The sound of one man clapping XII

Boxer's Fracture

Everything broke one Saturday afternoon when the band was meant to be rehearsing.

I waited alone at my parents’ kitchen table, an heirloom on my father’s side, and gazed through a silent window. My brother and I had once shattered that thing in a middle of a clamorous driveway cricket match. Today, the rustling of leaves was audible through closed doors.

Nobody would turn up. I knew that. But my body sat and stared while I hovered above, lonely as a storm cloud, snapping and cracking with electric golden violence.

Clocks. Breaths.

My body stood up, picked up the handset and dialed the bassist. He was waist-deep in seawater 189 kilometres away. Oh, yeah. Saturdays. Rehearsal days. Sorry,mate.

I knew I didn’t need to call the guitarist. I could feel a squall in my stomach and fire in my fists. I knew how this story would end and I knew I had written it start to end and I knew I would break something and I knew I would have nobody to blame. I knew I was hoping to break something, someone, anyone.

I called the guitarist. He was ringside 42 kilometres away at Australia’s only cow race. I hung up.

When I punched that mahogany heirloom, I heard the sound of one hand snapping. Cruel kitchen walls echoed the sound.

The end.

I ended up driving myself to hospital in the van I’d bought to move my drums around, and sat in stupid solitude with the trampoline victims in Emergency while my two friends surfed and raced cows, their hands and lives intact.

The beginning.

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~ by Daniel Townsend on November 25, 2016.

One Response to “The sound of one man clapping XII”

  1. Great writing Daniel, that one got me.

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