Leaving the frame

To walk away is the only way I can react to them. I don't know why -
I'm 35 and supposed to be a grown up. Why should my parents inhaling
the air of my place have this effect?
Is it simply that the air they breathe out changes everything?

It's a cold bright day, and my Dad has drawn the curtains so he can
watch Ceefax on a screen uninterrupted by sunshine. In the rectangular
strip of light are dust particles swirling, which I once took for
faeries. He's been doing this for over half an hour. Regional news,
weather, gardening tips, sports results. He grasps the controller,
raising and lowering his head to get the best value from the enormous
square rimmed ("but lightweight!") spectacles he bought yesterday from
Boots the Chemist.

At the other end of the settee sits my mother, smaller than life,
listening to a chat show, sound only. She keeps upright on her lap a
mushroom coloured structural handbag, as though left unattended it
might escape and defile the carpet with hairgrips. Her index finger
strokes the clasp gently from time to time. She could be deep in
thought but I know she's just waiting. Something she's been doing since
my father retired. The lunch they planned for today, cold meat and
undressed salad won't take so long to prepare. The future is already
turning out as planned.

It isn't a conscious decision to leave the house.
I open the front door as silently as possible. And then I find myself
walking. Down the street where everyone knows me and past that to a
land full of strangers. Fresh uninvolved air. The town centre. Puddles,
mobile phone shops and people conducting surveys.

I worry that I night be thinking aloud.
Normally I wouldn't glance twice at the shops, today their brash
modernity is enticing. I try on some track suit bottoms winceing to see
how they broaden my hips. It's because of those built in pockets. And
because they have a gathered waist. My parents would prefer that child
bearing look.

I must be such a disappointment to them.
"It's a long while since you had a boyfriend!"
"Do you never get lonely staring at these four walls?"

Of course it's greed on their part. They have grandchildren
already.

Simon left my sister and their three kids one morning almost a year
ago. I imagine him walking along in his wrinkly nylon suit with a
bagful of bottles.

He lifts each one up to the light and squints at the labelled slits in
the bottle bank. Green . Brown. Clear. What the hell is this then ?
Greenly brown. Green. Brown. He makes a quick decision and lobs it down
the 'green' hole, extra hard to make a pleasing smash.

Then he turns and walks along the main road instead of crossing back to
Halberd Road, always looking ahead. An ordinary guy.

Isolate him within a photo frame for a moment so you can focus on him
better. The bastard. Just a head and shoulders portrait. Quite deep
lines over his nose. Hawk-like. Not a weak face.

"It's hard to believe isn't it! Says Dad replacing the glass over the
cucumbers, "Not that I'm at all surprised.........."
"He never did fit in with the scheme of things. I don't think he even
tried " says Mum.

Now the frame is empty because he walked out of it and a voice over
tells you what he's thinking. In fact nothing. His mind is blank. If a
thought surfaces he will sing a chorus to mask it. Everything he does
for the next couple of days will be decided by the last thought he had
before asking Erin if she had change for twenty quid. He's in shock but
his walk is relaxed and carefree to the casual observer.

Of course I can completely understand him now.