The summer of death

It was the best summer on the island for 27 years. A summer of midnight walks, patios, barbeques and swimming. It was the summer mother died.

One doesn’t forget the phone call that made him an orphan. Pamela: mother’s live in nurse , shattered the beauty of a Sunday afternoon. 

John I am sorry, your mother just passed away, I am sorry. Said the sultry blonde voice over at the family’s house. Mom, gone, vanished into oblivion

John are you there said the blonde voice again. Me an orphan at 40: not 4 or 14, but at the geezer age of 40

I am coming, don’t call anyone. I said, see you in a bit.

Sara  just comes in from the patio in a flowing cotton green summer dress , bringing out the brown of her eyes. What is going on John ? The question twirling and spinning in the vacuum between us., and a tear dropped from my eyes. I couldnt say more,  shroud of silence enveloped me. She came closer, her tanned arm around me, engfing me in a wave of warmth. It’s ok love, she was old, she’s in a better place. You better get changed.

Changing ..metamorphosis from gay bright clolours to sombre and melancholy in 30 seconds. Black dress pants, dark grey shirt and black oxfords. Cross pen in my pocket. A dab of aftershave behind my ears. Black aviator sunglasses. Keys and wallet. Quick kiss on Sarah’s lips, love you, walking out the door.

To be continued


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