Tuesday, May 9, 2017

#9 - The Last Supper

Banks hadn’t known her very well. There was that time when they ran into each other face first, but other than that Banks had nothing. The police were saying that Chambly was depressed, but Banks had always seen her surrounded by friends. They said that Sep was suffering from sort of post trauma from finding the body in the park a year ago-- that he had never recovered from the series of events in the past year. Banks didn’t buy it.
She taped up the last box, and marked the box with the address of the art gallery it was going to.
“You’re not actually moving are you?” Michael asked his head poking into the doorway of #308.
“Yeah you can’t leave. I mean look at this place. It’s a perfect art studio.” Timma said from the couch.
“I’m not moving” Banks insisted “I just need a little trip away for the summer. I was thinking Spain or Italy?” Michael responded with a very pointed look at the several boxed around Banks’s living room.
“Spain or Italy? You’ll never want to come home.” Timma held up her hands in defense.
“Okay Michael, like I said before all of the boxes are going to the gallery. Geez you’re almost as bad as Max and Nathaniel. And Timma my offer still stands if you want to come with me…”
Even though Banks hadn’t known Chamby particularly well, the whole situation had been a major wake up. After all that could’ve been her. A night out being sad, walking into the road without looking, and bam that would be the end of that.
“I mean I have all this money from my dad. I need to do something. Have an experience, you know.” they were all quiet for a moment.
“Go live in the trailer park for a week. That’ll be an experience.” and the moment ended and they were all laughing.
“I don’t know, it just feels like something’s ending.” Michael said resting his cheek against the doorframe. Banks reassured him that nothing was ending but the small pang in her chest said something different.

Wednesday, May 3, 2017

#8 - The Fighting Temeraire

One hour. Michael promised one hour in IKEA. He had finally started calling Banks by her first name and dropped the “miss” all together after several death threats and the threat of tears spilling from her eyes
It was right when they started to leave that the automatic doors closed. The doors closed, no big deal right? They’d just reopen when they got close enough to trigger the motion sensor. Except they didn’t reopen, they wouldn’t budge, and the power flickered and shut off. Michael’s eyes went and Banks shoved on the door. It rattled but wasn’t even close to opening. All around them the residents of Winthrop place began to panic.
Banks wondered for a second if this meant that everyone was in imminent danger. Would people start to turn on each other? When would IKEA turn into the island from The Lord of the Flies or Lost? But nothing really happened. People panicked and yelled, and cried. Michael was a statue, for a solid half hour before he said “excuse me” and walked towards the bed sheets and musical instruments section.
If I’m going to be stuck here I might as well make the most out of things Banks thought. She collected the rest of the chocolate, and some popcorn from the checkout area then headed for the pillow and blanket section. Banks curled up in the blankets and picked out a movie from her i Tunes account to watch until things blew over.
Oddly enough this was a pretty benign thing. And for the first time in months Banks started to feel like herself. She missed her movie nights with Timma, her work shifts with Nathaniel at Jimmy’s, Looking over her art with Maxwell, going out to drop off mail and running into the mail men, and even banging on the wall at in the early morning hours because Michael seriously needed to figure out how sound worked on his piano.
For the first time in a long time Banks didn’t think about being dead or wonder what disappearing would be like. But she thought of art and the future. She thought of how she wanted much more out of life.