RADIATION GIRL

by David Drinnan

Copyright (c) 1992

She spends all her time in the tub now. Sometimes I miss her.
I duck my head in through the door, just a peek, to say hello.

She's always there.

After it happened, I'd stay with her. In the hot, heavy armour of my protective suit. Bring down the helmet, turn on the pump. Sitting beside the tub watching her. Her hand on my glove,
my eyes hidden behind silvered glass. Watch the dull blue glow of her arms, her legs, her body, safely under water. Remember the feel of her arms, her legs, her body, silken skin under my hands.

Our old friends don't mention her any more. Not since it happened.

I see them when I walk the streets. When I need to forget the sound of water splashing gently against porcelain as she stirs.

When I need to forget, they forget for me. And when I come back, the black suit hangs by the door.

David Drinnan has been pursuing a lifestyle of travelling and writing for several years, though he never quite catches it. After studying physics and psychology in university, he found himself writing books about how to Call Forward and Survive. At 28, he lives in Ottawa and has his own writing business.

dave@blacksea.UUCP