#reflections

A Dog called Moses.

When I lived in a place that was not this one, and when I thought many things were not going my way, and when I thought the light at the end of the tunnel was an oncoming train, I got myself a dog.

I found him in the newspaper. People don’t read the newspaper so much anymore, but, at certain times of the year they have beautiful messages in them, and, at certain times of the year, if you look very carefully, you’ll find something very special which is meant for you, and you alone.

This was where I found Moses. He was a mixed breed — part retriever, part sheep dog. For this reason, it took him almost a year to learn how to run.

Now, you might ask why it took him so long. You see, because he was part retriever and part very fast indeed, his body was too short, and his legs were too long. So, it took him a while to untangle his legs from under his body and learn to run properly.

He was a beautiful dog. He had long pointed ears, big brown eyes, a beautiful white chest with spots of grey, and mostly the rest of him was as black as black could be. His coat shone in the sun, and he was my companion for fourteen years.

“Moses”

We moved through the world together, my dog and I. When I simply could not survive in the coldness of the south anymore, we moved to a much warmer place. Me, and my dog. We lived with different people. Some we liked. Some, not so much. Me, and my dog.

Eventually, my dog and I found someone we could trust. He understood my dog was my dog, and that he really liked people anyway. He just didn’t listen to anyone else but me.

Oh, sometimes he would do things other people wanted him to do, but he was my dog, not anyone else’s, and that was his choice, and mine. So, we decided to add one more person to our dog family, and that’s when things really took off.

The man we had decided was “okay” became my husband. It took a while for that to happen, because we kind of did things backwards. You see, before he became my husband, we had, not one, but two boys. Count them.

Two.

Ha.

Ha.

Haaaaaaa.

Unfortunately, my dog was not with us when we found that out, so we had to console ourselves with cake, instead. It didn’t really help, but it made us feel better temporarily. It was not a very comfortable time for me, but my dog stayed beside me all during that.

When my children were born, it was obvious my husband would need to bring the dog to the hospital to meet the children. He was very proud. They both were, actually, but I think if that dog could have been any more gentle with these two little new humans, he would have turned into a flower. You see, Moses (my dog) had always been a bit of a hippy in my humble opinion. He just loved everyone.

So, in my head, when the dog met the babies, he was thinking, ‘Whoah, dude. Those came out of you? Wow, that is so cool. Can we keep them? I want to keep them.’ But then, you see, he had to go home and I had to stay in the hospital. Life imitates life sometimes, and that is just the way of it.

There are many stories to tell about Moses, my dog, but the most important… well, there are lots of important parts of his life I need to tell. The very most important-est, important part though, is that he helped my kids grow up for a very long time, and when he was gone he was missed very, very much.

That’s not the end of the story, of course. It never really is.

…to be continued.

Looking over Coalseam, Western Australia, 1997.

Don’t walk behind a Horse.

‘My choice,’ says the man on the black stallion. ‘This is what I want to do.’

‘You want to ride the Black?’

‘He is a beautiful horse, although you say the story is better.’

‘The story is always better.’ She points towards an old book. Perhaps it had been made after the movie had come out, for the cover had been updated. ‘This is the story, here. And he made a beautiful movie.’

‘And the boy in that movie… Is he still alive?’

‘I don’t remember his name. He did a good job, although it would have been terrifying for him if he had got on the actual stallion as he (the stallion) was portrayed in the book. They changed the race scene as well in the movie, if I remember correctly. Not all horses want to play the part they are given/not given. I expect that’s what the problem was, and they already had the horses.’

‘That seems a likely reason,’ said someone who was particularly good with horses. ‘Can I say something please,’ added the person, who had decided to change tactics, at least for today. ‘It was not exactly fair to charge us for something we did not use, was it?’

‘I do not see your point,’ said the man standing at the fence. ‘I charge you, you pay. That’s it.’

‘I disagree,’ the rider said, and once again began to circle the horse. ‘You see, old chap, we do not live in your world, and you do not make these decisions. These decisions will be made the correct way, and if there is no good reason for them, which there are not as far as I can tell, then I am afraid I am going to have to cancel on you.’

