The house is so quiet

There's a mess in your bedroom.

Discarded packaging, stray lego,

Tissue paper covered in flowers and hearts drawn in bright, simple texta.

Against the wall, a beautifully detailed Fairy Door sits among the wreckage of it's creation.

Creative wreckage is a bit of a theme.

The kitchen looks like a cyclone went through it,

While spontaneously producing a tin full of chocolate chip cookies.

The lounge is full of paper and pencils.

The bathroom is still littered with face paints I don't want to clean up.

A few hours ago you came laughing and squealing out of there,

Your face covered in red and purple.

I thought you were a demon.

"No, Bubba, I'm a DRAGON girl!"

As soon as you said it I could see it.

I should have known,

You have the courage, fire and sheer reckless joy of one.

All weekend the house rang of it - that other-worldly glee.

Thuds on the wall as you practised hand-stands,

Cackles, pranks and wild stories as you played with your friends,

Plans and daydreams discussed over meals.

Even the quiet, hesitant staccato of you practising your reading,

And the soft snuffles as you drifted to sleep

Filled the house with a warm sense of purpose.

I love my time with you Sweetheart. 

Every moment of your crazy, caring, loving, exuberant self.

Whole weekends when, with me, you can just be you.

When you're allowed off your meds and your mind runs wild,

Like a puppy off its leash.

But they end, don't they.  

And you have to go.

Now Larry the Crawling Halloween Mummy lies motionless in the foyer.

He is sound activated after all.

And there's none of that in the house.

Not now.

And into that sudden, gaping absence, Grief pours with insidious enthusiasm.

Accusatory and acidic, He pulls open wounds only just beginning to heal from the last time.

He eats away at the echoes of laughing, running and playing

Just as fast as He can.

Spiteful little shit.

So.

I will sit here in my car, in the garage thank you very much.

Where I can play Solitaire on my phone,

And, through the rear-view mirror, still see the "I Love U" you wrote in the dust on the back window.

Weeks ago.

Can't bring myself to wash that off.

I don't want to go inside.  

Not tonight.  

Not tomorrow.  

Not until you come back.

There's no point really.

The house is so quiet.

To the tune of Sound of Silence...

 Hello dunny my old friend...

I've come to sit with you again...

'Cause some gas softly creeping,

Fluffed my doona while I was sleeping,

And the curry that was planted in my tum

Disturbed me some...

And brought me wind of violence...

My wife jumped out I was alone...

My sore tummy made me groan...

By the light of a bedlamp,

I saw my y-fronts were all warm and damp.

My eyes were crossed, and my bottom was on fire

My voice rose higher..

As I broke wind of violence...

Running naked down the hall,

Intestines shout their distress call.

I must evacuate my bowels some more.

Tho' my poor ringpiece is so red and sore.

And my wife yelled "If you're still crook you just stay there...

"...and don't you dare...

"Break more wind of violence..."

How long I'll be I do not know,

This curry seems to flow and flow...

So I sit here with my ring on fire,

Fearing this may be my funeral pyre.

With teary eyes and through clenched teeth I now rue

The vindaloo

That brought me wind of violence...

The Midnight Thief

A full moon gleamed in the deep dark sky,
Washing the landscape in blue.
The trees’ silhouettes were stark, deathly still.
Leaves and grasses speckled with dew…

My breath hung in clouds in the crispy night air
As I stood at the foot of those trees.
Marking the edge of a wood, quite enchanted,
They sighed softly, tho’ there was no breeze…

Creeping stealthily ’cross the quiet forest floor,
I eventually came to a clearing,
Where grey-green grass and purple-red flowers
Whispered words that were just beyond hearing…

Hiding silently here in this beautiful glade,
If I waited and watched patiently,
I might have been lucky, and caught a rare glimpse
Of creatures who exist magically!

In time I spotted the shimmering trail
Of translucent silk through the grass.
Worn by the faeries of myths, very ancient,
Over bodies like bright, liquid glass…

Their tinkling voices tickled my ears.
A sound unlike any I’d heard.
“If only I could capture just one!”
But really, the thought was absurd.

Still, as I watched and they played and danced,
Phosphorescent in moonbeams and starlight,
I held out my hands, barely daring to hope
That one might come close, and alight…

And then there she was! Wings outstretched;
Balancing with meticulous care,
To stand in the cup of my trembling hands
And fix me with a curious stare…

Oh she was lovely, this mythical sprite.
This exquisite miniature girl.
With hair that tumbled right down to her waist
In waves of silver, and pearl.

