Walks

Buds and I walked up the garage tonight, it’s a bit of thing we do of an evening, we pick up some sweets and have a little bimble. The air smelt nice, everything is in bloom just now, there was a mild-cool breeze. I always look into the windows of the houses as we walk past them, look at the gardens and wonder who lives there. There’s an old ramshackle one where the garden gets all overgrown, it has old wooden windows that are half rotten away. Ivy grows all over it; as though enveloping and protecting it from the ravages of time. I’ve never seen anybody there, but I imagine an old hermit or hag dwelling there because certain things about it change from time-to-time. Perhaps it’s La Loba or even Baba Yaga herself that lives there. Or maybe a sweet little old man who time forgot.

We strolled into May’s chippy and ordered a bag of chips and some prawn crackers, then on the way into the garage we talked to Mark the guy who makes the ashtrays out of old Coke cans who was sitting cross-legged outside. He’d shown all his friends the article I wrote about him that got published in La Vida Liverpool magazine, and he always thanks me for that. In the article I say how he’s an artist, I still stand by that. Buddy bought some sqaushies with his own money. He likes paying for things himself, makes him feel more like a teenager. We left the garage and picked our chips and crackers up for the return journey. We shared the crackers, I watched how the streetlights create three shadows each on the floor, noticed the berries on the trees and how much the little guy had grown into a big guy. We stuffed crackers into our mouths as we walked and decided unanimously that they are far better than Doritos. Buddy said they taste like lobsters, maybe they’re lobster crackers I thought, then wondered if there is any actual prawns in prawn crackers. I don’t think there are.

As we got to the road where we cross, I put my hand out to stop Buddy from crossing over just yet and out of reflex he grabbed and held my hand, I was surprised, I thought he was much too big and too cool for that now. But it seemed natural to him, so I didn’t make a thing of it. I guess we’ve been doing that walk since he in a pram, so the old habits die hard. It was nice that he held my hand, maybe it was the last time ever and he’ll realise he’s too cool next time. I’m ready to let go now though. Someone once said that being a parent is like breaking up with someone over a very long time and if you’ve done a good job, when they become an adult they leave you. My friend Marvin was the first guy who ever talked to me about empty-nest syndrome. He was lost when his lads grew up and didn’t want to spend as much time with him, he had a full-on crisis. It was his funeral this week. Time is so short.

I’m going to try and let go gracefully with Buds, as his childhood evanesces I’m going to hold the moments mindfully. I’m going to write about the triple shadows and the can guy and the lobster crackers. And one day I’ll read this when I’m an old man and I’ll live these moments over again and smile. Nobody ever chooses to be a writer, it generally falls upon us like a shadow in some great misery or personal darkness. But one perk is that we get to time travel, so this write is for future Ged, maybe he lives in a ramshackle house, or maybe he married Baba Yaga (he’s dated worse). Maybe he can’t walk very well now and he pisses himself a bit. But I hope this finds him well and happy, and if not, I hope this story makes him smile, and he remembers how happy he was just walking to the garage of an evening and eating crackers.

Night Old Ged (-:

Ged Thompson