By Nia Wyn
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I wander through the aisles and buy the ones with happy babies on a golden packet. The checkout girl smiles when I go through the tills. ” she says. I can’t speak. Alex has been crying when I get back to the car. It’s just as it was before we left for the children’s center. As if we haven’t been away. The good luck cards are still up on the mantelpiece and the blue ribbons I forgot to take down are still clinging to the rose tree, though the blue has faded in the rain. As we walk back in, there is so little to show for what’s happened.
William had a rough start in hospital, Carol took life seriously, but I had serendipity, she said, the like of which she’d never known. Life just worked out for me without much effort on my part. Blessings fell like windfalls; boyfriends arrived like mail, exams were scraped through. I was the one she never worried for. I still can’t believe it either. Joe and Alex, all tucked up in my childhood bedroom, as I drain the dregs of the Moët, and watch the sky break over the pale pink mountain. YEAR TWO JOE IS a beautiful child.
Joe’s hand was shaking when she stood there, and for a moment, the briefest moment, I think I tried to hide it underneath my arm. When I came back in and closed the door, I thought my heart would break. My feelings are raw today, but there is one that cuts them to shreds. He is not my nightmare. He is my son. When the news comes on the radio it holds no meaning. When I look through the windows and the world passes by, it has no meaning. Only Joe has meaning. His skin, his smell, his breath and I am lost in him.
Blue Sky July by Nia Wyn