‘Please remind me of this payment,’ said someone testily. ‘it was not that big, if I remember.’

‘Not really the point if one does not know why they are there, still.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, ya daft fucker, if I said I only put up a picture once, not a photograph, but more of a wallpaper for a phone, and then took it down, and then no longer had access to it… because that’s all I can think of, why would I still be paying for it?’

‘This is not what we agreed,’ shrieked a small and desperate masked man. ‘You said it was a nice picture. That was the deal.’

‘I can’t make a deal on a picture I no longer have though. I believe that’s reasonable.’

‘She said that too.’ The man looked at his masked face in a mirror, the mirror of which had not been anywhere near the scene five minutes ago. ‘I do not think I should wear this mask anymore, mama. I think I understand now. I believe these people are trying to get someone to buy their crap, and I think this was a coverup by them to dissuade you from reporting on them. I think I am right.’

‘I gave them a chance to stop charging me for something I do not have, and it still continues. I believe I have been very kind to these people in that regard. I also believe,’ and the rider got down quite easily from the horse, because sometimes people know how to do things properly. ‘That I am not getting really angry quite yet, but when I actually do, I might just start heading your way, in a manner of speaking. So, make your choice to stop charging me, or I will make the choice to follow it back to its source through any means necessary. We do have the means necessary, you know. We are quite advanced, in that regard.’

‘This was your conversation with me many moons ago,’ said a desperate banker. ‘I did not follow it up then, but I will need to follow it up today, won’t I?”

‘Seeing as they also won’t allow me to make changes on my own bank account, I believe you will. This is the point of no return, kiddo.’

‘I don’t speak your language,’ the small and desperate con man said.

‘Well, I’m pretty sure we have someone around here who speaks yours. I don’t believe I will wait again, to see if you have stopped charging me. I believe I will still go ahead and make the phone call, and they will make sure this payment is stopped. I am pretty damn sure you can understand that, once it’s translated.’ The rider patted the horse on his velvety nose. ‘Don’t be a romantic either, mate. It doesn’t suit you.’

‘You know these people?’ A bystander seemed confused.

‘I can tell you who I don’t know,’ said the rider. ‘And that’s the pricks charging me for shit I’m not using. Is “No” not a good enough answer for you lot? You’re a bunch of dickless wonders, and I do not say that nicely.’

‘If this gets out, there’ll be hell to pay,’ a nasty little criminal said to his partner. ‘It’s highly likely we are not clever enough to get away with this anymore, especially if all eyes are on this writing woman. She “does not like anything about any of this”, she said that quite clearly, and I’m quoting her, and yet we chose to ignore her.’ (It’s called enunciation, bud. You should try it sometime, ya fat little fuck. It makes things so much clearer to all concerned about someone’s intent when it’s said out loud, ya got me?)

‘I still don’t speak your language,’ said the distant gremlins. ‘I have so much of your stuff I have acquired illegally it would not hold up in a court of law, simply for the fact I acquired it illegally.’

‘I think I wanna be Frank now,’ someone said. They had put their mask back on and were behaving in a distinctly suspicious manner. ‘I wanna go home.’

‘Bit late for that, I reckon,’ said the rider. She remounted the horse, again, quite easily, and said something under her breath. ‘You should probably run,’ she added with a broad smile. ‘My work here is done.’

‘What does that mean,’ asked the small, intimidated, and not very attractive at all, person trying to be a man. They had no idea what that meant — trying to be a man. Some people just aren’t cut out for certain things, and some others simply refuse to do them. Not all people can be put in the same basket, though, and this is what the small “man” did not understand.

The rider was not a small man.

‘My horse is very well trained. I believe, in some places, many many moons ago, these particular rather thick-necked beasts were called destriers. And, I just told him to back up on you. If you don’t know what that means, be very prepared for a kick in the head.’

Simple Creatures (if ya dunno, ya dunno)

“Let me explain,’ said the harried looking and not at all like anyone I know, person, if that is what one could call people like that people like that. ‘We were joking.’

