Feeling totally confused, Jaxon lay there. He could hear lots of noise, occasional conversation that seemed to be about him. His eyes refused to open; where the hell was he? Drifting off, the bleeps seemed to soothe him.
Out of nowhere appeared a boy about his age, wearing funny clothes like you see in the black and white photos his mam had. When he started to speak to him, Jaxon’s mind went into overdrive.
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Red and gold, green and yellow. Riotous explosions of colour, searing through the night skies against a backdrop of the universe.
“They’re beautiful, Momma,” she whispers, bundled up in her best winter coat, with mittens keeping her fingers warm, holding hands and staring in wonder.
“I know, baby,” I say, checking my comm bracelet, anxiety spiking. It’s linked to his.
“Where’s Daddy?”
Thinking back, we should have expected it really.
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A new message flashes. The little icon with her photo, all Bambi-eyes and dimples, sets his heart racing. And then there’s that other feeling. The one he shouldn’t have for someone her age. The one that twists his stomach and clamps his jaw tight.
The curtains are drawn, as always. His secrets fester like bacteria in the stale air, seeping into the furniture. They clutter every surface, filthy as the plates that litter his room. He cannot risk them spreading beyond the confines of this house. Not like they did in the old neighbourhood.
These new neighbours seem friendly. They posted that ‘Welcome’ note through his door, with the link to the community Facebook group. That’s where the fireworks display was advertised. And where he found the laughably easy to access local youth chatroom. Honestly, this lot could do with some internet safety training.
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If you ask me, you can’t beat a good pilgrimage for a leisurely outing offering structure and purpose. It is a bit like the Ramblers but with fewer hills.
Maybe we can agree that what’s needed for a good pilgrimage is a common destination and plenty of people to talk to along the way. Yes, alright, a decent pair of shoes, maybe an umbrella, a level of hardship and precarious access to toilets and food all help with the authenticity. Shared purpose or religious intent are sometimes valuable in holding things together.
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A small group gathered by the gate shaking their heads in subdued silence. Each wore dull colours and sensible shoes. Some clutched bunches of drooping spring flowers which mimicked their own demeanour. Occasionally little bursts of conversation gurgled to the surface. It wasn’t a day for the customary jovial exchanges.
It took me completely by surprise. If I’d known, I could have taken better care. Could have covered things up a bit.
I know. There was no real warning was there? Now I’ve lost everything. I’ll just have to start all over again. It’s just so sad and upsetting.
Well, we’ve all suffered the loss in different ways. For me, it was my special Marguerite.
There were early attempts to pick up the pieces and put forward a more positive view of events. After all, not everything was completely lost and there was time for most to begin again.
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