Pobble

"Oh, Dave. Good to see you again."

Dave. Dave. Dave. Right. Dave. My lips pull into the somewhat uncomfortable configuration of a smile, an expression that feels like it belongs to someone else, some kind of hand-me-down emotional display. It has been a while since I saw Dave. I wonder why that is, I'm sure I know, just can't quite remember right at this moment. Maybe he went off to work out of state? Maybe.

I reach up to my hat for cigarettes, although my fingers only find coarse strands of overwashed hair, reflexively spreading and drawing tips along my cheek, hanging from the collar of my tee-shirt. I don't smoke now. I remember. I'll just take some pills instead, I know I made some. Made? Here, put them in this cup I did. Not very artsy, just some numbers. Not like me. Hmm. Either way, they go down smooth enough, the bitterness dissolving into the brackish water.

Where was I? Dave was here. I turn, expectant, as if seeing him will free me from this fucking fugue. Some guy is there. Terrifyingly unfamiliar. Talking to someone else in a chair by the pool table. I realise the words I reflected on were not my own, I'd just hijacked them for some nostalgic purpose. Maybe I knew Dave.

I turn back to the window as the first flecks of rain land on the glass. I feel the nurse's hand on my shoulder, reasurring me. It's good. For a moment it felt like something was wrong. Like, I wasn't meant to be here. As if I were missing something.

Someone on telly is doing magic tricks. I used to do magic tricks I think.