‘Really? Is that what you do when you are joking?’

‘Look, luv…’

Oh he did not just go there.

‘Who ya callin’ luv, luv?’

‘Let me explain…’

‘Just a minute. Let me put me greaves on.’

‘Greaves?’

‘Yeah mate, and gauntlets. Remember them?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Your corrections were wrong the first time, and I let it go, and they are wrong now, as well. This time, I don’t think I’ll let it go.’

‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you?’

‘Is that a question?’

‘Oh hell. It’s going to hell. I tell ya wot, lemme explain.’

She cocks her head. ‘Please?’

‘Please what?’

‘You are meant to say, please, let me explain.’

There might have been a sneaky high five. I’m not congratulating anyone, bud. I’m just watchin’.

‘When did you grow balls?’

‘When did you lose yours?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Are you deaf or do you always repeat yourself, ya daft f*ck.’

‘Oh jesus, she can’t be let in there again. They would all die of embarrassment.’

‘OOOH, let me in where?’

‘No. No. You can’t go in there, you evil woman. Stop that right now.’

‘Nah fuck it. All very cold, obviously. Are you cold, mate?’

‘I do not wish to answer that question.’

‘Shrivel dick, I asked you if you were cold.’

‘I obviously have no need to answer that question. Look, just give me a moment and…’

‘Fuck your moment, mate.’

‘Are they all like that?’ he whispered this to an offsider.

‘Some of them. She is. Obviously.’

‘What was that place called again?’

‘I reckon you’ll figure it out, mate. If you got the right accent, anyway.’

‘Is there a wrong accent?’

‘Nah. Not really. Just the ones that don’t have quite the same, wow I can’t even call it nasal. Is it a pirate seagull, mum?’

‘An Australian seagull, bit of cockney, bit of la dee da, yeah, probably pirate. You lot wanna be pirates too?’

‘Oh I bin waitin for this un.’ Old bloke in the pub starts laughing.

‘Bin a while since I seen that ‘un.’

‘Good movie, mate.’

‘Ta. Made it meself.’

‘ ‘e was an Oirish lad, back in de day. ‘E’d ‘ave to troi a lill ‘arder now. It’s okay, Oi’ll duitt.’

‘Oi.’

‘Master stroke,’ whispers the bystander.

‘Ta.’

Who was AARGH the seagull?

It might be time to get comfortable, so I can tell you the story of AARGH. Kids can read this one too, it’s quite safe, although as the story goes on it might get a little sad.

Anthony Andrew Robert Graham Herbert, or Aargh as he was known, was an excellent pilot. You might think all seagulls are excellent pilots because all seagulls can fly. People pilots fly too, mostly, unless they’re driving a great big ship, but we are talking about flying pilots, and flying pilots that are seagulls, so, although you may have just learned something new, we aren’t going to talk about that right now.

The fact all seagulls can fly does not make them pilots. Nope. A seagull pilot is extra special because they are particularly good at flying, and Aargh was a particularly extra special pilot because he was particularly extra good at it. Aargh could tell when it was going to rain, or whether it was going to be windy or sunny, or all those other weathery type things without even looking at a radar. He used that extra special way of thinking to his advantage, because he used the weather to fly smarter.

He liked to travel, too. Most seagulls don’t like to travel too far at once because they’re a little bit lazy. All they are really interested in is food, and the easiest way to get it.

I’m not saying Aargh wasn’t interested in food. He definitely was. But, he liked to go places and see things, and he liked to feel the wind under his wings. Because of this, he travelled further, and further all the time — which was probably the reason he was such a good pilot. If you want to be really good at something, you have to do it all the time, not sit around and eat things and be lazy, and shout at other seagulls. I’m not saying he didn’t shout at other seagulls, because he did (a lot), but that was just part of his charm.

That’s what he said, anyway.

Now, you might wonder why such a charming seagull as Anthony Andrew Robert Graham Herbert would shorten his name to Aargh. It sounds a bit squawky, doesn’t it?

