Blue skies

Blue skies. (my thoughts crowded)

Under the largest sky I had ever seen, my thoughts crowded. Sifting the
sand through my fingers in a continual scooping motion, I smiled. The
softness beneath me and the surrounding stillness left me placidly
content. Reminiscence and retrospect are valuable cures. Only the chill
that clung to me from the sea breeze discomforted. In a simple gesture
I closed my eyes and dragged in air, only to exhale it in a long,
sinking sigh. The rocking sea lifted and fell, lifted and fell. I
welcomed his presence when he sat down beside me.

It was always the same with him, seemed the same, except instead of
throwing stones we now threw ideas. Waiting to gage the extent of the
impression, goading the other on. We touched upon the slightest things
and delved into vivid arguments but always remained together, as
together is. And there was always a subject that we skirted around for
it would be the end of childhood.

This was my first visit to Cornwall. It may be something vulgarised by
certain reputations, but for me it was simply peace and a reprieve.
Summer was erratic, snatches of places new and old. I did not spend
longer than one week in my home. Because I could not. And after every
escape, the return to my old presumptuous home became harder to bear.
The same rigmarole and predictability like a shoddy play seen far too
many times. I packed my bag with roughly the same possessions every
time, and for some reason this amused me. But each time it was
different things that were never used and noticed as a waste of space.
I left a bundle of these things in Cornwall, my last destination. And
they are gradually filtering back, through the post, but not from him,
for he is too disorganised - a shared family trait.

As we have grown older, our meetings are more infrequent. Saddening but
pleasing. Because I now know that no matter how long or how far we are
apart the same simple intimacy is mutually maintained. It is perhaps
the only instinctive love I have for any family member. And there it
is. Love. This time it arose and I did not want it to. Except that when
we spoke of it he had clearly thought of it many times before and I
supposed it was time. I am no longer in the remote idealising stage.
His paragon of love almost made me cry. I childishly wished that my
other 'he', at home, was only truly happy in my presence and complained
in my absence also. Clasping the black phone to my ear the next
evening, I told him excitedly of the venture and of the sky and my
having thought of him and to sleep tight. I walked back to the caravan
easy and appeased.

I loved the caravan. It is one of those stretched out ones that lounges
in parallel to the rest of its row. One of a pattern of many, all laid
out on the grass. I imagined the view from above was like the boxes of
shortbread fingers our grandmother used to buy. That was at the time-
maybe to be economical with water, way before sex-consciousness- where
we were bathed together. I once used this to frighten a girl. She had
mistaken my closeness to him for flirtation and tried to become my
rival for his affection. Bluntly, I told that I had already shared a
bath with him and was not interested in the slightest. To this day she
does not know we are cousins. And seriously, me and him and my sister
and his brother were all small enough to briefly inhabit the same bath,
though I cannot remember if it was cruelty or fun. There is a
photograph on their upstairs wall, in their London home, of the four of
us in the beige bath, all casual. All carrying a semblance of the looks
we have now. My sister fainted in that bathroom. She did not like
having her hair cut, but no one knew just how much. When the
hairdresser friend of my Aunt came round, my sister locked herself in
there and fainted. Though luckily when she re-emerged she could
remember nothing of the incident.

Languid days flitted by, as the pages of my book. Our beach was always
quiet, and the people who were there were screened out by the
windbreak. The rabble, by the second week numbering fifteen, nine from
our caravan, sprinkled around to enjoy differing pursuits. The three
little girls echoed my old group of friends: they were charged with
tensions and ferocious jealousies, jarring in the way a party of three
tend to. At that age it all pours out and adults are left to reassemble
the pieces, we were much older and 'we' does not exist anymore. I never
wanted such fickleness; my best friend stepped back and drifted. She
wanted freedom, I think I knew her well enough to understand why. So I
suppose she did not need to say anything, I just wish that she had.
After she left, the two of us remaining could not fill the gap and it
was only circumstance that held us together. Since we two parted, after
the last school year, our correspondence has been sparse and strained.
On my birthday, on our last exam, I knew it was the last time we would
be as friends. But these are healed wounds. They do not sting anymore.
And both are tucked neatly into my memory. The sea washed away
irrational thoughts, becalmed and slowly pacified.

Showering was comical. After buying a token for thirty pence, a
blue-doored shower was chosen. Now, after the token was placed into its
slot the shower would surge for ten minutes. So it goes. In fact it was
far more sporadic. So to ensure all was completed, undressing took
place before inserting the token. Standing naked on a pair of flipflops
- the floor was sludge decorated - the timer began. Leaping into the
shower every intention was done at brake neck speed. Soap in hair,
damn, wash hair again&;#8230;is there time for conditioner? How long
have I been in here... six minutes, seven...spludthump. It goes off.
Sigh. Better timed next time.

It took a while to become re-accustomed to having toilets and bathrooms
close-by at home. In Cornwall, due to the long traipse to the toilet
blocks, one waited until it was urgent. At home people were mystified
at my sudden dashes out of rooms.

I wished I did not mind how I appeared, but as it was the first real
acknowledgement of sexuality I vainly tried to look good. It really
makes little sense. I think I was highlighting that aspect of myself,
trying to validate it. I think. But I derided the vanity to myself.
When we ran to the lighthouse, I felt humiliated. I had brought my
entire running garb, he 'didn't run' so I convinced him to. He crossed
the finish long before me and I walked in with an unfit wheeze. My only
vindication is that I officially have asthma, but I did not know that
then. Now, ten minutes before I run, I suck on a stumpy white tube that
clicks as it releases each dose. What was laughed at most was not the
pathos of my attempt but the disrepair of my feet. We ran with out
trainers that day, neither of us had brought any to the beach, and he
had assured me it would not matter. His feet were worn by years walking
bear-foot on the Cornish rocks. Mine proved more delicate. But I had
felt no pain as I ran. Delayed it was coaxed by the salt water and then
I could feel every minute cut like gaping holes exposing the ends of my
nerves. Or some such agony. And my left foot was somewhat inclined to
the right, twisted at the ankle and unyielding. I limped back, one arm
around his shoulder.

The nights were all capped by a cascade of conversation. The
partitioned bedroom was ours so as to furnish the night with our
thoughts without disturbing the peace of others'. Generally there was a
knocking on the 'wall' to indicate a command of quiet after only a few
minutes. Half an hour later we could talk all we wanted, for their
harmonies of snoring were loud enough to create a balance on either
side. Often it was getting light as we passed into sleep. We compared
families and especially fathers, our mothers are sisters so no
surprises at their likeness. It was a shame to admit that I have no
relationship with my father. It is a shame that it is the truth. I told
him -once again a first- of the story, the story. Oh, it is nothing to
disturb, not at all, just a justification. And everyone it has been
told to can see the natural dilapidation of a relationship that would
follow. Words can change an entire life if they come at a crucial time.
I stand as an example. He began to console me but I laughed, I do not
want to be histrionic, I told him, I just wanted to explain. Most
people do not understand that. So I tend not to explain. He carefully
reminded me of the freedom that lies ahead and the morning sky told the
same.