The Bungalow

"She may be, I thought but she doesn't know what's coming, I was starting to fret and I guess it showed."Come on," said Mum, taking my arm gently. "We'll sit in the living room until she arrives."With feet of lead, I followed Mum past my grinning father, all of a sudden I wasn't sure if I wanted to go out anymore.The doorbell sounded and I was up like a shot but I wasn't quick enough. Mum had been loitering by the doorway and waved me back, "I'll get it," she called already halfway down the hall.I looked to the heavens but there was no help forthcoming. I stood in the doorway and hoped that things weren't about to go pear-shaped."Hello, my dear, I take it you're here to see Kevin?"I couldn't hear a response from where I was standing and was tempted to go to the door, I glanced back to Dad and he shook his head negatively putting a stop to any plans I'd had."Let your mum deal with the introductions first," he said softly, "You'd only confuse things if you get in her way."Defeated I. I tried to imagine keeping chicken and chips down with the stress Chris was living under and, frankly, couldn’t begin to imagine. But it was his choice. He started enthusiastically (I had not given him breakfast that morning), but was soon playing with the food, pushing it with the plastic knife from one edge of the paper plate to the other. He grazed on the chips by hand. After 90 minutes, I removed the left-overs. And that was it. In case my partner in this, or our solitary guard, should visit the cell and forget the timetable, I placed a precautionary warning sign on the cell door. ‘Strictly no solids’. The process of digestion took its course, and yesterday, Chris came with me to the medical suite, was strapped to a gynaecological chair, and we spent a morning in each others company, undertaking his evacuation. This is what I describe as a full evacuation. By which I mean, bag after bag after bag of (usually) lukewarm water, pumped deep into the youths lower intestine. Big bags,.
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