Elana imagined a world without money. A world in which she could eat at the Food House, where the daily smells always made her mouth water. She’d savour each bite before letting it fill her groaning stomach. Then she’d wander the market and enjoy loukoumades, her fingers dripping in sweet honey. When her stomach ached from goodness, she’d lie on a cool marble slab at the bathhouse while someone gently eased the knots from her shoulders and stroked her hair.
Elana pushed through the crowds to join the line at the church. Perhaps today they’d have enough soup for everyone.
I’ve never done this before. Coming over in the cab, my late Grandma’s voice was nagging. What if he’s a weirdo? What if he’s married? In my day, you didn’t just meet a man and go home with him.
Thanks, Grandma. These days, it’s this or the internet.
And it’s firmly a bachelor apartment. Most of the books look like props, unopened. Never read. But a couple show years of love and those might tell me who he is. Les Sept Femmes. Not one I know, but a quick google is enough. He reappears, grinning, as I grab my coat.
We’ve recently introduced my 2 favourite real-life boys to a bit of our childhood. It’s amazing how different kids’ tv was in those days. So I thought I’d introduce my 2 favourite fictional boys to the same bit of nostalgia. They seem to have enjoyed it…
My A Team
“I ain’t goin in no plane, fool!” Luke shouts, tying the broken crate onto the wreck we found.
“D’ya fix the transponder, BA?”
“I don’t actually know what that is,” whispers Luke, dropping out of character.
“Doesn’t matter, we gotta finish this tank before those mudsuckers get here.” Matty chews the popeye cigarette that’s acting as his cigar and props the scarecrow back up. “Look lively, Face, we need those cabbage guns ready.”
Face slumps again but Hannibal leaves him because the local air ambulance flies over at that moment.
“Murdock’s back. I love it when a plan comes together!”
In the dream we’re falling. She’s a tiny bundle in my arms and we fall and fall until I don’t know whether I’m terrified or grateful that there’s no ground to hit.
Her cries pierce me awake and for a moment we’ve hit the ground but no, we’re in bed and she just wants a drink or a diaper, or maybe she was dreaming too. For that microsecond she’s all there is: even outside the dream there’s only her and me.
But then the world comes back, and there’s her, me, and the gaping hole where her mother should be.