These are the afterthought tales, bite-size chunks of a
life’s grander design, something to gnaw on briefly before moving on.
The Old Man – a child’s perspective on meeting an unknown
uncle
The Royal Feline – it’s a cat life indeed
The Mountains Burn – the destructive power of fire
Morning Rainbow – when a rainbow is a sign
Blood Moon – when reality feels entirely unreal
Veils of Sleep – what happens in the realms of oblivion
Winged Wonder – a winged creature walks the city streets
Glass Dreams – every time a man closes his eyes, glass
shatters
First Day – a child’s perspective on her first school day
At the End – life’s long years
A few recorded moments in time that will ask of you a few
minutes of your day. A breathy laugh might follow, or ‘oh, yes, I see myself in
there!’ Maybe a morsel gifts a smile, while a tale creates a sense of wonder.
Enjoy!
Memories from childhood are frequently
enlightening in adulthood.
I stayed put with reluctance at the round kitchen table where we were
having tea, and heard the weather-beaten wooden door creak open and my dad
peremptorily demand an explanation for this interruption.
Just moments ago, the old man walked up the garden path, and we noticed
his slow progress through the lace-covered dining room window, and my dad
swore. My mom told him to shut up, but as usual he ignored her.
Mom was at the basin washing dishes as dad opened the door, but I could
swear her ears moved a bit, she was listening that hard. I was listening that hard.
A mumbled conversation followed, one neither me nor mom could quite make
out, and I knew both of us were highly curious. Usually the neighbourhood kids
came to knock, either asking for me to come out and play, or with one of those
sponsorship forms my dad hated so much. An old man was something different. The
only old man who had walked up the path before was the Elder from church when
mom was ill. This wasn’t him.
Eventually we heard the door slam, and I wondered if it was dad being
rude or the wind taking it away from him, as it often did. That door was always
slamming, as if daring someone to leave it open for a breath of fresh air. Then
again, dad was always being rude, too.
The old man walked ahead of dad into the kitchen. Well, we were
flabbergasted, mom and me. This was another unusual event. Dad allowed the kids
in, if only briefly while they waited for me to grab a ball or something, but
never anyone else. He even told the church Elder where to go off and hide.
There was something familiar about this old man. I felt as if I knew him.
When mom dropped the pot she was scrubbing, letting dirty water splash
everywhere, I realised she knew him, too, but she had not forgotten as I
obviously had.
A clear plastic bag filled with peanut clusters, tied closed with a red
ribbon, landed on the table in front of me and I could do no other than look
away from that lined face to the yumminess resting there where I could actually
see it. I heard dad clear his throat. Children
do not need sweets, he always said, and I knew he wanted to snatch it up
but could not, not with this old man watching.
And then I heard my mother say a name, and I knew who this old man was.
My uncle. My dad’s older brother, the one everyone believed had died in the war
up north. I knew him because he looked like my dad, but I had never seen him
before.
He stayed for an hour and I really liked him. Even dad laughed. Mom
seemed to watch dad more than my uncle though. Strange.
Funny thing, I never saw him again, but I will never forget him. My uncle
Ed. I often wonder what happened to him, but dad never said, and mom always
said to ask dad.
Those were the best peanut clusters I ever ate, I tell you.
No comments:
Post a Comment