Memories.

As any responsible parent knows, you can see accidents waiting to happen. The spider-like steel igloo frame, its legs painted silver, with a bright cherry red eye at the top, was surveying its prey, and emanating an intense magnetism to the children in the park. “Hello” said the spider to the fly.
Jack dressed scruffily, like an extra from some Dickensian drama, threw himself with vigour and determination at the task at hand. Upon the first attempt he slipped awkwardly on the second rung, banging his shins. He would not be beaten. Determination secreting from every pore of his young lithe body, he tries once again. Onwards and upwards, his little legs pumping like pistons, firing him to his ultimate goal, until finally, arms thrust into the air in salute to his ascension, he reaches his summit. The perfect mountaineer, decked out in Beckham garments and ripped jeans, had come of age!
“Be careful Jack!” his mother’s words formed perfectly and succinctly came out as if spoken through a vocoder, and then played back at half the speed. The warning served as a constant reminder to ward off the frailties of life, but in this case went unheeded. The potential accident already registered in the mind of his mum, playing back in real time, ready to haunt her. A wave of guilt slammed into her heart like a runaway juggernaut - ploughing through a shop window. A split second before the accident, Jack turns to look at his mum, his sweet little bow of a mouth in a fixed grin, “Look what I can do mum!”
Shoelaces. Jack had not mastered the art of shoelaces and this was to be his downfall - quite literally. He tripped and fell headlong into the uppermost rungs of the climbing frame. He bounced like a ricocheting bullet, and then seemed to pirouette like a drunken ballerina in a quest to test gravity. The floors looming gape, ready to consume another playground victim.

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The restaurant was partitioned into four irregular shapes. This was a feature of the Victorian workhouse conversion, and it added a warm, homely presence to the once austere abode. The white oak blocked floor contrasting favourably with the deep plum velvet curtains and scatter rugs. In the far corner of the room - a bay window, partially adorned with curtains and a healthy fog of dust, still allowed the full moons lunar glow to shine on the polished table. Two red candles, welded with wax deeply into a pair of matching slim wine bottles complimented and almost upstaged the moons best efforts. A redolent air of garlic, accompanied by the pungent aroma of fried peppers, floats across the room, whetting the appetites of today’s customers.
Bev sat first, in the corner with her back to the wall ensuring a bird’s eye view of tonight’s people parade. She enjoyed her food almost as much as detecting what others were eating, and more importantly, what they were wearing! Tonight, resplendent in white, her bobbed ebony hair and perfect subtle makeup completed her. I had never seen her in this light before. She was glowing. I was lost in the sapphire, grey-flecked pools of her eyes. Abandoned to her sweet bell dream laughter.
“I love you”, she whispered tenderly, and it almost made me drop the ring to the floor. I had been fumbling uncontrollably with both the ring and my thoughts, for the past ten minutes, and the words, so carefully crafted and rehearsed earlier, now tumbled out as gibberish.

**-------**

“Dad! Dad! Are you filming?” Jacks little face, flushed red from carrying the double dingy water park ring to the slides start point, had a smile to die for. His mum accompanied him, as ever, and was busy settling the float in the shallow pool, which served as the embarkation area for the ‘Grand Canyon White Water Ride’. There was no doubt; this was the parks main attraction. Once they were both settled in their seats, a park attendant quickly manoeuvred the ring to the lip of the slides highest point. Over they come, spinning and slamming into the side wall, which in turn spins them in the opposite direction. I can hear above all else, Bev’s scream of glee, as I point the camcorder in their direction and follow their progress downwards. They soon pass me, so I utilise the cameras zoom function to good effect. As they approach the bottom, the liquid crystal display informs me that the battery is hungry, and without any more notice, goes on strike.

**-------**

The heavens opened on what was, until that precise moment, a perfect day. The two bicycles, Jacks to the front, and mine to the rear, matching each other for pace as they made their way. The macadam path; once at home to trains, now was the home for pedal power and not steam. We had climbed the four miles to the zenith, rested, eaten copious amounts of chocolate and drank ourselves silly on diet coca cola. Jack insisted on being the leader by announcing to the world “I’m the leader, I’ll say when to go!” a quote from ‘Mothears’ in the Disney classic ‘The Aristocats’. We raced ahead, oblivious to the deluge. There would come a time soon when Jack would no longer want to play, so for now, I relished every moment. Drinking from the cup of companionship until my thirst was fulfilled.

**-------**

The last stud did not want to go in. The starter motor had four studs, which positioned the bendex in line with the ring gear of the crank, and try as I may, the thread would not bite.

**-------**

“Two please love, and try not to burn them, you know how I like my toast!”


**-------**


Jack got out of the pool to rapturous applause. He had been swimming for thirty-five minutes non-stop and had accomplished his mission effortlessly. My heart felt as if it were expanding in my chest. I felt so proud. I looked to my wife and tears filled her eyes – she too, in awe of our offspring. I squeezed her hand and gave her my look; the one that speaks volumes. The one that relates my eternal undying love.

**-------**

The room is mostly white. There are no walls, just a drape, suspended from an oval wire support. There is a bed; engulfed in a pristine white top sheet. There is a small, frail human shape creasing the otherwise flat surface. Adjacent to the bed there is a bank of machines affixed to trolleys. One machine, an Electro Cardio Graph is playing a one sided game of tennis with a reluctant, fading heartbeat. Another regulates oxygen; its concertina-like pump creating a rhythm that no one dances to. In the bed, a comatose, skeletal waif, with a sunken sallow mien lies motionless. His face, almost grey in this monochrome environment, shows signs of a previous aneurysm; the left side mocking its counterpart with hideous effect.
Just then, the faintest of smiles appears on the right side of a wrinkled old face, which in turn sends a solitary diamond-like tear, slowly cascading to a slightly, one sided, upturned smile…….

The ECG flatlines, and somewhere, down the distant corridor; a buzzer heralds the end of a good life full of wonderful memories.


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