moment 21

the son sat in the bar sipping his prosecco. he hated it here. the place smelt of damp dogs, wet people and two-day breath. why had he agreed to meet here? there were far better places. they could have met in the new artisan coffee house in town. great flat whites, free WIFI and young female barristas. here everyone was old. but then it had to be this place. he was more comfortable here. it was easier to say. waiting. he glanced at the menu of fish and chips, burger and chips, or steak. vegetarianism a thing of mystery. not even a lazy lasagne or penne pasta could be had. so he got another prosecco from the bar and a pack of stale ready salted crisps. that was lunch then. he stared at the bar a moment at the hopeful horseshoes hammered carelessly around the bar. and the collection of beer plates of ales they never had. what time was it? nearly twelve. he would be here soon. if anything was said of him, he was punctual. old school. no doubt, he would be dressed in shirt and tie, v-neck brown jumper, grey trousers and sensible shoes. he had worn the same for years. ever since he retired. it was a matter of duty. like collecting for the british legion, watching the queen’s speech, or buying the times. he was a man of timeless routine, of familiarity.

at precisely twelve, he came in, ordered a 1/2 of mild and sat opposite. this was it. the meeting. the important discussion they had to have, the son took a gulp of prosecco. what to say? how to say it? how do you say to a person it is time? so he just looked at him. waited. hoped he would say something first. nothing. he was always a man of few words.
“dad?”
“yes.”
“did you read it?”
“yes.”
“you know it’s for the best.”
“yes.”
“and?”
“it’s just the dog.”
“we’ll find it a good home. you know we would take her but, you know, the cats.”
“i know. it’s just…”
“yes.”
“it’s just I’ve had her so long. part of the family.”
“i know. it’s just there is no option.”
“i know.”
“just, you know. i’m working all the time. it’s for the best.”
“i know.”
“we’re thinking of you.”
“i know.”
“it’s just…”
“i know. just.”

moment 17

Featured | Posted by theworddoodler

the second hand clicked slowly on crossing the white face of the clock. the black plastic hands told harold it was nearly two. he had been waiting an hour. an hour. and still no news. he sat staring at the blank white door in the blank wall. featureless. no clue there to guide him as to the outcome. no signage for him to lose himself in. if only there were a picture, a painting to pass the time in imagination. he could have lost himself in the colours. the swirl of brush-strokes. the splodges signifying something. a fleeting meaning of a moment, a thought, an idea. but all he had was a white door and worry. why hadn’t she let him go in with her? why the secrecy? what was she hiding? he knew in her way she was trying to protect him but this was worse. the unknowing. all she had said was ‘lady problems’ and left it at that. but that said nothing. she had always been like that. keeping everything to herself. like the time she had her wisdom teeth out. he had known nothing about it until she had come home, had soup for dinner and was barely able to speak. he could have done something. held her hand. said soft words to smooth the pain and fear away. like he had tried with the birth of their daughter. words of encouragement. the damp cloth to the brow. holding of hands, tight, feeling the clench of pain. trying to draw it from her, to will it less. but not this time. not now. today she was alone in that room. without him. maybe he was selfish. maybe he just wanted his fear to go, to be elevated. the pounding in his chest to go down. the hundreds and millions of whispering disasters to die away to nothing. for all to be calm as they sat there. he was probably making a fuss of nothing. he did that. he would imagine a terror where there wasn’t one. he just had to be patient and wait. that was his role: to wait. so he sat and looked at the clock. the white clock on the white wall. it said five past two.