My life . . . Already?
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Was it so long ago? (3)
posted Tuesday, 21 December 2004
"Go and look out of the window."
"What for?"
"Never mind what for. Just go to the window and look out."
How was that going to help?
Tear-drained eyes were sore as I comforted my snuffling nose on a maroon-striped pyjama sleeve.
How had it happened?
I'd held on to that smooth, gleaming, polished brass handle, with its small dents and scratches of age, so many times. Pulling, turning, stroking. Even hanging on with both hands, lifting my feet clear of the linoed floor, bringing my face close to the yellow convex mirror and watching my nose become a huge snout on a streamlined face. The reflected image transforming a three year old's tongue into a pink carpet.
Now, tired of mishandling, the door was locked. That favourite plaything had rebelled and seized. No amount of force by hands - infant or adult - could make it budge.
My warm bedroom had become a prison cell. Outside my window the ice-cream salesman pedalled his 'Stop Me and Buy One' tricycle oblivious to my plight. I was hungry, alone, sobbing.
"Are you by the window?"
I was.
Crack!
The splintering door jamb released the catch and my prison was no more.
Relief sped me to my crowbar-wielding father as he stood in the open doorway - trying vainly to mask his smile with a stern expression.
"Come on, your breakfast is ready."
"What for?"
"Never mind what for. Just go to the window and look out."
How was that going to help?
Tear-drained eyes were sore as I comforted my snuffling nose on a maroon-striped pyjama sleeve.
How had it happened?
I'd held on to that smooth, gleaming, polished brass handle, with its small dents and scratches of age, so many times. Pulling, turning, stroking. Even hanging on with both hands, lifting my feet clear of the linoed floor, bringing my face close to the yellow convex mirror and watching my nose become a huge snout on a streamlined face. The reflected image transforming a three year old's tongue into a pink carpet.
Now, tired of mishandling, the door was locked. That favourite plaything had rebelled and seized. No amount of force by hands - infant or adult - could make it budge.
My warm bedroom had become a prison cell. Outside my window the ice-cream salesman pedalled his 'Stop Me and Buy One' tricycle oblivious to my plight. I was hungry, alone, sobbing.
"Are you by the window?"
I was.
Crack!
The splintering door jamb released the catch and my prison was no more.
Relief sped me to my crowbar-wielding father as he stood in the open doorway - trying vainly to mask his smile with a stern expression.
"Come on, your breakfast is ready."
Don't be shy. Tell me what you think! (1)
1. a reader left...
Tuesday, 21 December 2004 12:17 pm
Very interesting little story....Descriptive, I was actually on the edge of
my seat, NO JOKE!!!
Well written....By the way, thanks for the link to Santorini, you sadist!!! Just joking! Was nice to see pics of Santorini again but makes me miss it even more....What a beautiful place...