Summertime Nostalgia By Toby Fermoy
“Now find your grandad,” she whispered into his ear. “Is my grandad up in the clouds too?” “Of course he is. I’ll show you.” Violet grasped his hand in her warm palm and they ran all the way to the docks from her house. They kicked their shoes off and climbed up onto his grandad’s yacht. The sky was littered with millions of shiny balls of fire. Tiny little sparkling suns. His grandad had told him that once. That the sun was actually just a star. They cleared the deck completely, pushing the stripy chairs aside, throwing oars out onto the jetty, and they melted their bodies into the woodwork. Sprawling out like starfish, fingers laced together as they stared up at the sky above. “Look Francis, there’s my mum.” Violet pointed up at the shiniest star he had ever seen. It was so twinkly that it did almost look as if it was winking down at the ocean. At them. At Violet.
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Francis scanned the sky. He tried to imagine his grandad up in there, jumping from star to star in a supersonic fire-resistant spacesuit. “He’s there. I can almost see him.” Francis pointed up at the moon. They both squinted up at the cosmos until their eyes began to water. And the water soon turned into tears. Big huge ones splashing onto the deck like a tap that isn’t quite turned off properly. They sobbed and sobbed and sobbed, curled up in each other’s arms until the moon left and the sun took its place. The knots in Francis’ belly uncurled themselves, and his heart stopped hurting so much. He knew that his grandad was gone forever. He wasn’t coming back. Not even after a million years. But he was there. Up in the clouds. Sitting on a lovely red and white striped chair on the deck of a yacht with a peanut butter sandwich pressed to his palm. His grandad was sailing across the moon hand-inhand with Violet’s mum, always watching Francis from a distance. And now Francis could watch him too. Every single night.
Bright skies And shining pavements Fill me with Summertime nostalgia
Now I’m older And when I go home for the summer I fantasise about All the things I wanted to do Five years ago.
And regret. For a time when Anything was possible But nothing was done. When I was sixteen, The bright, open, endless and optimistic world stretched out in front of my feet And I stayed home.
As I walk the streets that have stayed the same- but knowing that I have changedThe summer sun blasts my skull And fills my head with Summertime nostalgia Making me forget That one day I’ll be feeling Summertime nostalgia About today.
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04/12/2017 08:43