I stumbled into my old neighbourhood today. Old being the word.
It seems like forever and a lingering, blue-eyed glance since I last traipsed through these idle streets; school uniformed up to the neck tie and a loose red ribboned hair braid.
I remembered each footstep as though I were in a dream like deja vu state of purple haze. Elderly couple drinking tea to my left, half a forest still thick with brambles, berries and adventures to my right; and a road, carving mechanical chaos, through the centre.
At the end of the street, a shop occupied the corner. I wondered with semi eager anticipation if it was still there whilst remembering the number of times I frequented that establishment. They stocked the best selection of sweets you could buy for a penny each, including the oatmeal coloured paper bag to keep them in.
I remembered each footstep as though I were in a dream like deja vu state of purple haze. Elderly couple drinking tea to my left, half a forest still thick with brambles, berries and adventures to my right; and a road, carving mechanical chaos, through the centre.
At the end of the street, a shop occupied the corner. I wondered with semi eager anticipation if it was still there whilst remembering the number of times I frequented that establishment. They stocked the best selection of sweets you could buy for a penny each, including the oatmeal coloured paper bag to keep them in.
Being poor didn’t matter then because then your ten pence treasure, found languishing in a drain by some random bus stop meant that, for once, you could go and do more than just look at the gorgeous rainbow array of sugary Nirvana.
You all know this next part.
As I traced an idle finger along the newly bricked wall I couldn’t help but notice, it wasn’t a wall at all. The rectangular cinereal breeze blocked brick work bore a striking resemblance to where I remember the main window being, the one I would press my face up against in the rain.
There was no door, no sandy coloured stone steps out front where I used to skip up and down, one time slipping and grazing my left knee...it was all too quiet, all bordered up and dead inside. Listening carefully, I could not detect a pulse from the old place, the buzz had long since left, the paintwork peeling and ravaged by uncaring hands. Hanging pathetically limp to my right was the newspaper head line, held there until the seasons strip even that memory away. Ironically, the headline was “One in six shops empty”...need I address the obvious irony here...I think not.
Behind me, some people try to engage me in polite conversation, I assume they are local and I probably know their son or daughter from school. I don’t struggle to remember, my thoughts are much to loud.
Above my head, the low drowsy cotton ball clouds have begun to lazily part allowing a stream of golden sunlight through the newly created empyrean ravine to strike the path where I stand.
If it rains I know there shall be no rainbows in Avalon.
I have never felt so alone.
I release my once well held memory on a shaky breath. The potential parents walk onwards breaking the new sunlight into dapples of aqueous gold. My hands feel their way into the pockets of my denim blues. I look upward as if following my cut free thought tied to a red ribbon.
As I walk away, I dare not look back choosing instead to recall a face pressed against what was once a magical glassed aperture...
...but I did look good in ribbons...
You all know this next part.
As I traced an idle finger along the newly bricked wall I couldn’t help but notice, it wasn’t a wall at all. The rectangular cinereal breeze blocked brick work bore a striking resemblance to where I remember the main window being, the one I would press my face up against in the rain.
There was no door, no sandy coloured stone steps out front where I used to skip up and down, one time slipping and grazing my left knee...it was all too quiet, all bordered up and dead inside. Listening carefully, I could not detect a pulse from the old place, the buzz had long since left, the paintwork peeling and ravaged by uncaring hands. Hanging pathetically limp to my right was the newspaper head line, held there until the seasons strip even that memory away. Ironically, the headline was “One in six shops empty”...need I address the obvious irony here...I think not.
Behind me, some people try to engage me in polite conversation, I assume they are local and I probably know their son or daughter from school. I don’t struggle to remember, my thoughts are much to loud.
Above my head, the low drowsy cotton ball clouds have begun to lazily part allowing a stream of golden sunlight through the newly created empyrean ravine to strike the path where I stand.
If it rains I know there shall be no rainbows in Avalon.
I have never felt so alone.
I release my once well held memory on a shaky breath. The potential parents walk onwards breaking the new sunlight into dapples of aqueous gold. My hands feel their way into the pockets of my denim blues. I look upward as if following my cut free thought tied to a red ribbon.
As I walk away, I dare not look back choosing instead to recall a face pressed against what was once a magical glassed aperture...
...but I did look good in ribbons...