The eyes that met mine were so clear and so bright.
Tiny orbs of sapphire-blue crystal.
They twinkled with mischief, as many believe,
But also seemed searching, and wistful...

“Hello!” She said "What are you doing here?
“I’ve not seen a human before!”
I stuttered and stammered,
She giggled and laughed,
And sat in my hands to hear more…

Chin in her hands and elbows on knees,
She sat long after the others dispersed;
While we swapped tales of our so diff’rent worlds
In voices hushed and whispered.

Her time came to go and she slowly stood,
Then asked brightly if I would come with her.
I said I could not, and her smile disappeared,
So I said I would certainly miss her!

She jumped in the air and flew close to my face,
And I fell back with a start!
Then, treating my nose to a dainty kiss,
She flew off, taking with her my heart…

 

The Little Things

It was dawn.  A bright, cold winter’s day.  Martin rose with the sun, fed Onyx the cat, put on his jacket and scarf and headed off for the village.

 

Martin walked in the clear, new sunlight along the path by the river.  Where it was very shallow, he stopped and listened to the water gurgling and laughing over the rocks.  He watched the sunlight dance on the water.

 

Martin walked in to the village.  When he was near the bakery he stopped, closed his eyes and smelled the warm aroma of baking bread in a long, indulgent breath.

 

Martin went inside and bought a loaf, fresh and warm.

 

Outside, Martin wandered along slowly, looking down.  There were all sorts of minerals in the cement of the footpath.  They glittered as he moved.

 

Martin walked out to the house of Rubber the E Raiser and his wife, Tahoma.  He sat with them at their huge, ancient kitchen table.  Sunlight through the window splashed a square of gold on the rough woodwork.  It shone on the honey as Martin dripped it on his bread, making it look like the honey had its own light.  They ate the loaf of bread together with mugs of hot coffee.

 

Martin worked with Rubber out in his fields of E’s.  He stopped from time to time, just to feel the cool breeze blowing on his warm skin. 

 

After lunch, Martin sat with Rubber and Tahoma in a deep, comfy chair and pointed his feet, clad only in old socks, toward the fire.  After talking for a while, Martin snoozed in his chair, feeling the warmth of the fire on the soles of his feet.

 

After dinner, Martin began to walk home.  He could smell rain coming and put the hood up on his jacket.  The rain began soon after.  Martin took the long way home though.

 

It was raining steadily when Martin stood on top of the footbridge over the railway lines at the station.  It was dark.  The rain was only visible under the lights on the station’s only platform.  The station was a golden little oasis in the dark.  A huge tree was partly lit by the platform lights.  Diamonds slowly dripped from its leaves.

 

Martin arrived home.  He hung up his wet coat and fed Onyx the cat. 

 

He went to bed.  Onyx jumped on the bed and curled up at his feet.

 

As he drifted off to the sound of the rain on his roof, Martin thought surely he lived in the most beautiful place in the whole world.

 

He wondered, as he did a hundred times a day since he watched that train take Rebecca away, why anyone would want to leave…

A Sudden Departure

 

It was late in the autumn.  The days were getting shorter and the nights colder.  The first rain had arrived earlier in the morning, so it was a damp, cold and grey world Martin the B Keeper padded through.  His breath steamed.

 

Chilly as it may have been, there was a lovely warm spot in Martin’s chest – caused by the fresh-baked bread he had stashed inside his coat, to share with a certain someone.

 

Martin scrunched up the short gravel path to Rebecca’s front door.  Without knocking he called “Hello!” as he stepped inside and hung his coat on a hook behind the door.

 

There was no answer, so he wandered into the tiny kitchen.  Onyx the cat meowed a greeting and rubbed himself on Martin’s leg.  Martin dropped the bread on the newly smoothed wood of the kitchen table – he had helped Rebecca restore the old thing only a week ago.

 

On the table was a note.

 

Martin read the note.  He grabbed his jacket and began to run for the town.

 

 

Splashing through puddles on his way to the railway station, Martin kept wondering “Why?”

“Why would she have to leave?  Why must she go back to the City?  Why can’t she say when she will be back?  Will she be back?  What’s going on?”

 

He did not understand at all, but if he was fast enough he may get to the station before the train was gone…

 

Martin knew he had missed the train as he ran along the last section of the path.  He could hear it gathering speed and already some distance off.  He stopped on top of the footbridge and leaned on the railing, catching his breath. 

