Last And First Contacts (Imaginings)
“Dying, I mean. I’ve always found it hard to believe that things will just go on afterwards. After me. That the sun will come up, the milkman will call. Will it all just fold up and go away when I’ve gone?’These were the first words his mother said to Simon, when he got out of the car.She stood in her doorway, old-lady stocky, solid, arms folded, over eighty years old. Her wrinkles were runnels in papery flesh that ran down to a small, frowning mouth. She peered around the close, as if suspiciou...s.Simon collected his small suitcase from the back of the car. It had a luggage tag from a New York flight, a reminder that he was fifty years old, and that he did have a life beyond his mother’s, working for a biotech company in London, selling gen-enged goldfish as children’s pets. Now that he was back in this Sheffield suburb where he’d grown up, his London life seemed remote, a dream.He locked the car and walked up to his mother. She presented her cheek for him to kiss. It was cold, rough-textured.‘I had a good journey,’ he said, for he knew she wouldn’t ask.‘I am dying, you know,’ she said, as if to make sure he understood.‘Oh, Mother.’ He put an arm around her shoulders.MoreLess
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