Long Winding Road

Posted on by under 2020, August 2020 - The Long and Winding Road

Symptoms. Appointments. Tests. Diagnoses. Differential diagnoses. Treatments. Drugs. Drugs to counteract the effects of earlier drugs. Surgery? No surgery. And finally, a rejection of a medicalized interpretation and an emphatic setting aside of drugs, treatments and advice.

What I really need is fresh air, gorgeous surroundings and free space to ramble about in. Derbyshire maybe. Or the Lakes.

Yes, I can see the benefit of a complete change, but what if something bad happens and you take a turn for the worse? I mean, will you even be able to walk in all that free space?

I’d rather take a turn for the worse somewhere beautiful. Please, just load the tent and stuff in the car and let’s go.

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Wind Street Waltz 2054

Posted on by under 2020, August 2020 - The Long and Winding Road

Punting down Wind Street, Jess’s thoughts turned to the Wales On-Line  headline  2nd August 2020,-“The areas of Wales set to be underwater in 30 years due to climate change” 

“WAY too long.  My choice:-  Climate Catastrophe;-Wet Wales Underwater in 30  and include a virtual reality video.  But out by 4 years only, –  pretty good.”

Back then aged  23,  it was the imminent re-assignment surgery rather than a career in politics which excited the trainee multi-media reporter.

“Or floated my boat!”

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Where the Wild Things Are

Posted on by under 2020, August 2020 - The Long and Winding Road

It was the elders visiting for the third time this week that alerted me. The elders and the whispered words that blew across the yard, chilling my spine. “Ten cows.” “Wedding.” “Kutairi” (the cutting).

No-one speaks of my big sister, Amidah. But I remember. I remember the fifty-year-old man to whom she was promised, for a dowry of nine cows. The Ngarida (cutter). The rusty blade. The way they held her down and told her not to scream. The blood spreading over her white dress.

And afterwards, how her body was thrown into the Bush, where the wild things are. My beautiful sister. Fourteen years old to my seven. To escape the Lawalawa curse, there was to be no burial. No mention of her name.

I stopped speaking.

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Home Again

Posted on by under 2020, August 2020 - The Long and Winding Road

After a long journey by train, standing on the platform, looking up into the blue

sky, I decided to walk to the farm. A bit of a trek but I was wanting to tune back into the countryside, the winding lane and all its treasures.

Hedges bristling with new growth, smelling wonderful after years of living in the city. Breezes gently caressing my face, a smile appeared, my shoulders dropped, all tensions fading away. Birds chirping as they flitted about in their endless search for insects, animals grazing in the meadows bleating and lowing.

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Closed

Posted on by under 2020, August 2020 - The Long and Winding Road

           

They closed the bridge on the Welsh side. Drivers already on the bridge going westwards beat furiously on the dashboards of their halted vehicles in the hot midday sun, then tuned-in to Radio Wales to discover that ‘the virus’ was the reason. ‘It’s coming from the east,’ a politician said, too diplomatic to blame ‘England’. ‘We’re not letting it into Wales.’ The three lanes east were now empty; all traffic from Wales had ceased.

            At the far end of the bridge traffic police made vehicles reverse into England, the outside lane first. After a long boiling hour, the middle lane began to go backwards and then stopped. Each driver tuned into English radio stations to hear a politician with a plummy voice say that due to the ‘prevalence’ of the virus in Wales, the Prime Minister had closed the bridge in ‘both directions’.

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And in the end

Posted on by under 2020, August 2020 - The Long and Winding Road

When Jack was a kid, his family drove from their home in Dade County to his grandparents’ farm in Seminole County. This meant three small boys sitting in the back of a 55-Chevy for over three-hundred miles. It was a long, miserable trip: seven or eight hours of brothers’ elbows, mother’s scolding and potholes testing the suspension.

Colquitt was the last town they went through, and there they would stop to get refreshments. They sat for half an hour in the shade of the Tower Hotel on North Main Street, mama sipping her peach tea, the others ice-cream sodas.

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The Gift of Tears

Posted on by under 2020, July 2020 - First Love

In the ongoing dialogue between the Me that I am today and versions of my earlier self, one outstanding feeling is of embarrassment.  How could I have worn that dress, for goodness sake?  Why on earth would I say that? Did anyone hear me, or worse, remember it? Does anyone have a photo of that disaster of a night out and which is going to appear on social media at any moment? Yet I sympathise, empathise, with these junior versions. They have melded into who I am.

