Author Topic: Gang Dec 22  (Read 152 times)

Ezyman

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Gang Dec 22
« on: December 21, 2019, 09:16:21 PM »
It was a great gang, whŤn we were young. Peter Wolf, Graham Abbot, Mark Colvin and the son of the hairdresser whose name eludes me. The world was ours. As soon as the school bell had peeled we would race to our respective homes and change into something less formal. The football field next door was the agreed meetup spot. Sometimes you'd get there just after the pitch had been mown and the sharp edge of cut grass would be on the air, maybe competing with the sunny haze of British mid summer, at other times the white lines had been chalked in and it would stick to your clothes if you rolled on it saving a goal for 'the cameras'.

If not playing soccer the gang would venture down to the grounds of the private school...Wellington College. There was an ornamental lake and grounds that stretched out in what seemed to be a victory mile. In winter when the lake gathered film of ice, we would dare and taunt each other to see how far we could walk. The ice was slippery wearing rubbery 'Wellington' boots and breath was held listening for the defining crack. In hindsight it would have been no more than a few feet deep.....

roeknowsbest

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Re: Gang Dec 22
« Reply #1 on: December 22, 2019, 03:53:18 PM »
Sneakers and the touch of skin in a heartfelt hug or handshake. So tightly-knit the thread or yarn could never be unraveled unless it was deliberately cut or set on fire. The bonds are mostly weatherproof. Wind just barely cuts through. A quilt of sisterhood, brotherhood, siblinghood. Feel how feet hug the earth one step after another patrolling a piece of land that is ours, owned by mind to renegades. Any other rules are cancelled out and fall short if they arenít our own. We walk close to share body heat because no one should go cold in winter. No sibling of mine. Pride, warm beating hearts. Incredulous thought at hypothetical betrayal. Who would do that when we donít have fathers, when we donít have mothers? The closeness never achieved with family we achieve everyday now. Live and die by it. Isnít that what family is? If there was no death, no possibility of it, how would anyone take this seriously? The promise of emotional stability is a steady game, even if it lends itself to emotional irrationality. I see a crowd of people I call family, that call me theirs. Hear their unique voices in my head so I may remember all their names. Taste the promise of tomorrow in this honeymoon honeyed head. Where everything is pure and nothing can go wrong. But after death all the blood drains from my face and I am shallow. I fall to my knees on cold grey winter pavement and place my hands on pre-crime scene street. Where the cement has taken payment in blood for our ownership. I mourn the loss. And feel the wetness of the flood spilt, but it does not transfer to my own hands.

 

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