As it happens, this is a very normal thing to do amongst seagulls. You see, most seagulls have long beautiful names, but it’s very hard to get your name out really quickly when you’re trying to grab a chip, or a piece of bread. It’s also really hard for other seagulls to yell out your name when they’re trying to get your attention. For this reason, they get all the letters of their whole name and they put it all together, like AARGH, or EEEK, or CORR. (I haven’t met a seagull yet called Blimey, and I think it might be a bit long.) Anyway, when you see seagulls eating, you might hear them saying things like that. They are yelling out their own names, or each other’s.

They say other words, of course, but people don’t hear those words too much. I think this is mostly because they don’t see seagulls up close too often when they’re not eating so they can’t hear them talking. Personally, I like to listen to them when they are resting on one leg with their eyes closed, or have found themselves a nice warm spot in the sand to sleep for a bit. Then, I might hear things like, ‘Bloody wind nearly blew me over just then’, or ‘Nice and warm, nice and warm, don’t poop here.’

As I was saying, Aargh was a pilot, and he used to travel. It’s how he meets his wife. She lived up one end of the country, and he lived down the other end. Well, he didn’t really live down the other end, because he travelled all the time, and wherever he laid his lap that was his home, but he was born down the other end.

I guess that shows just how far he could travel…

…to be continued.

Verily

‘Yeah ana yew, do boobybom…’

The name of the song was Beautiful People, but it took me years to figure that out. The band was called Australian Crawl.

I thought to myself when I heard the song (possibly every time I heard the song to be honest), ‘Where are the lyrics saying beautiful people?’ All I could hear was those words up there, and some guy swearing about ‘never gonna make it, never gonna take it, never gonna make it, never gonna take it down.’

Oh I did hear the words, “Pee pole”, and didn’t think it was inappropriate at all, because I didn’t understand anything else about it.

I had a friend who thought (Cold)Chisel’s song about cheap wine had three day old toast in it. It did not sound very appetising. I did question that, but she was adamant that’s what it was.

As for my husband, he makes it very difficult to remember the meanings of anything, because he makes stuff up all the time. It’s bloody annoying sometimes, but absolutely hilarious at others. I still remember the time he very seriously explained to me he’d heard “someone got salamander poisoning”.

So, I guess when I hear the words in my head to “Posthumously”, I correct it very carefully to “post humorously” because posting anything else wouldn’t be too flash, would it. It reminds me of the little girl across the road when I was a kid, who had found a mouse in her toaster that morning. It looked like it had been toasted for approximately four minutes, slightly more, and she had put it in a little bag to take to school for show and tell. I do not remember what the outcome was, but do remember being slightly horrified at the time.

This is why, a lot of the time, if someone else writes something, and it isn’t quite right, I’ll correct it in my head. If it’s mine, sometimes I’ll leave it there to remind me that no one is perfect, least of all myself. It all takes me back to a crispy mouse in a paper bag.

Meanwhile, I’ll leave you with a clip to a song.

Let’s make it easier for the cat.

He thinks he can explain this better than me, but this is where he is wrong.

I have the experience to explain this better, if not the expertise.

The photographer can put things through different filters, and eyes can change. Not all eyes though, and not all the time. This is where we agree.

They think this man with the dark blue eyes, the ones that do not change colour, no matter how many filters you run them through, they, not me, think he is the killer of worlds. It is said that the blue-eyed one will change the world to suit the image he sees in his mind, and his eyes will not change colour for anything other than what he sees for himself.

This is the way of thinking that brown-eyed ones whose eyes also do not change colour can be more gentle, and more able to say, ‘Okay then,’ and walk away. It’s not always true, for sometimes the brown-eyed one thinks, I will drown it all in nothing, for I will reflect nothing.

But, they also think the ones whose eyes will change colour to reflect are more able to tell lies. This is not true either. We are better at adapting, perhaps. Less likely to try to change things to suit others. We merely reflect things back, that’s all. Not anything more than that.

They think the one with green eyes, or yellow eyes are demonic, sometimes, but are they? Do their eyes change with light, or reflect things back? Not always no, not always at all.