Sometimes you read letters, or articles made to read like letters, from people giving advice to their younger self.  Great advice. Sensible. It’s always to a person of fixed age, usually just starting out on independent living.  The tone is kind, wise and reassuring. I can’t do that. I’ve been embarrassing myself since I was born, so Previous Versions skip between ages, each with its capacity to compromise dignity. Anyway, I wouldn’t have listened to good advice (thereby avoiding social calamity) at any age. Social calamity seems to be my default.

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Crushing Memories

Posted on by under 2020, July 2020 - First Love

A local radio station, a golden oldie slot, and they were playing his song in the empty pub. He sipped his lunchtime lager, waiting for the kick that would numb his sense of who he was. He wiped the froth of beer from his mouth and wished he could wipe away the froth of memory the tune stirred up. His reflection in the glass behind the bar showed a puffy, beery face, thinning brown hair, and eyes as lifeless as those of a corpse.  

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Jamie Adams

Posted on by under 2020, July 2020 - First Love

Ann and Pat had been friends since childhood, often meeting for a meal and a few drinks. Such it was this evening at the local pub, catching up on the goings-on in their lives.

Suddenly a record came on. Looking at each other a smile led to giggles,  singing along as they had in their younger days.

”What a blast from the past,” Ann laughed, reddening. She remembered those days. ”To think that was my first love, Jamie Adams.”

Pat roared with laughter: ”Lust more likely!!”

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Solipsism

Posted on by under 2020, July 2020 - First Love

I was in the school library one day, reading a dog-eared book on Isaac Newton when I happened to notice that a girl sitting at a nearby table had taken a shine to me. I could tell because I spotted her reflection by way of the window and couldn’t fail to note her dreamy eyes, chewed lip, and the bashfulness stamped across her face. No other way of looking at it, someone was infatuated with me.

That was odd, because A, this girl, (tall, ginger, with a bit of a chin) usually shot me a look of complete disdain whenever we encountered each other, which I suppose in retrospect was a defence mechanism.

And B, Jesus, why would anyone take a shine to me? The school had made it perfectly plain that I was at the bottom of the heap, shoved into a pigeonhole marked “Spaz” which the higher-ups gladly pissed into.

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First Love

Posted on by under 2020, July 2020 - First Love

“Hello Madge, I haven’t seen you round here for ages, popping back to see your folks are you?”

“Oh, hi Ange, something like that.”

“And how’s that gorgeous hubby of yours, keeping well is he? Still playing his guitar?”

“I presume so, I don’t really know, the fact of the matter is that we’ve split up.”

“Oo, sorry to hear that, trust me to put my foot in it.  How you coping then, fancy a drink?”

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When men write sex

Posted on by under 2020, July 2020 - First Love

“There’s lots of thrusting going on…” Jacquie said, letting the sentence hang in mid-air. My beta reader does not pull punches, even though her image is the archetype of diminutive, floral printed, butter-would-not-melt, she is actually a ball of literary savagery.  

She was referring to the first love scene in my Work In Progress, which has reached the point where the hero is shacked up with his female interest, they are surrounded by antagonists and need to dig deep to find a route to their goal. This is the moment where the hero puts down his gun, bares his chest and goes for his secondary objective. Thrusting ensues.     

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Darkening Violet

Posted on by under 2020, July 2020 - First Love

The letter arrived out of the blue, her cursive scrawl delivering the blow with elaborate swirls and loops, like a bow decorating a gun. One click on Facebook confirmed the news. It knocked the wind out of me.

Before boys and even before crushes on popstars, there was Violet Anderson. Friendships between girls can crackle with all the turbulence and infatuation of romantic love. And that’s how it was between Violet and me.

Dear Rachel,
By the time you read this, I’ll be dead.

The first time I saw her, she was stomping through the school gates in Doc Martin boots, blowing bubblegum. She flouted the school rules with an air of nonchalance I’d never seen before in all my eight years. I was mesmerised.

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Nearing The End

Posted on by under 2020, June 2020 - Death

Scene 1.

The signs had been there for days. Steve, always a stickler for rules, had studied the conflicting government guidance and erred on the side of safety. Standing before the blinking red light, he was unrecognisable in a white Hazmat suit, respirator face-mask and blue protective gloves. Not that there was anyone else present to recognise him.

