HOME

I let my bag drop down to the ground and tie Bobby's leash to the park bench; it's quiet, so I might have a couple of hours to myself. It seems OK here. All set, I'm lying on the grass in a happy daze. The sun is warm on my face, and I stare up at the clouds to make of them what I can; a cat, a tortoise. or is that more like a shark? I start to giggle; I remember this game. The drugs are starting to work again. I close my eyes and begin to transport myself back in time.

Here I am once again, still lying on the grass, still in a happy daze, but not because of the drugs. This is a time long before any thought of drugs. A time when the world was an adventure, massive and exciting and full of possibilities and when time itself seemed to go on forever. Perhaps I'll just stay here a bit longer.

The air is warm and full of the smell of fresh grass. I hear the distant sound of birds and dog barks and humming lawnmowers. I fill my lungs with another breath of summer breeze before I leap up from the ground and onto my feet.

I feel so light! I look down at my grass-stained knees and brush them off.

 I run to the back of the garden and follow the wooden fence skimming my fingers along the rough ridges, and then stop still to take in everything else I see. Fir trees outlining one side of the yard casting their shadow over the lawn like green giants. The flower bed neatly kept; a rainbow of colour made with forget-me-nots, pansies, geraniums and marigolds.

Then, there's that pond with its trickling fountain in the corner that Dad is so proud of. Let's have a closer look. As I approach its rocky edge, flickers of orange and red and white appear on the water's rippled surface. I dip in my finger and up laps one of Dad's koi carp, making a slurping noise with its huge mouth. The pond skaters busily dart here, there and everywhere; my eyes can't keep up! I use my hand like an oar to stir up the water, watching the waves and whirlpools form underneath my palm.

Quick as a flash, I veer back to the centre of the garden and drop down to see a pile of twigs, flowers and stones I've collected, all shapes and sizes and arranged just so. I pick up each stone to examine its shape and form. I whisk up a handful of flowers, and I throw them up into the air. In slow motion, a blur of pastels flutter, skip and dance around me. I spin on my tiptoes, and I laugh and laugh and laugh.

I can feel the sun dipping lower in the sky; it must be getting late now, probably time to go in. I walk to the back door and open it with that familiar creak. There is Mum, there in front of the oven with a smile on her face, ready to take my warm cheeks in her hands and kiss my forehead. This time I won't wipe it away.

 The kitchen smells like she has made something delicious; maybe it is one of her famous roasts.

Mum takes a cup and saucer from the cupboard, pops in a teabag, and then fills it with steaming water from the teapot. She gives it a gentle stir, spoons up the teabag and winds the string round and round again until she has squeezed its very last drop. A dollop of honey and a splash of milk is how she finishes my tea, just the way I like it. I'll come back for it when it's cooled down a bit.

I take myself to the sink to wash my muddy hands and glance at all her utensils drying off on the draining board. Her wooden spoons and her grater, her pots and pans, and my tin lunch box are there, having spent their day hard at work. I scoop up some soap bubbles left in the basin and blow them into the air watching a few of them escape off on their own, slowly floating up and away. That familiar smell of fairy liquid makes me smile.

I skip through the hallway and into the living room. Dad is sitting in his usual spot with his newspaper. His feet rest on that pouffe, and his back is slouched halfway down the armchair. He peers above his pages, giving me a wink. I offer him my cheesiest grin back.

I spin on my heels back out of the room and bound up the stairs two at a time, occasionally stopping to admire the photos on the walls. Mother is so beautiful in her wedding dress, and Father gazes at me lovingly in black and white. Then, I amble along the corridor and to my own door, where I am greeted with a sign, "Benjamin's Room".

My shelves are full of books, stories I always loved about faraway trees and pirate's treasure. Their covers are well worn but lovingly so. My walls are covered in posters and drawings, and silly notes. Let's look closer. One is a scribble of a cowboy complete with boots and spurs and a lasso; another is of a huge blue whale with what looks like a person in its mouth. Jonah, maybe.

I unbuckle my shoes so that I can leap onto my bed. It's soft and warm, so I close my eyes. Just a moment longer.

I am back on the grass again when I open them, yet the clouds have all joined into one. I can't make out any animals now, and it's getting darker. The air has a biting chill to it; my feet are freezing. There is nothing soft or warm left here. I stand up shakily, struggling to gather my hat and backpack, "Bobby! Come on, boy, it's time to get going again."