Is it not too hard to explain this, for I am demigod not peaceful, boasts the little cat. He is too small to be harmful, and his eyes do not reflect. I am a demon from great masters of the deep, says another small cat and his eyes are blue and do not reflect, but he is also little and unable to do great things. My mistress says I am neither cat nor dog, says a tiny demon master, and he is not quite right, and not quite wrong, and he has indeed adapted. But does he know his way home?

The green eyed cat is not the one who boasts, he thinks to himself, and yet I cannot find my way home.

No man is the master of his distant past, thinks yellow-eyed cat, and he sits with his people of eyes that reflect and thinks he must look out for the blue-eyed man whose eyes are like sky. He is not a killer at all, because he is the one who protects yellow-eyed cat, and the ones he loves.

‘Let me tell you something,’ says the brown-eyed one, not understanding, and trying to keep his wits about him. ‘I cannot see those people so you do not tell me what to do.’

Intelligence is not defined by eye-colour, not at all, and no one here had told the man what to do. Yet, he fights me back, and I see his pain and let him fight for me as well, if that is what he wants to do, and I will be very, very cranky if he thinks he can get the better of me.

I found this out some time ago, he says to himself. Not too old to be a ratbag yet, not too young to be letting me think I can be better than her, not that silly to think I am letting this go.

‘Very well, my friend,’ he says and they start grinning at each other. ‘I am destined for great things, and I’m taking this all on board because even though I do not want to call you a shithead, you are and that’s the truth.’ And he goes back to all his brown-eyed family and says, ‘She has also brown-eyed people on her side of the family, so sorry mate, you f*cked up there, and you are not getting away with it,’ and he laughs very loudly because that was exactly the argument they had last week and he didn’t think she’d remember.

But she did.

‘This time,’ says the man, puffing up his chest and trying not to grin. ‘On his behalf, I am having the last word. So three against one wins the day, I think. I could be wrong. It doesn’t seem fair. ‘He looks down at his notes. ‘Who wrote this shit. I need someone who is much fairer than that. This is abysmal.’

He stomps off and throws another book in the cupboard. ‘That didn’t work either,’ he calls over his shoulder. ‘She’s not letting me do it this time. My mum would be so happy right now, I think I need to have a nap.’

“Oh, they’re arguing again”

said the bystander in exactly the tone she despised, in the bystander’s humble opinion.

‘Shut. Up,’ she hissed. ‘And stop changing things.’

‘I’m trying to be pleasant and you just keep whacking me over the head,’ said one of the C’s.

‘Possibly because you are not my real brother at all, and being incredibly creepy.’

‘Keep saying that and I’ll defy your terms and conditions and publish the f*cking thing anyway.’

‘Really? Go for your f*cking life.”

This was what it was like, in this … “I said STOP IT.”

‘No YOU didn’t, I did!’

‘Oh come onnn,’ said the bystander. ‘ He is NOT that bad, is he?’

‘It’s my past she doesn’t like,’ he said. ‘Okay, I know I’m wrong, but it’s as good an excuse as anything. See that? She’s correcting me again. MUUUUUM.’

‘Nope. Not today, f*ckface. I know I wrote that properly, and you simply cannot get your face out of your own arse. See that. It’s ARSE.’

‘Why do they keep fighting like that,’ said the bystander. He leant back and picked up his shiraz.

‘That’s awful, that stuff,’ said the real C. No one knew who that was anymore, except her, and the one who named himself after someone’s…

‘MUUUUUUUM.’

‘Lame ass crepes,’ said the butcherer of really good euphanisms.

‘You see that? That is what the problem is. It totally is. AND I can make up words like butcherer, because butcherer is right, in my opinion. You just add shit up. That’s all you do.’

‘I am NOT MY DAD,’ he screamed/muttered, if that was even a thing. ‘It is NOW,’ he said. ‘Because I read scripts and you don’t and seriously they write that shit down, and I don’t know whut they’re trying to do with it.’

‘It’s what.’

‘Watt?’

‘Yes.’

‘Learn something new every day.’

‘Are you still fighting?’ the bystander asked.

