Lost & Found
“Can I get you a cup of tea before I go outside and hang out the washing Geoff?”
Her soft voice barely audible over the racket of the cricket on television.
I shake my head waving my hand to send her away. She’s already made me too many cups of bloody tea. I’m sick of using the bathroom. My last visit meant I’d missed Australia get a wicket. I love my wife dearly, but she is constantly fussing around me. I guess I should be used to it after 60 years of marriage. Settling back into my comfortable sofa despite refusing the tea I need to relieve myself once again. Damned tea.
Flushing the toilet I make my way back to the lounge room and spot a note scribbled on a small piece of paper on the kitchen counter. It’s an ugly glossy pink the counter, my wife had insisted on it when we remodelled the kitchen. I said she could have the horrible colour as long as I could buy my comfortable sofa. Sometimes I wondered if it was worth the trade.
The note read MILK. Bugger I’ve forgotten to get the bloody milk. Rummaging through the small cane basket of nic nacs on the bench I sift through paperclips, rubber bands and a few loose coins until I find the car keys.
“Be back in 5!” I call out towards the back yard.
Slipping on my brown leather shoes at the front door I close it behind me.
Staring at the blinding white two door car that sits in my driveway I yearn for my old Holden Kingswood. That thing was built like a real car, sounded like one too. It grumbled so deep you could feel it in your bones. They just don’t make cars like they used to. They are too small nowadays and would crumble if you so much as sneezed towards them. Grumbling aloud I climb into the driver’s seat and push the key into the ignition. Almost silently the car turns over and I clunk the stick into reverse with a loud crunch. How are you even supposed to know the bloody thing is running? Reversing out of the driveway I turn to head towards the grocery store.
I turn left at the end of the street, then right at the end of that one, but as I continue along the street I’m becoming disorientated. I’m sure the store use to be just round here? Maybe I took a wrong turn? I’ll just head this way I’m bound to find it.
Pulling up towards an intersection my head is beginning to ache. Where am I? Nothing looks familiar and my heart thuds loudly in my chest and ears. I wipe the sweat that has formed on my forehead with the sleeve of my button up shirt and wipe my clammy hands on its blue flannelette front.
BAAARRRPP!
The moody cow behind me is honking her horn. Can’t she see I’m bloody lost? No not lost, just a bit confused is all.
BAAARRRPP!
I can hear her cursing out of her window. No young lady should hear those words let alone yell them. Disgraceful! Frustrated I pull over bouncing and crunching my way up the gutter in my rush. Silly little car, the old Kingswood wouldn’t have complained that much. I wrench open the door and pull myself out.
“Hold ya bloody horse’s lady!” She raises her middle finger before driving away at a ridiculous speed.
Young people these days, no respect. Looking up I recognise the old yellow weatherboard house that stands in front of me. The rose garden full of blooms of reds and pinks. Joeys place! The shop is just down the road. With a bounce in my step I proceed to walk down the street and turn left towards the store. Once again I my head is starting to go fuzzy. What is going on? I swear it was just here. I stand turning on the spot, trying to find a landmark or house that can tell me where I am.
I’m distracted as a car pulls up beside me, a man climbs out in a pair of smart pants and a button up top, wearing a dark blue cap a top his round head.
“Mr Creedy?”
How does he know that’s my name?
“Do I know you?” I take a step back warily.
“Sir I’m Officer Strall, I see you had an accident with your car.”
I look him up and down. That bloody cow must have called the police. She was the one yelling obscenities out the bloody window.
“Mr Creedy, how about you let me take you home sir. I’m officer Strall.”
I turn to face him again as he approaches me.
“What can I do for you officer? Have I done something wrong?”
“We found your car up an embankment just around the corner. Macie is on her way to take you home.”
Macie? I didn’t know a Macie. Maybe he got my wife’s name wrong.
“You mean Margery, my wife Margery?”
A tiny blue car pulls up behind the police officers vehicle, and a young woman with a boy’s haircut climbs out. Why girls insisted on getting their hair cut like that was beyond me. If you asked me a lady was supposed to have long hair so as to tell it was a girl at all.
“Geoff, oh dear god, you scared the hell out of me. I am so sorry officer I can take him home. I just ducked out to hang out the washing. I never imagined he’d go joy riding. I am so sorry officer, you see Mr Creedy has dementia.”
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