Skunk:
Happy Christmas Mum.
He
set the little bag down on the ground, supporting himself with the walking
stick as he leaned over and placed the wreath upon the frost-covered grass.
Skunk:
You know, today I feel really, I feel quite calm after... you know, what with
everything that’s happened this year. I mean... I find it kind of strange to
speak to you, I’m still getting used to this idea that you can hear me now, and
I wonder about that a lot. You know from, all that time you were in the
hospital and I couldn’t really speak to you, because you were there
and... everything was so... I wasn’t sure whether you could hear me or not...
but now... I suppose I think, I remember reading somewhere before I remember
reading when everyone when anyone went to Heaven they would be the same age as
Jesus, and if they’d been ill or... if they’d had problems or... whatever, they
would be healthy and they would be whole again and maybe I think that’s what...
everything’s okay now. I feel like this is something, it’s a constant, you know
every time I come here I always feel I’m reiterating this.
When
he tried to remove the old flowers from their little pot he discovered them to
be frozen in place, but he had expected this and once he’d torn the tops off
and unscrewed the perforated lid, went to his bag for the green plastic flask
full of hot water. Having poured some out into the solid tub of ice he swirled
it around between his gloved hands, talking as he waited.
Skunk:
You know this, the wall round here, me and Jim used to come down here... in the
evenings in summer and eh, we would get up over there, on on the other side and
climb through to get up on the wall... and stand on that ehm, on the corner
there. I remember one time we came through that little one there with the wire
mesh on it, because you couldn’t get round it, and we had to climb over it and
one time a pigeon or, it was some bird I think it was a pigeon, flew
out... and ehm it terrifi-, I mean, I was just climbing up and I was terrified
and I almost fell off, and this was, twenty feet in the air.
He
laughed out loud, then suddenly serious once more. The ice began to give a
little and he caught a breath of the rotting stalks which made him gag, cough,
and spit, sure to clear not just his mother’s plot but those nearby as well. He
tipped in some more hot water and returned the flask to his bag.
Skunk:
All that stuff that Jim and I did we used to... He kept it from his mum
too... One time we went down to the beach and ehm... I had my catapult, again
you never knew about that, maybe you did I don’t know, but he had an air pistol
and his mum didn’t know about that. The thing we, remember when
those houses were in construction just out the back, and a few of us would get
together and throw muck and stones at each other, and it... I was always quite
accurate, and I used to be able to avoid getting hit as well. Maybe I was
wanting to... to... to get some of that excitement back. Anyway Jim and I, I
suggested we play this game where we’d go down, we were down at the sea amongst
the rocks, we’d gone out to the old pillbox and ehm... we were going to have a
fire out there, and I said to Jim I said that we should do this, you know, he
should take his air pistol and I would take my catapult and we’d go down
amongst the rocks and fire at each other and ehm... you know, sneak up on each
other and stuff. Anyway ehm, before I could get a shot off at him, I felt this sting
right on, just above the bridge of my nose, and he’d shot me. He’d actually
shot me, in the face. And he was loading up to do it again and I had to shout,
you know, he thought I was fooling and I had to shout to him to say ehm “You’ve
shot me”. When, when we got home we lied, he told his mum I’d banged my head
getting into the pillbox, bashed the bridge of my nose... and I suppose looking
back it’s just as well I lied to you as well.
He
tapped the pot lightly on her headstone, then shucked out the dirty
pudding-shaped solid into the plastic bag from which he had just removed the
fresh flowers.
He
again brought out his flask and tipped the remaining water into the little pot,
the lid of which he now returned tight to its place before bending over to
carefully set it back beneath her name.
With
his stick laid alongside he eased himself down onto her grave, starting to break
the stems off the longer flowers that they might better stand, saying
Skunk:
It’s strange now because I guess I can’t, you know, I could come here
and I could lie to you but...
finalising
the arrangement
Skunk:
..I have a feeling that you know, that you can see everything
now.
He
stood up again, pulled the hipflask from his jacket pocket and took a warming
swallow at its whiskey.
Skunk:
It’s a strange time of year. It’s a very strange time. I’m really trying to,
I’m trying to be positive but it’s difficult... I know I can... I have to keep
going.
beginning
to walk around the grave, trying to get sensation back into his frozen feet.
Skunk:
There will be something. I’m trying not to think of... I won’t... The
past week I haven’t been... I think I’m okay now, but I couldn’t process my
food at all, and everything I ate was either ehm going straight through me or I
was... being sick. I think ehm, you know, if I can keep it all down today I’ll
be okay, I can... just... It’s Christmas, that’s all it is and... but when it
started, and I could feel, just... my insides, my guts felt so, like pulp,
and I wondered if this was, you know, if this was hereditary, if this was the
beginning of... you know what I mean. Well... I’m going to go back up to
the house now, I think ehm...
He
could feel an itching void on his left fore-arm.
Skunk:
I’ll try not to, I’ll try... I’ll come back in a couple of days. I’ll do my
best. Happy Christmas Mum.