“Only one flash per second. Dear old boy, not much life left. ” He breathed out long and slow, turned away and brushing a hand to cheek, made for the door. Note to self… alcohol gel  NOW and don’t touch your face! 

Following the science of the most cautious of experts, – complete disrobing, bagging up the PPE  for secure disposal, throwing contaminated clothes in for a 90 degree wash, swabbing down all surfaces, having a hot shower and full change of clothes, followed by a UV dose of garden sun  – all this was now such a familiar  routine. 

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Where Have All the Flowers Gone?

Posted on by under 2020, June 2020 - Death

A small group gathered by the gate shaking their heads in subdued silence. Each wore dull colours and sensible shoes. Some clutched bunches of drooping spring flowers which mimicked their own demeanour. Occasionally little bursts of conversation gurgled to the surface. It wasn’t a day for the customary jovial exchanges.

It took me completely by surprise. If I’d known, I could have taken better care. Could have covered things up a bit.

I know. There was no real warning was there? Now I’ve lost everything. I’ll just have to start all over again. It’s just so sad and upsetting.

Well, we’ve all suffered the loss in different ways. For me, it was my special Marguerite.

There were early attempts to pick up the pieces and put forward a more positive view of events. After all, not everything was completely lost and there was time for most to begin again.

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Cheating Death

Posted on by under 2020, June 2020 - Death

Oswald, aged 120, a spry wrinkled gentleman with flowing grey locks and all his own teeth, sat in his armchair.  His chair was strategically placed as near as possible to the reception desk next to the Nursing Home door, he was waiting for his next victim.

Most of the residents had warned their relatives about him, nearly always too late of course, as Ossie was always in his prime position keeping his ears alert for the ring of the doorbell, and keeping a vigilant watch through the bay window for any approaching prey.

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DEATH…

Posted on by under 2020, June 2020 - Death

Death was being promoted. She had been second in command for eons and now it was her turn. She didn’t know how it happened, in that line of work who knew how anything happened. Anyway, she was going to give it her best shot, after all, she knew the ropes.

What nobody ever knew was that she still had a tiny spark of humanity left which she had hidden well for all of these centuries.

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Passover

Posted on by under 2020, June 2020 - Death

Laying in my hospital bed surrounded by machines beeping and whirling. Family sitting anxiously nearby. Doctors and nurses silently hovering. I can’t believe the doctors are telling my family that now it’s in God’s hands; they can do no more. How silly is that?

I can hear everything, just can’t open my eyes. They are just too heavy. Going to be fine, just need to rest a little while longer.

Death does not frighten me, I just don’t feel it’s my time. This condition I have is no fun to live with. There have been many scares over the years but I have always pulled through. How can I leave my children and grandchildren? They need me.

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TREVOR

Posted on by under 2020, June 2020 - Death

Trevor could always trump what you were saying.

            ‘Serious accident on the Mumbles Road,’ a fellow said. ‘They sent an ambulance.’

            ‘Two,’ said Trevor. ‘The second came straight after. Multiple injuries, see.’

            ‘There was a police car there as well,’ the fellow said.

            ‘And a helicopter,’ Trevor added. ‘Carnage, deaths, blood.’

            Another time a woman said she’d seen a naval boat in the bay. The Royal Navy in Swansea Bay? What were they doing: shopping at Sainsburys in the Marina? Then Trevor announced:

            ‘Escorted by a submarine. Top secret, apparently. Came to the surface for a moment. Spotted it at once, I did.’

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Nina’s Gift

Posted on by under 2020, June 2020 - Death

“You okay?” Nathaniel asked. His father looked up from his hunched posture.

“I was just thinking about her,” he said. “Bubbe Nina was a forceful woman.”

“Stronger than most,” Nathaniel agreed. “Didn’t she walk from France to Spain?”

“Yes, in nineteen forty-one, just after the Rafle du Vel’ d’Hiv’,” Lionel said. “She feared it would spread to the south.”

A loud rap came from the front door and they jumped to their feet. Lionel waved his hand at Nathaniel, indicating he should sit again. The senior family member always greeted doctors. It was a measure of their importance. 

Doctor Llewelyn was a jolly man, dressed in an old coat and carrying a battered medical bag. He beamed at Nathaniel as he entered and held out his hand.

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