Jenny Downham

95
Fifteen
m on line, Dad says, pointing at his laptop. Do you want to do your
restless pacing somewhere else?
The light from the computer flickers in his glasses. I sit down on the
chair opposite him.
Thats annoying as well, he says, without looking up.
Me sitting here?
No.
Me tapping the table?
Listen, he says, theres a doctor here whos developed a system
called bone breathing. Ever heard of that?
No.
You have to imagine your breath as a warm colour, then breathe in
through the left foot, up the leg to the hip and then out the same way.
Seven times, then the right leg the same. Want to give it a try?
No.
He takes off his glasses and looks at me. Its stopped raining. Why
dont you take a blanket and sit in the garden? Ill let you know when the
nurse gets here.
I dont want to.
He sighs, puts his glasses back on and goes back to his laptop. I hate
him. I know he watches me leave. I hear his small sigh of relief.
All the bedroom doors are shut, so its gloomy in the hallway. I go up
the stairs on all fours, sit at the top and look down. The gloom has