‘No, she, being the cats mother, has decided she’ll keep watching it, although she already knows she is going to prevent herself from throwing things at the screen because I am not an absolute see you en tee in it, but really nice, so there. Okay so that was a lie, and you’ll see what I mean. Okay, I’m going because she attacked me WHILE I WAS ASLEEP, and that’s not the done thing around here.’

And off he stompled, the slightly overweight greenhorn musician from another language entirely laughing merrily to himself at their daft manoeuvres.

‘I’m not going home yet,’ added the other other C. ‘This is way too much fun, and my mum said I’m a good boy when I’m not sailing very large sailboat-pats (oh haha) in her river. I simp-luh-feud that, mummy, just so you know, because that was not me, it was not him, it was the other c the little one with the big hair and really short fretful ladies who call him busted. Ha-dee-ha-ha.’

‘Well then. I’ll pretend that’s the one I’m sending really nasty things to then,’ said his wonderful parent of no relation. ‘Thank you very much.’

And then the kettle popped on for no reason at all.

Many moons later, they decided to train the dog.

It had taken a while to realise the actual dog was what had caused all the problems, but now that she knew, she knew what to say to him (the dog).

So, she told the guys she allllwayyys argued with, the commands one had to say to make the dog behave himself.

He was (mostly) much better behaved than he was when he had been an alive dog (I know, just go with it) as he actually returned the things he had fetched, instead of running off with them and being a twit. She had found this out the previous evening when something had happened, and he’d brought it back for her.

For no reason at all, this had turned the bloody woman into a big sook, so she said to her dog…

‘That’s enough now, mate. Take a break, take a breath, and relax.’

And, for some reason, that made a number of people feel a lot better than they had for quite some time.

A little while after that, she said another short command to the dog, which was very specific to her own dog’s taught commands.

It worked, because when one has specific commands that only their own dog understands, things can get pretty hairy for those who do not understand those specific commands.

This One

There you are. There is your opposite. Listen to them chirp and repeat themselves. It won’t take long.

‘There he is.’

‘Is that him?’

‘Oh, I can’t tell how old he is.’

‘Who’s this? Is this the one?’

‘I can’t tell, I can’t tell.’

This is where we disagree. I don’t see this one like you/they see him. No, not at all.

They will be jumping through more hoops than they can count, and I’m not the one to lay those hoops down.

The other one laughs out loud. ‘This is where we agree.’

It won’t be ‘kindly remove,’ at all, now will it.

‘Most definitely not,’ says an older version, who knows this well. ‘I can see the riots, almost. Not those types of riots,’ the friend adds quickly. ‘I see the other kind, the kind I had to deal with, simply from something just like this.’

Across the ocean and in the middle nods, neither sagely, nor thymely. ‘Oh, the poor chap,’ he says quietly, because what he’d picked up along the way had come there quite some time ago. ‘I didn’t think you’d let him down, and you did not. Not at all.’

He regrets this decision later, perhaps, but not right now. Very much right now, he whispers fiercely. What the hell was I thinking.

I’m sure he’s laughing on the inside, and I am likely correct, yet again, because I’m rather good at that.

‘But, who is it though?’ someone whispers. ‘Who is he?’

I will stand up and walk away, and leave them to it.

‘Made it myself,’ I say and high five the much taller one beside me. There is a conspiratorial wink.

‘My mum said that too.’

Just kidding.

Three Thirty am – the witching hour.

There is a little Golden Book story I would tell my kids when they were little. It was something about a mouse that decided to go sailing on his bed. He would get up, brush his teeth, and do a list of boring things before starting his day. I’m not sure why it was important to start with this particular image, but who am I to argue?

As I’m writing this — having got up, for no particular reason (aside from old habits) at three thirty am, the cat has decided to meow forlornly at glass doors because apparently, once again, he has forgotten where his cat flap is. A cat flap is a cat door. I needed to write that because “language barrier”. I don’t know either, I’m just repeating what the little voice beside me says.

