Indignant

I’ve been lying for hours here in the bushes. On my back. In the cold. My legs up in the air and held in place by invisible stirrups. If my mother saw me right now she would hang her head in shame. But she isn’t. So I feel shame on her behalf. For lying on my back with my legs in the air.

Understandably I am upset. Not just because of my situation. But because no one seems to have realised that I’m missing. Now don’t go jumping to conclusions. I’m not some antisocial recluse. In fact I go out of my way to get to know people. To help them. Sometimes I think people take advantage of me. Push me around. Tell me what to do. But I don’t complain. I know my station in life. I do as I’m told. And this is what I get in return. I end up lying on my back in the cold with my legs up in the air.

I can see my so-called friends from where I lie. They’re only a few hundred yards away. Huddled up and gossiping about the day. The strong boasting about how much work they got done. The old and the lame standing at the fringes quietly remembering their own glory days. None of them have realised that I’m missing. When I get out of this mess they’re going to find out just what I think of them. But right now, I’m lying on my back in the cold with my legs up in the air.

Quite a few people have walked by. Some of them have seen me. But they avert their gaze before our eyes meet. Once eyes meet a person feels bound to come over and help. A strange human trait. So to avoid the inconvenience they look away. “Why bother.” They’re all thinking. “It’s not my problem. Why get involved.”

I wish I could feel indignant. But what right does an overturned Tesco Trolley have to feel indignant. So I lie there. On my back. In the cold. With my legs up in the air.