A Moment In Time.
Alex felt the heat of
a scorching red sun beating down on the back of her head on a dizzying hot
summer’s day. And in the all too familiar
headspace of another unwelcome trance the flashbacks came.
This time Alex was
looking back at the school playground. A
place where lifelong friendships might be forged or perhaps moments that shape
a person into what they later become. There
stood a 7-year-old boy and a slightly older girl. The boy stood quite still, wearing little
round glasses with brown plastic frames.
He lifted his hand and shielded his piercing blue eyes from the sun. He was a skinny specimen in grey shorts with
elasticated waist, a crisp white shirt and knee-high socks. Alex looked back at her childish self; she was
somewhat taller and thicker set than the boy, her curly red hair pulled back
into a bunch with a bright blue bobble. She
was wearing her red check summer uniform and she carried a pink skipping rope,
which dangled down from her right hand.
‘Move’ she said forcefully, standing directly in front of him. She stood firmly, hands on hips, her pretty
face contorted with contempt. The boy
stood still, rooted to the spot. Alex enjoyed
the feeling of power she had over the boy especially since so many other kids
teased her for having ginger hair, pale skin and freckles. She was taking back control. This was not the first time she had picked on
him; he was a pretty easy target. ‘Are
you deaf as well as stupid’ she said poking him in the chest with the plastic
end of the skipping rope. ‘You could go
around me’ he answered, standing up straight and growing in height and confidence. ‘The playground is big enough for
everyone’. The girl’s face reddened and
screwed up with rage. She took a step
forward and leaned in towards him spitting in his face as she spoke ‘Give me
your lunch money you silly boy. You look
like a monkey with your stupid hair and your sticky out ears. Do it now or you’ll be sorry.’
The boy thought for a
moment and chewed his lip. He fiddled with the coins in his pocket and with a
considered look on his face he finally held out a two-pound coin in his sticky
hand. He breathed deeply to stop the
tears, which were forming in the corners of his eyes. As Alex went to snatch it from him he curled
his fingers back around it and silently put it back in his pocket. He turned from
her and walked away but as he did so Alex whipped the back of his legs with a
sharp thwack of her skipping rope, the cheap nylon leaving red welts on the
backs of his knees. ‘That’ll teach him’ she thought as she waited for his
response. The boy didn’t falter, he kept
walking and he didn’t look back. She was
momentarily puzzled. Why hadn’t he
cried? Why hadn’t he challenged her? He had turned the other cheek. This was bravery.
As quickly as the
flashback came, it had passed and in it’s place another. It was a cold and crisp autumn day. Alex’s dad was pushing the rusty red bike
through piles of red and brown leaves on the pavement outside number 47. The stabilisers had finally been taken off. ‘If you believe in yourself you can do it’ he
called encouragingly, his hand cupped by the side of his mouth, as she began
wobbling down the street on two wheels for the very first time. Dressed in warm clothes and wearing kneepads
and helmet Alex started pedalling hard, wobbly steering giving way to
confidence. ‘Yes!’ Her dad shouted ‘Yes! I knew you could do it’. As the bike gathered pace down the hill Alex
thought she saw the familiar face of a boy wearing glasses watching her. At about the same time, she realised that the
brakes were failing and as her concentration lapsed both bike and rider
clattered in a heap on the pavement. Alex
stood up and brushed the leaves from her woolly jumper. She was embarrassed having fallen but she
waved at her dad from the bottom of the hill and grinned despite the bruised
knees and grazed knuckles. She looked
around for the boy. He was standing
beside his own garden-gate half way down the hill. They exchanged shy smiles as the boy clapped
lightly to congratulate her bike-riding success. With an extraordinary feeling of self-belief never
previously experienced, Alex ran back up the hill with the bike. This was confidence.
No sooner had the
positive sensation of confidence settled then the desperate and unnerving
whining noise of an animal in pain flooded through Alex’s mind, like a tidal
wave, sweeping the optimistic mood of the previous memory crashing to one side.
