vivid green evergreen shrubs around the roses. The smell of the fresh-cut lawn and the bird’s chirp make me smile and I cross my legs over while I sit on the grass. Dad comes out of the entrance door onto the veranda. “Joseph you got to stop drinking coffee mate. It’s bad for you. You’ll get a heart attack again.” Dad says.

I shake my head and squint my eyes. “No. I understand what I’m doing,” I say. Pup trots to me and licks my hand as I kneel to pet her while talking on the phone to Oliver. A person walks by and says hello. I look to the ground and pretend not to hear and pet my Pup instead. A giant coffee mug as large as a plane crashes the earth and buckets of steaming hot coffee comes and pours all over me. I drown almost . . .

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Beep, beep, beep . . . is all I hear. “We’re going to have to do another series of electrocardiograms in the ICU. Five minutes left,” Says a nurse. Rushing me to a small room through many hallways. Lights and the sickening icy pale blue walls blind my sight as I open my eyes and squint. Covering the light with my right hand and close my eyes while I nearly nod off.

“No, we’ll take him to the CCU and then do a CBC.” A person says. I feel the bumps and rattles of the hospital bed while I ride to a new area and poignant smells of sanitizing chemicals fill the air at every space I enter. Beeping noises and an earful of people babbling. Commotion at all corners . . . yelling and screaming. Like I’m at a psych ward all over. I breathe in and taste the air but nothing. All I taste is warm air and the saliva on my tongue dries up.

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I dose off to sleep and dream about gritty nightmares and lofty ideals. I wake up and see mum and dad. I feel my jaw. I notice that I have grown a 7 o’clock beard and my hair is ruffled up as I run my fingers through. “How long?”

Dad stroking his long beard and his eyes glaring at me wide open with his eyebrows narrowing. “Joseph, Joseph, Joseph,” Dad says. “What did I tell you?”

Mum’s eyes water and she holds her hand to her mouth. “Not now.” Says, mum. All I can hear is the sound of the medical machine going beep. Other than that it is just silence but the scent of a sanitizing chemical still lingers. I notice the pale blue walls and minimalist pictures on the right wall next to me. An anatomy chart on the left wall. A human torso body anatomy model for medical aid on the table to the right and a heart next to it.

Dad stands up from his seat standing in front of mum. “He drank all of the coffee. HE SHOULDN’T HAVE. Look where he is. Madison. He’ll be dead by 30. If he keeps this up.” Dad covers his mouth and tears pour out. His chin trembling and his legs become jelly as he sits back down.

Mum rubs Dad’s back and leans her head on his shoulder. I stare down at my stomach with my eyes wide open and my muscles tense up . . .