 

‘Becc was on the train, he knew it.  The platform was empty.  Through the thick old windows he could see the waiting room was empty too.  He stood on the bridge and watched the train, not understanding at all.

 

It was some time before the last carriage disappeared over the horizon.  Martin felt like there was a string or something tied from it to his chest. 

 

The train disappeared.

 

The string pulled tight, and tugged out a chunk of something from deep inside.

 

Martin sighed deeply and trudged back to Rebecca’s cottage.  It was exactly the same as he’d left it, but already it seemed colder and emptier.  He picked up Onyx the cat and stuffed him down the front of his coat.  He picked up the fresh loaf of bread.  He carried them both back to his own house; Onyx purring happily with his head poking out from the top of Martin’s jacket.

 

The cat was warm and soft on Martin’s chest as he walked, but underneath the new hole ached.

 

It ached a lot.

 

 

 

Autumn

 Martin The B Keeper made himself comfortable in a dusty old lounge chair and stretched bare feet toward the waning fire.  Behind him he could hear Rebecca, who had left the City to Catch Some Z’s a few months before, clearing the remains of the dinner they had made together.

 

It had been a very simple meal.  Nothing fancy, but it sat warmly in Martin’s full stomach like a hot water bottle on a cold night.  And it was indeed a cold night outside. 

 

He took a mental stroll through the day while watching flames flicker and dance over their hot coals.  A bright, frosty morning had seen Rebecca arrive on his doorstep with bread still warm from the bakery.  They ate it with honey and sipped scalding hot coffee before spending the rest of the morning tending to his B’s.  The afternoon was spent at the cottage Rebecca lived in, digging and planting and clearing and moving.  The things you do to a building when you decide that you might just settle there and make it a home.

 

They had dinner then, with Onyx the cat in constant attendance.  And now there was nothing to do but relax.

 

Rebecca came around his chair and handed him a glass.  Taking care not to spill her own, she bent and kissed him.  She tasted of Rebecca and port.  Martin wondered briefly if there would ever be a time he thought that taste was anything but delicious.  She curled up into the chair next to him.  Onyx leapt onto the chair and curled herself up on Rebecca’s lap.  Martin felt vaguely envious.

 

They chatted for a while about nothing much and sipped their port.  Before long Rebecca began to doze, her head resting on the seat’s high, round arm.  Martin watched her for a while.  Firelight flickered on her lightly freckled face and over the copper and gold of her red hair.  Then he went back to staring into the fire and cast his mind adrift in the warmth…

 

No flames danced in the fireplace – the coals glowed warm and ruby-red.  There was no sound.  Everything was still. Time drifted to a halt - and rested awhile.  A little snapshot of eternity was taken, framed and hung in the Hall of the Creator where all who viewed it smiled and said “This is good…”

 

There was a pop from the fire.  Time lurched back into motion.  Martin came to and, feeling eyes on him, turned to see Rebecca watching him.  Her eyes were soft and sleepy and partially hidden by wisps of her multi-shaded hair.  He felt the temperature of his blood rise a few degrees.

 

“Where were you…?” she asked him in a voice like warm flannel pj’s.

 

“Oh, I was just watching the firelight in my port glass, wondering if there is a whole other universe in there with people like us staring out and wondering if there is anything outside it, and if we’re not just the same…”  Martin spoke before his mind-to-mouth filter started working.

 

Rebecca snorted and shook her head, then caught him by the eyes again.  “You keep a lot of strange stuff in there, don’t you…” she stated, tapping her finger on his forehead.  “I like it though.” She added after seeing his expression change.  “I could spend a lot of time finding out what else is in there…”

 

“Hah.  I don’t know what is in there myself most of the time.” Martin wished his filter would kick in before he had to speak again.

 

“Well, in the meantime, I am going to bed.” Rebecca announced and started unfolding herself from the chair as Onyx leapt to the ground, meowing in offence at the disruption. 

 

“Oh.” Said Martin, beginning to rise.  “I guess I had better make my way home then.”

 

“Um…” Rebecca took his hand and moved close, leading Martin to hope no harm came to a body when its blood vapourised. “You don’t have really have to you know…”

 

“Oh.  Well then, in that case…”

 

And so Martin stayed the night with Rebecca, and they both slept very well indeed.

