Zipiti Doo Da

Ann McTaggart

I awake as usual curled up on my right side. Look quickly over my left shoulder. In the light filtering through the blind I see the gentle ripples of the duvet covering the two and a half feet to the far edge of the bed, exactly as it had been when I crawled between the sheets the night before.

It's real then.

I close my eyes, snuggle back down. Ease in my belly for the first time in months. Lightness. Cautious hope. Pride? Have I really done it?

But what if? And how would I? No. Not yet. I'll deal with everything later.

A surge of something like happiness (energy anyway) makes me throw off the bedclothes and stand before the mirror. Not ready to look at her yet either. I creep through the dark, square hallway, pausing to listen. Too good to be true? Step into the living room. Morning light shows no brooding, dark, forbidding presence. I slide over and sit crouched on the sofa.

The sofa. Chesterfield. Habitat. This had cost money and effort in the choosing. Light coloured: I had secretly wondered how it would endure the years and ill treatment from our children's feet. I had imagined getting it re-covered in, say, ten years. Or perhaps in the future I might be a woman who does that sort of thing herself. I feel the rough material with the tips of my fingers. I shiver then shake it off. Actually, the sofa is just a thing. Who will get the sofa? Who cares? F*** it actually, who cares? I raise my head and look round the room: bookcase; rubber plant placed precisely on bookcase ('You've moved the plant', he'd stated blankly, placing it four inches to the right, exactly where he wanted it.); full length curtains (slightly smelly, left by the previous owners); small TV; rug; stereo. These possessions had been invested with a serious meaning: they were to be part of our family life, in photos, to be remembered with affection. But now - a stage set ready to be struck.

I pad back to the bedroom for a dressing gown. Girl in the mirror, white faced, strained - but check the eyes. That's new. Someone-who-has-seen-something-through looking through.

Into the kitchen now, without hesitation. Bit rank, untidy, dark. It's been like this for a long time. I pull up the blind. My heart misses a beat and I gasp. The tree outside is almost neon with white blossom searing against a bright blue sky. I feel ridiculous, as if I'm in a cartoon. ZIPITI DOO DA! I expect a cheery bluebird to land on my shoulder. I'm smiling and shaking my head. Is this real? Looking around me. What's happening?

Everything is different. Everything is different because I've chosen to make it different. I might be powerful. I might be anything! Something is stirring in me - not cartoon joy for sure but no longer the dead, grim, hopeless thing. Not that.

I dress in my usual clothes for work, control unruly hair. I sneak glances at my new self. Bag on shoulder, key in hand: I'm ready to lock the flat.

Close the door on it.