loading . . . 'Behind you!' by Jeremy Boyce I was sitting at my desk, trying to write, something, anything, didnât matter, but my fingers couldnât hit the keys striaght. See what I mean ? Couldnât hit them straight, couldnât put one word afterâŠ.. It just wasnât...Â
It wasnât the beer, wine, spliff, the energy bills, price of petrol, wars, the end of the world as we know it or any other shit that was happening at that moment.Â
âWill dinner be ready soon, Dad?â
She didnât actually speak, but she was there, her cold back on the wintered-up radiators, mobile texting and whatnot, behind my back, not in view, present, in my space. Out of sight is out of mind? Out of sight is out of my mind.
âWhatâs she doing? Why is she there? Do I have to speak? Is that what she wants? What do I say? What if she doesnât hear, or answer? Would it be worth it?â
She moves in silence, a ghost of a ghost of a ghost, like mist, suddenly fogging your vision. Unheard footsteps tip-tap occasionally, but no creaky floorboards or staircase to warn you in this land of stone and tiling.
âWhat does she want, canât she see Iâm busy with this, that, and the other?â
Itâs always been like that. Finding.The.Time.To.Fit.In.Some.Of.The.Whatâs.Wanted.Between.The.What.Needs.To.Be.Done.
âIâm here, Dad, and when will dinner be ready?â
She didnât actually say it, but I could feel the words creeping and crawling across the open and closed space between us, like a ground frost.
âAre you going to talk to me, Dad?âÂ
Probably, but only when you stop asking, just leave me be and let me hit my keys striaght then Iâll live and love you forever more. Or at least âtil next dinner time. http://dlvr.it/TLT9Br
