the pier

Here is the start of a little story I wrote:

She stared with wonder at the beautiful old pier as the waves caressed the pillars holding it up. She wondered how it was that her family, who seemed so dishevelled, was able, even allowed to be standing there. There was such peace and serenity to the pier. A grandness that came with the pier, as though it had been given the formal education at a good school. It just didn’t fit her family. It was for people who wore cream cinos in summer with polo shirts, flowing linen dresses and knew just how to do things just right every time. They were the happy people who didn’t get angry at their children when they were tired, every day. They were the beautiful people with beautiful clothes and good jobs, surrounded by laughing happy friends. Here she was staring at the antithesis of this beautiful perfect world on the magical grand pier. How was it hat they had managed to miss out on those vital life lessons that everyone else seemed to get? It was as though she and Bill spent their entire lives in a fragmented discourse. Constantly trying to understand what the other was trying to say or do with the children. There did no ever seem to be any smooth or direct conversation that other mature couples seemed to have. Felicity wondered sometimes whether they had just forgotten to grow up or maybe their parents forgot to teach them these final lessons. They were both lethargically passive, although Felicity did have moments of outburst that would and could be classified as downright aggressive and other outbursts that were full of energy. Her lethargy mainly came from shear exhaustion of carrying the whole family along.

Felicity wondered when Bill would realise that Jim their youngest really was interested in fishing and would really like it if he would too. She had told him, but it seemed to in one ear and out the other. It was the same with all the other things that the 4 kids were interested in. She could tell him about it, he would nod as though he heard and then it would be a complete surprise again the next time she spoke about it. All she wanted was for him to embrace an interest in the kids. No, who was she kidding. All she wanted was for Bill to take an interest in something. If Bill took an interest, a passion, a zest, a zing, a zang in something, Felicity may well find that life back in her eyes. She was just so bored with the humdrum of it all. To have to remind him of everything, saving the same thing over and over. It was a like living with at goldfish. She did quietly wonder if Alzheimer's had set in a little early. At lunchtime that day she had imagined his brain was just rotting and turning to a soggy grey spongy blob because it wasn’t being used anymore. No brain left by 45 years old. God, she felt weary. All of those years ahead to help with the homework to be left to her because he’ll be as helpful as a pig in shit. Felicity did wonder sometimes if she couldn’t just shut her eyes and open them and she would suddenly be having an intellectual conversation. She would hopefully be talking with someone about the very clever engineering of the pier, or the amazing craftsmanship of the pillars. Maybe he would be passing on the pearls of wisdom to the children in a calm patient and loving manner, gently touching and caressing their soft heads.

Leave me a comment please as to what you think!

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