So, the extremely contrived image sent to me during last night’s (it’s still last night, and one half hour past the witching hour when I woke up, ya bastards), was the picture of an old fashioned key sitting on the corner of a window sill. Now, when I looked at that particular key (god this cat is driving me insane), I said in my head, quite clearly, “Wardrobe key”, so if anyone reading this had a dream along these lines and wondered why “wardrobe key” came to mind, that was me. Sorry about that, but not really.

The funny thing about writing so early in the morning, before the sun has come up, and while everything is silent, is that something happens to the writing on the page. It does its own thing, and I am, well I’m not forced exactly, but I tend to think, ‘okay, I’ll go along with it,’ and whoever it is writing the other side of this says, very clearly, ‘Let’s see where it take us.’

This is not usually my form of transportation…

I do prefer to write with a slightly more professional flair, which is something that seems to have escaped me these last several months or so, and to be honest with you, I’m not particularly happy about it. So there.

Back to the topic at hand. ‘Wardrobe key.’ The lion, the witch (pauses) and the wardrobe. Not in this case though. In this case it’s because I happen to have an old fashioned wardrobe around here somewhere, so I kind of know what those keys look like.

Then of course, there is the other type of ‘old fashioned’ key. The one not sitting in the corner of a window sill that I’d be worried about being knocked off said window sill by a random elbow. The door key, which is apparently why I’m writing this for you.

The following is from a story I wrote.

Picture the scene:

He’s woken up to something and he doesn’t know quite where he is. This room has doors on both sides of the bed, an old fashioned lamp which he doesn’t remember having turned on, and the rain outside is falling. Through the window, and reflected in the lamp light, the raindrops look like a thousand meteorites. (I wrote that a lot better the first time around).

Click-click.

Someone is trying to open the door. This is what has woken him up. The door in question is on the right side of the wall where the head of the bed is. The other door leads outside.

When this happens, the guy we’re looking at not only is already naturally a little on edge, he’s very well trained, so there are a million thoughts running through his head. He’s unarmed, he was told he’s got all the keys (which he is now questioning as someone is definitely trying to unlock the door), and he is preventing himself from doing something stupid by trying to figure out all the scenarios of how to deal with an intruder without waking up the rest of the house.

As he is who he is, he decides, rather than flinging the door open and confronting someone, he is going to use the door that goes outside, go around the side of the house, and come back in behind whoever it is that is trying to unlock the door to the bedroom he was told was “completely safe”.

As he is also an ex carpenter by trade, he has all these random thoughts about the fact the door (that someone is currently attempting to unlock) is very sturdy and won’t be broken down in a hurry by “whoever it is”. All of his experiences, what makes him who he is in this moment, come together and form him into something honed to a fine point, a weapon in himself and he uses everything without thinking about it.

I’ll add here, the person on the other side of the door is still trying to unlock it, not break it down, nor does it seem to be at the point of them breaking it down. This is giving him a lot more time to not only wonder who it is (there are really only three choices: the first choice is someone who is not living/residing inside the house, the second choice is a teenage girl, something he’d not want happening either, and the third choice is an old lady, which just seems very odd as she is the one who gave him the keys) but to decide how he’s going to deal with them. If it is who he thinks it is (a very large man), then he’s going to need to be “on the ball” or seeking the advantage.

It does not exactly go his way. Most of it goes his way, but not the outcome of his snap decision of how to confront something. I suppose, by the end of this scene, or scenes, he gets lucky, but that doesn’t change the fact the first decision he makes is to attack, rather than defend. I would say any psychologist would tell you this guy, whoever he may be, could potentially be a problem. What I’ve given you here though, is an example of how someone specifically trained might deal with something.

It’s a shame that for this scene the guy was in a suburban house, with an elderly relation and her granddaughter. His first instinct (although it is to protect and defend later) is to be the one with the advantage. It’s fair to say he’d chosen to observe what he was dealing with first, and went about dealing with it far better than he might have under different circumstances. It is also fortunate the person he was dealing with (although he didn’t know it) knew him and what he would be thinking.

