Free World of Glass by Jocelyne Dubois

I’ll be here.”
    I see Dr. Ali.
    â€œHow go 5 milligrams of Risperdal?”
    â€œI feel lethargic.”
    â€œAre you active?”
    â€œI go downtown quite a bit. Made a friend. I get tired easily.”
    â€œWe stay at 5 milligrams of Risperdal and 900 milligrams of Lithium.”
    My mother talks to John over the phone. His daughter is in the terminal stages of breast cancer. He feeds and bathesher. He says he finds it all very painful to see and hard to take. My mother tells him she loves him and cannot wait to see him again. She tells him that I am doing better, that I go into the city every week and that I am getting exercise. She is now knitting a brown sweater for him.
    â€œHow did your affair with John start?” I ask.
    â€œTwenty years ago, when your father died, I started to drink. After a while, things got really bad. I had you, but I was so lonely. I thought I was going to die. That’s when I called AA and John turned up at my doorstep to take me to a meeting. Later he told me he was married. But I guess it was love at first sight.” She goes back to her knitting as if she had just spoken about the weather.
    I prepare dinner for my mother and me. Homemade pizzas on English muffins. I put pizza sauce, pepperoni, slices of tomato, mushroom and mozzarella cheese on them. I serve my mother and wait for her reaction. She takes a bite more and says, “Oh, that’s delicious,” then licks her lips. This makes me happy. I have made a meal for my mother. I go to the dépanneur to buy cigarettes. There are jade plants by the window. I pick a tiny one with shining leaves. I pay for it at the cash along with my Rothmans.
    â€œThis is for you,” I say to my mother. “Oh, that’s lovely.” She takes the plant and rubs her fingers lightly on a leaf and places it gently on her antique tea wagon by the window.
    I stay at Mark’s place for thirty-two days before going home again.
    â€œI miss you,” my mother says. “Just having you here.”
    I move in with Mark.

CHAPTER V
    M ARK BUYS FLOWERS MADE of grey metal for the kitchen wall. He purchases paintings from the man who lives down the street. They resemble Riopelle, I think. I start to paint. Draw and paint a nude, flowers in a vase, a waterfall. We put up the paintings here and there. We buy glass dishes, a large palm plant, and I choose a multicoloured sofa with large yellow pillows to stretch out on. I pick up a cookbook at Renaud-Bray and make Mushroom Fettuccine Alfredo, No Fuss Lasagna, and a scallop dish in white wine. We drink a bottle of Corvo on weekends only. I discover pleasure in preparing food. I make guacamole, lentil salads. Mark sits at the kitchen table, sips wine, and reads poems to me, while I chop vegetables and wash dishes. I try to keep the place tidy. I dust, wash floors, vacuum the Indian rug in the living room and water plants on Sundays. Mark puts down his keys, books, shoulder bag, agenda, wallet and scarf, and later almost always forgets where he has placed his things. I try to keep track. I tell him to put his keys down in the same place every time so that he can remember where to find them. I struggle to keep order. I look into Mark’s eyes behind dirty eyeglasses. I clean them for him every day with a soft cloth. I remind him to write cheques to the landlord. I feed the cats and change the litter. I can see that he appreciates me. He can see that I am quiet. He spends his days as he wishes. We sit in the living room. My hand rests on his thigh. I complain about my low energy and thank him for being patient.
    â€œShould I cut down on my meds?” I ask Mark.
    â€œYou could try,” he says.
    I go three weeks with a much lower dose of Risperdal, then I stop taking it all together. Now, a full bottle of pink pills sits in my medicine cabinet. My speech speeds up. “Is someone coming in to our apartment?” I wonder. I check my purse to see if my