 

Eventually…

 

 

Plenty of Time

Martin and Rubber were sitting on Martin’s back porch.  It was a hot summer’s day and they were sipping ice cold drinks.  They watched Martin’s B’s humming around their hives.

“So,” Rubber said after a while “how did you like your holiday in the Big City?”

 

“I enjoyed it very much.” answered Martin.  “The City is a great place to visit, but I do not think I could live there.”

 

“Really?  How so?”

 

“Well,” Martin began “There were many things to see.”

 

“Yes.” said Rubber, taking out his pipe.

 

“…and there were many, many things to do.”

 

“Indeed.” said Rubber, packing his pipe with tobacco.

 

“…and so many people to meet…” Martin continued.

 

“That there were…” said Rubber, lighting his pipe with a match.

 

“Of course, there was all the different food, and more donuts than I have ever seen in my life!”  Martin’s eyes glazed over for a moment, recalling the multicoloured ranks of donuts in one bakery Rubber had taken him to.  It had been like a morning in heaven.

 

“But I think there was too much of everything.”  Martin said suddenly, coming back to the present.

 

“Ah…” Rubber said. He puffed on his pipe, and waited.

 

“People had so much food that most of them had forgotten how hard it is to grow it.  They no longer know how valuable it is.  Did you know, so many times it seemed people there would rather throw perfectly good food in the garbage than use it to feed someone who did not have enough?”

 

“That is true.” agreed Rubber “I have seen that myself.”

 

“…and there are so many things to have there that many people no longer knew the difference between ‘need’ and ‘want’.  Everywhere there were signs telling them how much they needed things.  Silly things.  That was very strange.  People wound up having so many things that they had to look after, find a home for, repair or replace.  It seemed like a full time job!” Martin concluded.

 

“Really?  You think so?” Rubber’s pipe had gone out.  He lit another match.

 

“I do.  And you know?  It was the same with the things to do!  Everyone had so many things to do and they worked so hard to do them that even the things that were supposed to be fun just made them stress.  Something is wrong when you have to play so many games that none of them are any fun.  That is very weird.  Do you know the worst thing though?”  Martin asked.

 

Rubber looked up, puffing his newly lit pipe and shaking out his match “Tell me the worst thing.” He said.

 

Martin leaned toward him and said quietly “It is the same with the people.”

 

“Whatever do you mean?” asked Rubber innocently.

 

“It is the same with the people.” Martin repeated.  “There are so many people there that most of them seem to have lost the value of people.  Hardly anyone seemed to know how valuable or hard a real friendship is.  They had so many people to choose from that someone could just pick a friend, and if there was some tiny, tiny little thing that went wrong, they just discarded that friend and tried to find another one.  They never fixed anything!  They never mended clothes.  They just threw them out and bought some more.  They never fixed broken things.  They just threw them out and bought some more.  If they found out a friend was broken, they just threw them out and tried to find another.  And everyone is a little bit broken.  No wonder so many of them seemed lonely.”

 

The two friends sat quietly.  Martin drank his drink, listening to his B’s.  Rubber puffed away on his pipe and leaned his head on the wall.  The sun was hot on his face.  He closed his eyes.  The air smelled of hay.

 

“There was one thing the City people did not have enough of though.”  Martin said eventually.  Rubber turned his head and opened his eyes.

 

“Oh yes?  What was that then?”

 

“Time.” answered Martin.  “Did you know, they have so little time that everyone is given a little Time Sharing Machine?  They called it a TSM.  If ever they want to do something, they have to type it into the TSM and the TSM would tell them if they can do at and when they can do it.  I asked lots of people if they wanted to have a donut and some coffee with me.  They would ask their TSM and then say ‘Sorry, I don’t have the time.’.  It would be very sad to have a machine tell you what you can and cannot do all the time.”

 

“It would.” Rubber agreed.  “And speaking of time…”  Rubber tapped his pipe on the step to empty the old tobacco “…it is time for me to go home.  Tahoma and I are going to cook up a big batch of C food.  Would you like to come over?  I have an old bottle of Port we could open after dinner…”

 

“Well…” began Martin “…I am not a very important person.  I do not have gold taps in my bathroom.  I do not have an important career meeting to go to.  I do not have lots of money and I do not own a million Things To Do.  But I do have plenty of time.”

 

Rubber laughed and slapped Martin on the back “That’s all we need!”

 

And so the two old friends strolled down the path to Rubber’s house, spending their time together…