Gargamel
Dani sat down at the desk and put her coffee next to the laptop. She liked to take a few moments before she started working on her memoir, just looking out the window, watching the lorikeets fight, enjoy the early morning sun stream through the window and warm her cheeks.
But… something was amiss today. It took her a moment to realise that the little figurine of Gargamel on the windowsill was missing. Her girls had collected all the figurines from Smurfland at one point. Gargamel, the evil wizard who never tired of thinking up new schemes how to destroy the Smurfs, had only survived because he was stuck behind a wardrobe. Dani had found the black figurine when her youngest had moved out and she’d transformed the room into her ‘office.’ She looked longingly at the gap between the scented candle and the ‘Best mum’ Oscars statue. At the time, her girls still had admired her, asked for advice. Nowadays she ‘worked’ on this memoir that her psychologist had suggested, to help her process. Nowadays, she was a bother who needed to be taken care of.
The phone rang.
Her youngest.
Fabulous opportunity to buy into a seniors’ precinct.
Blah, blah, blah.
The next morning, the gap seemed more obvious, piercing her eyes even before she sat down. She moved the desk away from the wall. Nothing. She shuffled through the loose papers on her desk. No, not hidden between them either.
The laptop pinged.
Email from her eldest.
Photos from that seniors’ precinct.
Delete.
On day three, the gap was less visible and she hardly thought about Gargamel and happier times.
On day four, the gap was the only thing she could see. Larger now. The Oscars statue was gone. There was now a huge empty space between the candle and the next knick-knack she had on the sill, a little Big Ben snow.
Dani decided to be more thorough. Slowly, she pushed the desk and the chair out the door and tapped around the room on all four, from corner to corner. She even managed to push the bookshelf a smidgen and looked behind it.
Nothing.
She inspected every inch of the furniture. She even pushed her hand into the creases around the edge of the seat.
Nothing.
How was this possible? No one had been in the house for days, except herself and Stu.
Oh, Stu. Would she ever be able to think of him in past tense?
Should she ask the girls? Would they just wave her concerns away? Like they did these days. Or would they use this as ammunition to further their cause of a retirement village. She knew exactly what they thought of her these days.
The phone rang.
He son-in-law.
Great investment opportunity for the house.
Blah, blah.
On day five, the gap was ginormous. Overnight, the snow globe had vanished, leaving on the right side of the sill only one tiny hula girl, gyrating her plastic hips in a rhythmic fashion.
Dani had never thought she’d succumb to explaining reality with the unreal, not even when Stu was gone, but here she was, googling ‘things disappear,’ going from site to site to site, finding more and more explanations of how the world is inhabited by ghosts, as much as living breathing beings, and not even laughing at it. Just more frantically clicking on link after link after link.
No, no, enough.
She grabbed her laptop, her phone and coffee mug and closed the door behind her. She could work on her memoir in the living room. She moved biscuit tin on the coffee table to the side, sat down on the lounge and put up her legs on the table.
When the biscuit disappeared, Dani called her girls to discuss retirement village options.
