Apples and Pears
Got another letter today.
Don’t know who from. Don’t know where from. It’s just
another reminder. Just like the all the others.
Then.
Times were different and some say if you remember
what you were doing you weren’t there.
But I remember.
It was great.
Saturday nights dancing at the ‘Apples and Pears’
with all the other Mods and then off we’d all go Sunday morning, to Southend or
Margate, for a laugh.
But for me it only took one big mistake to make all
those good things stop and that was seeing that stupid card in the pub window
down the Old Kent.
All it said was: Fence wanted. Ask for Chick any
Saturday afternoon before closing time. Cash paid.
So for a dare the next Saturday, after listening to
new singles with the girls down Woolworths, I went over there and asked for
Chick.
Didn’t really understand what it all meant back then.
Do now.
So anyway I got another letter today.
Don’t know who sends them or where they’re from but I do know why they’re sent and I do know why they’re sent to me.
Now.
Down the market this afternoon people commented about
my sixties hairstyle and how it suits me, some even asked after mother.
But I don’t like talking, never did, so I just got on
with things. I mean; after all those years inside I’ve learnt to keep myself to
myself. And as for mother, well least said really.
So here I am.
I keep myself clean and live off the money I got
given on release. It’s what they owe me after all, seeing as how I’ve kept my
mouth shut all these years.
So when each new letter, like the one today, comes, I
read it just once, and put it away with the others.
There’s no way round it, I am what I am, a rich women
with no life.
Pity mother isn’t alive to share it with me
really.
Apples and Pears [ Draft ], from Tin Collector [ A Series of Micro Flash Fictions ] by Steve Coel, 2015.
