Today is my stop on the Floored blog tour and I’m here today with a little fanfiction about one of the characters in the book called Joe. I’ve been tasked with taking the first line of his first chapter and coming up with something creative for you all. So I’ve decided to come up with a pretend back story for Joe. This is not a part of the story and is not what happens to him at all. It is simply my thoughts behind the first sentence and that first chapter with Joe.
*DISCLAIMER: I have only read the first seven chapters of the book so far*
About the Book
When they got in the lift, they were strangers (though didn’t that guy used to be on TV?): Sasha, who is desperately trying to deliver a parcel; Hugo, who knows he’s the best-looking guy in the lift and is eyeing up Velvet, who knows what that look means when you hear her name and it doesn’t match the way she looks, or the way she talks; Dawson, who was on TV, but isn’t as good-looking as he was a few years ago and is desperately hoping no one recognizes him; Kaitlyn, who’s losing her sight but won’t admit it, and who used to have a poster of Dawson on her bedroom wall, and Joe, who shouldn’t be here at all, but who wants to be here the most.
And one more person, who will bring them together again on the same day every year.
My Joe Fanfiction
“You all right, Mum?” I ask.
She’s standing in the hallway in her dressing gown. In one hand is the cordless house phone, in the other an orange. I try to ignore the pain that bounces into my stomach at the now all too familiar scene in front of me.
“Mum?” I ask again when she doesn’t respond. She looks at me this time, part of her brain clearly trying to claw its way out of the fog. Eventually I see recognition dawn on her face and the uneasiness I didn’t realise I was feeling, lifts inside me slightly. She’s still not quite back with us yet though. “You’re going to get orange juices all over the carpet if you squeeze that any harder,” I say, trying to keep the tone light. The doctors said it would help. Who? I have no idea.
But it did work at least.
“Sorry darling, what did you ask?”
I know that the best thing to do now is to follow her line of thought. It’s better to ignore what just happened then to remind her of it. She doesn’t seem to be dealing with the episodes very well. At least that makes two of us.
“I was just asking if I could borrow the phone.” I say simply, pointing at the phone in her hand. We both know it’s not true but sometimes you just have to pretend. Sometimes that is the easiest way to deal with things. She smiles and some more of that uneasiness inside me lifts. I know that we’re still in the early stages, I know that it’s going to get worse – the doctor kept repeating that as though it would help the reality sink in or something – but that doesn’t mean I’m not already worrying about her. She’s my mum. She’s always been there for me; she’s always supposed to be there for me.
“Of course, here you are love.” My mum holds out the phone to me and I come into the hallway and take it from her easily. “I better go eat this now. Can you tell me though, what time is it?”
I pause. I could tell her the truth. I mean, I should really but I also don’t want to upset her or worry her. The truth is, it’s four in the afternoon. I’ve just got home from school and she’s either still in her pyjama’s or she got back into them thinking it was nearing bedtime. I honestly don’t know what option is worse.
“Time you got a watch!” I say instead, pleased that I managed to dodge the question and got a genuine smile out of her. She pretends to hit me with the orange as I duck out of the way. “I’m just going to get some homework done, okay? I’ll be back down to sort out dinner soon.” She nods and potters into the kitchen humming a small tune. I watch her back for a little while before sighing a little and then turning to the stairs and heading to my room.
Stay positive. That’s what the doctors told my dad, my siblings and me. Stay positive. Don’t show her the worry or the fear. Don’t let her realise that she’s been getting worse. Don’t mention that one day soon she might not be able to stay with us because she’ll need twenty four hour care. Stay positive. I’ve been trying. I really have. But some days I just want to throw it all out of the window. Early onset Alzheimer’s. One day she won’t even know who we are. The doctor didn’t tell us that but then, he didn’t need to. We all know where Alzheimer’s ends. But for now we just have to take it one day at a time.
One day at a time. All the while ignoring that every day she is getting worse.
At least it’s given me passion. At least I know that I need to grab every opportunity I can, the minute it presents itself. After all, the disease is genetic. Who knows how much time I have left.