That Sunday by William Draycott
I had a chicken in the oven and was 20 minutes away from a Sunday dinner when my mental breakdown kicked in. I smelled smoke and thought the roasties were burning; only I’d lit a cigarette in the hair dye aisle at Boots’s. Of course, the security guard, big fella with a cleft, kicked me out toot sharp. I don’t know why I felt so bloody angry and deeply worried about something I couldn’t quite remember – you know, that kind of worry that is directionless and just sticks around? Maybe it was over the chicken, but maybe it was because I was punching the security guard. He kindly rearranged my face for me and I went for a drive feeling refreshed.
With no particular place in mind, I drove really really fast to get there, which was a lark. They say it’s all about the journey, not the destination, which is a shame because the journey didn’t last long. I bumped into an old school friend who, I must say, looked really well, considering he was tumbling over my windshield. It’s funny when you’re in school, you care so much about what all these people think of you. Then, one day, you’ve forgotten they ever existed until they’re crossing the road in front of your car, moving at 40 mph in a 30.
When I got home, I opened the oven. The chicken had returned to carbon. I wasn’t hungry anyway. The police arrived as I was rearranging the furniture in every room of the house. I’d read a book on feng shui sometime in the last month and thought it might do me some good. The idea is to harmonise yourself with your environment, letting the cosmic energies flow through you. Now, you might be sceptical, but you just try it and it’ll hit you like a police taser.
I’ll have to pay for my actions, I’m sure. I wish I could say that I don’t remember anything, that I was in a fugue state. That, good people of the jury, would be a lie. To be upfront about it, I loved every bloody second of it. During that Sunday, I felt total freedom for the first time, and it was the rest of my life that felt like a fugue.
William Draycott is a furniture maker and writer, taking inspiration from the county of Cornwall which he calls home. With a deep fascination for Cornwalls untamed landscape, humble residents and their tales of yore, he explores human relationships, existentialism and what lies beneath the coastal walks and sunny seaside towns. Through his work as a bespoke cabinet joiner and designer, he retains close relationships with local people, from whom he draws a never-ending well of inspiration.
Illustration by R.A Marsh
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I liked this. There was humour in it, and you don’t seem to get much of that in stories these days. Well done.