trout

Planet of the Apes: 2

Wes Lee

In the photograph beside my bed, my mother sits beside me. There are two dogs at her feet. Always two. This couple, long dead, were named Bunty and George. There was always a male and always a female. When one died it was quickly replaced. If a dog even looked like it was dying, my mother would pick out its replacement. When I look at Bunty, her head lolling on my mothers feet, I can't help thinking about the shadow puppy waiting in the wings.

"It's like the shock of seeing your own handwriting somewhere that you don't expect it to be. The worst thing is the bedroom shrine. They've kept it exactly the same. If I had a child, I would never keep their bedroom exactly – scarily – the same for the rest of their lives. It's fucked." Eva says.

Eva has just got back from Japan.

The salmon pink blanket pulled over my body looks almost flat – my legs make tiny bumps under the wool. The plastic feeding tube beside me is filled with a liquid designed to deliver the maximum calorie hit.

"It's a dusty little time capsule waiting for me to fill it up. I'm not staying with them. Your mother said I could stay with her. She thinks I might be a tonic for you." Eva says.