Foil Paper

 

Radio music peeks from the walls. It flows down the grooves of the silver pattern of the pale blue wallpaper. Amelia, even if she wanted to, can't deny it.

A soft knock. A gentleman enters in a hat. A black coat. Mr. Bad Temper. He sits in an armchair covered with a green and pink blanket smelling of spring fabric softener.

A tiny whistling teapot also greets the Guest. Amelia has brewed chamomile tea. Everything is served in violet crockery on a carefully set table – a white, neatly starched sheet imitating a tablecloth, a green bottle as a vase for two carnations.

The gentleman takes off his hat and places it on the counter. Amelia sits in a chair, adjusts her favorite yellow dress, and looks at the buttons on her slippers.

Tick, tick, tick... the old clock ticks at a pace known only to her. The aroma of tea slowly fills the room.

Mr. Guest places his hands on his knees and then stands. He heads for the door.

"And the cake? I baked a cake. Chocolate." Amelia jumps up and grabs the gentleman by the sleeve.

"Oh, yes. Here you go." The gentleman turns and pulls a small box wrapped in burgundy paper with a black bow from under his coat.

"Cake, I baked a cake," Amelia repeats.

"Oh, cake..." the gentleman sighed. "Here, it's for you." He abruptly handed her the gift.

Amelia turned the box over in her hands. Chamomile tea. She tossed the gift, which fell behind the old couch.

"Cake! And Tea. Her-Ba-Ta! CHAMOMILE!

" "No," the guest replies calmly to Amelia's irritated voice.

"Yes!" Amelia grabs a small cup and throws it at the gentleman. The cup hits him squarely in the forehead. The gentleman begins to bleed.

"Stupid..." he thought. He sat down again in the armchair.

"Cake? Chocolate?" he asked.

"No, not cake. Not chocolate." There's no more cake. There isn't any. - With these words, Amelia begins to gather the tableware.

- I'm leaving. - The gentleman stands up and, holding the bloody mark on his forehead, heads for the exit.

Bim Bam Bom. Bim Bam Bom. Midnight.

- Hmm... - Amelia thinks for a moment.

- A gift, right? - She begins pacing the room, her hands smoothing her favorite sundress.

- And the cake? The cake will burn.

She sits in a rocking chair in the corner of the room. Now she will admire the silver patterns on the wallpaper, beautifully complemented by the dark yellow light bulb visible under the shade of a copper lamp. The tea will cool, and Amelia will pour it down the sink the next day.

Tick tick tick...