Barnaby lay on his
side, wrapped up in a thick red jumper.
He shivered, his eyes opening now and then as a tiny whimper escaped his
mouth. The elderly black Labrador foamed
gently at the mouth while the boy and the girl sat cross-legged on the floor,
side by side and tempted him with water, squeezing a sponge between his lips
one last time. Barnaby was the boy’s dog
and he was leaving. He had been poorly
for weeks and nobody could bear to see him hurting any more. The lady in the green veterinary nurses uniform
picked up his weary body and gently carried him to the table. Family and friends crowded round, each one
holding a paw or stroking their friend Barnaby’s grey chin. Salty tears rolled silently down the faces of
‘his people’ as Barnaby slipped gently away from one world and unseen by the
family bounded into the next, released from pain and suffering. Alex
reached out for the boy’s hand and squeezed it gently. Through the dream-like haze, Alex felt the
prickle of new tears forming at the memory shared by two childhood friends. This was loss.
Looking through a
picture window into a small cottage Alex watched as another moment in time
flashed before her. He was big and
strong, much changed from his gawky younger self. He was tall, manly and wearing a smart
suit. Alex matched him in height, her
demeanour displaying a gentleness brought on by maturity. Her thick red curls were pulled back from her
face leaving wispy trails just at the sides.
She wore a white cotton dress and no shoes. A ceiling fan above them gently circled,
cooling the oppressive summer night.
They began swaying gently together as the music played. The sultry sound of At Last by Etta James
filled the room. Alex looked on and
drank in the familiarity of the scene. A memory from a life filled with exceptional
moments. The man took off his glasses to
reveal his pretty blue eyes and pulled the girl towards him, his lips gently
brushing hers. Their eyes locked as they
moved slowly back and forth in time to the music. He took her hand in his as they edged towards
the bedroom and he tenderly touched her cheek.
Electricity filled the air as a storm brewed. She smiled at him, an unmistakable look of
adoration and complete and utter love. He
led her into the bedroom and gently closed the door as thunder grumbled and
lightning struck. This was love.
One memory merged
into the next as the thunder grew louder. Alex watched, unable to move, unable to do
anything as the image of war played out.
It was baking hot and the air was dusty and dry, so dry it caught in
their throats. The muffled sound of gunfire
and exploding grenades in the distance suddenly replaced by an almighty intense
flash of orange and a deafening boom.
The dirt-covered truck was thrown by the full force of the explosion
onto its side. Panic ensued. Sound became muted, barely audible. The medic with the thick red hair, tied back
with a blue bobble ran to the aid of the soldiers in the truck. Everyone else ran the other way, arms gesturing
her to safety. Alex was alone as she
reached the silently smouldering truck and frantically searched, hands desperately
clawing at the wreckage for signs of life.
There was none. And then she
found him. Once so big and strong, he now lay there broken and bleeding, barely
breathing. She gathered every ounce of
strength she could muster and pulled him to safety, dragging him like a doll
and shielding him as best she could. The truck exploded and the man’s glasses
fell from his pocket and onto the dirt.
One final blast as shrapnel flew through the air and life ebbed
away. This was death.
Alex gulped air into
her lungs frantically, her heart beating wildly against her rib cage and her
eyes flew open. The pavement rushed up
towards her face, her red curls flying out behind her.
The broken man in
uniform, clutching a two-pound coin had reached out to her from beyond the
grave in her final moments and reminded her of special shared experiences. They had grown together, the awkward little
boy and the feisty red head, and Alex had loved him more than anything. She had loved him more than life itself and life
had tortured her with his loss. In that
split second as the pavement at the foot of the tallest building in the city
greeted Corporal Alexandra Stone, she remembered love, she remembered bravery,
she remembered all that she had learned with him and from him. She knew he had made her a better person and
as her life drew to a close she wished she could have taken one step back
instead of forward. This was regret.