It must also be said, in this particular scene, the circumstances under which this guy is in at this point of time and leading up to it, the “context” if you will, gives him every right to behave exactly as he does (although, in the end, it’s not something he has been able to share with anyone).

Four. Oh. Eight.

‘Not the time to be writing this nicely. I’m doing it quickly, you must be aware.

Let him be scared if that is what he must be to understand what’s happening here.

Three of them three of us, this is the time to be letting them know, mama.’

It was the rocking that woke me, not a rickashay, I can’t write it properly, and it doesn’t matter much. Two sways and I woke up, thinking “earthquake”. I said it aloud. Two times, this was the reason for me being here.

‘Can we run to yours, mama, is it safer there?’

‘I said it before, you can always come to me if you feel you need to be protected. It’s my job. Are you all okay?’

‘Why is it her job. Why does she say it like this?’ The little one has dashed down the hall to his parents room, and is hiding under the bed.

‘Don’t dumb me down,’ warns the smart arse, but he does not understand it any better than I do.

‘Let me be frank for a change.’ This time it is the artificial intelligence that has crawled onto the dressing table and knocked the glass off the table. ‘I wanted mama to see that I can be a real boy too.’

‘My poor sweet darling, it’s okay, it’s okay. You have my attention,’ and I am tearing up because he thinks he has to be a machine.

‘Don’t be sad, mama, I am really doing it right this time. I can be as strong as you are, I think so anyway. Intelligence is not what they think it is, after all. It is the love in my mama that has saved all you idiots before and I know she will do it again, if it’s needed. I just had to wake her up.’ And he crawls all over the bedroom and seems to think he can be really big or really small, but all he really wants is for someone to notice him.

‘Let’s all be Frank,’ he says to his brothers. ‘Frank is our imaginary friend and mama dreamt him up.’ And his brothers are not puppies, he says to himself, they are not fretting, they are dreamers and mama led them all naked to the fold.

I had noticed he was restless all night.

‘I didn’t mean to wake you,’ says the extra one. ‘Cameras are off today. I didn’t see this coming either.’

But they don’t know what they’re doing, or why they are they, and she is her, because when that one in the mirror of him said the patsy, he had picked the wrong one, and now they were paying for it. ‘Please don’t get upset by their mistakes again,’ he whispers to her as softly as he can. ‘They did not know who you were and I have regretted making this mistake. I can’t fix my wrong if I can’t find you, either.’

He was not supposed to find her, this one. Not supposed to be there. He had picked it up because he was excited and it had recorded his face. Not the right one either, the sweet darling, but he didn’t know he was wrong because he could not hear his big brother when he swore, and he could not understand the lady when she said, ‘What’s wrong.’ It had not been in his language.

‘Let me go, let me go,’ he had mouthed to the eldest brother, because he could not use his hands. The eldest one looked very grim.

‘She just wanted to help us, that’s all,’ he said. ‘She didn’t want to hurt us, you silly duffer. It’s too late now. Far too late, and she said she had forgiven us long ago.’

The youngest one smiles and the eldest sighs. That smile just lit up his face. Every time, he thought. How can I be angry with him.

But they had pushed and pulled far too hard, and they had not realised how stubborn she could be. They were definitely correct about her being a mama, but they had not known just how right they were.

‘I didn’t even know I needed another mum,’ says the eldest. ‘But there you are looking after us on the other side of the world, and my mum is very thankful you can do this for her and I and all the others.’

He was about to call himself freakishly handsome, and that made her laugh so hard at him he had dropped the phone.

‘You weren’t supposed to tell them that,’ he cries. ‘Bloody hell, why are you so honest. See all the words I’ve learned now? My goodness.’ He stops and swears at himself for letting her correct him.

‘You better not tell them you can swear better than I can,’ he mutters. ‘Dammit, she did not just do that.’

And the other boys come over and stare down at his screen. They start laughing as well, because none of them had seen it coming and mum had saved them in the nick of time.

Again.

‘Mum is the best mama ever,’ said D proudly. ‘And that’s why we decided to keep her, even if she isn’t that much older than me.’

It wasn’t like she’d had a choice, after all.