July 2012
5 posts
Dig
Someone has purchased the five-year-old a metal detector.
“Let’s find some treasure,” she says, marching out of the door.
We scan every inch of the local park, to no avail.
“Stupid park,” she says, as we head home.
Later, she suggests we try the garden. We begin scanning.
Suddenly, the device beeps and we gasp and ready our spades.
Our activity represents a wider truth: we scan our worlds, looking...
Dream
The 5-year-old is fascinated by The Ocado Man.
When he arrives, she hides behind the pillar in the kitchen and watches, in awe, as he places the shopping bags on the counter.
When he leaves, she asks questions:
“Where does he get his uniform?”
“Where does he live?”
“How did he get that job?”
I tell her I don’t know.
“I want to be The Ocado Man,” she says, dreamily.
An endorsement of the illusion...
Disciple
“I can rap,” says the five-year-old.
“Go on then.”
“I’ll put your face in your lap / Niggers try to be the king but the ace is back.”
In my sternest tone, I explain to her what ‘nigger’ means. She vows never to use the word again.
Later, as we play Buckaroo, the 13-year-old strolls past, rapping:
“I’ll put your face in your lap / Niggers try to be the king but the ace is back…”
I chase him...
Dillon
The fourteen-year-old is crying. She is lying face down on her bed, as her sharp shoulder-blades judder to the rhythm of her wails.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” I ask.
She picks her head up to look at me. Tears and snot have merged on her face to form a shiny mask of misery.
“Dillon dumped me,” she sobs.
“I’m sorry.”
“It hurts.”
“You’ve just got to ride it out.”
“But Dillon’s my soul mate.”
“Time heals...
Absolved
The mixed changing room is closed.
“Will you be okay on your own in the ladies?” I ask the five-year-old.
“Yeah.”
“Cool. Shout if you need me.”
She ambles in.
She shouts my name.
“What?” I shout back.
“There’s a fire extinguisher in here.”
“Do not touch the fire extinguisher.”
“Okay.”
“Is there anyone else in there?”
Silence.
“Is there anyone else in there?!”
I hear the sound of a fire...
