It had been Benny's idea to go to the park. He was trying to cheer me up. We had so much fun in the old playground over the years, even if the see-saw was far too big for us now, and the swings were covered in bird mess. Only the climbing frame was still suitable. Even that had orange rust around the screws, and the mat underneath thinned to concrete in several places.
We usually climbed to the top rungs, and looked over the sights of the city below. The bar, the nuclear power plant, the elementary school. Today the first clouds of a thunderstorm cast majestic shadows over the roads and buildings. The wind is already picking up.
But I cannot even gather the strength to climb up the first level. Not after grandad's funeral. The way they had kept the coffin open, and his suit had looked so wet and dark. It was not possible to equate him with the man I had hugged so many times. It could not be the same being.
These emotions are too complex for Benny. He prefers to hang from the top fruit bat style, his head pointing downwards, both legs wrapped around the iron bars, and talk.
Benny always talked.
Hey Homa had been on last night. It was our favourite show, and we always parroted the best jokes. I had missed this week’s episode of course. Benny therefore took it upon himself to tell me the entire plot.
‘So Homa is in the living room right, watching TV. Only he is meant to be in the kitchen for Bolt’s birthday! So Marj shouts through ‘Hey Homa! Come and see the candles!’’
The words filter through and out my brain. I cannot believe I will never smell grandad's shed again. His aftershave is gone. We will never drink another hot chocolate together.
‘Homa doesn’t respond, so Marj shouts through again. ‘Hey Homa! Turn off the TV!’’
Benny’s Marj impression is hopeless. Too nasal, too fake American. It grates on me anyway, but today it is unbearable. I have to remember he is being kind, but I want to grab his stupid head, and snap it off like a dead daffodil.
‘But he still won’t listen! And this is the funny bit. Marj shouts through ‘Hey Homa! Don't-‘’
The wind picks up again, and carries what appears on the horizon towards us. I cannot quite make sense of it. Yellow, with floppy limbs. Big flat eyes. That familiar grin, ready to eat every hot dog in sight.
He goes to Benny first, and gives him something like an upside down kiss. I am not scared. Instead this feels like the natural order of things after that coffin had vanished behind the curtain.
The fingers have the melted horse bone smell of cheap plastic. Their pressure is immense. I think of poor Bolt looking sadly over his birthday cake, and understand the word kinship.
Line: Today the first clouds of a thunderstorm cast majestic shadows over the roads and buildings.
