For My Father
Sunday afternoon tick-tocked to the sound of lawn mowers and children’s voices; behind drawn curtains time sighed and slowed to the ordinary sadness of carpet corners.
You dozed and woke to thank the nurse, long gone, who’d helped you shave; and once called my mother to an imagined phone call.
Last this, last that and time began again as the ambulance crew spoke softly down the stairs. I think you thanked them too.
Afterwards we left memorial umbrellas on trains and one night abandoned the car across the drive at a commemorative angle. It was the least we could do.
M J Lewis©2015
Goodness, I hope we’re going to get some cheery stories this week here at Friday Fiction. I saw a doorway, transitions…You get the picture.
Thanks as ever to our host Rochelle, to Roger Bultot for the photo and to all who take the time to visit.
The Other Side of the Moon
We are far from home.
This day my lady, like our sister the Moon, fixed a bland and pleasant countenance then, in sable and silks, rubies and pearls, she wed her prince. Have we not studied the world within and the world without, these happy years – the poets and the star-gazers, the workings of fish and fowl and beast? My lady will know how to please her lord; he in turn will swell her belly.
And so for now I keep the long hours betwixt midnight and the dawn alone, soothing my jealous heart with reminders of her sweet promises.
M J Lewis ©2015
I’ve been reading about the common practice, across time and many cultures, of two sleeps. The idea is full of appealing possibilities, personally and fictionally. A long night punctuated by a period of wakeful solitude or sociability, study or prayer, love or mischief (or both). As someone who sleeps at the edge of the city, with a streetlight outside my window, I long for those dark reaches of the night – a velvet darkness or a star-studded sky. Either would do. That chap Edison has a lot to answer for!
On another note, I have no idea how anyone writes Friday Fiction on a Wednesday without dreaming it first. Impossible! A speedy recovery to Rochelle and thanks to Madison Woods for the photo. So far there some shiveringly good stories.
The Café of Impossibilities
It’s down an alley between the shops, around a corner that isn’t always there. You push open the low door and a soothing murmur of conversation greets you. The coffee is frankly mediocre, but Amelia looks great at – what was it? – thirty-eight to your careworn fifty-five. Amelia who always knew the importance of trivialities, who cheered each tiny triumph. In a quiet corner your dad forgets to drink his tea; your fingers itch to stroke the old cat’s fur. But too soon you’re out in the crowded street and that isn’t really the back of Amelia’s head disappearing from view.
M J Lewis ©2015
Here is my contribution to Friday Fiction, presided over as ever by the amazing Rochelle. The sweet-peas are blooming out in the garden, or tennis is on the telly if you prefer to stay inside behind gently wafting curtains. It is indeed a lovely British summer. Thanks for visiting wherever you are. (And to whomsoever stopped by from Mongolia only this week, multiple thanks.)
Thanks also to Stephen Baum for this week’s photo.
I still have that photo somewhere, the one of you dancing on the bandstand in your new purple coat and matching lipstick, the day you had your hair bleached and shaved. You said people gave way to you on the tube and you kind of liked it. But then you never knew your own power.
Saw you once by chance, years later from the top of a bus and it still set my heart beating like a big bass drum. Don’t know why, but I let you slip away so easily, like a snatch of melody carried on the breeze.
M J Lewis ©2015
I wasn’t going to post this week (off to a college reunion and very busy) but then the muse of lost love and nostalgia visited – must be something in the air. For more Friday Fiction please click on the LINK. Thanks to our ever-attentive host Rochelle and to David Stewart for the photo.