Sunday, 21 December 2008

Time Travel (Something Cherished)


Good doors, bad doors, three memories, good doors next.

1. I’m in my forties in one of the stations in Paris. I’m travelling with your daughter, she needs a pee and the toilets are strictly women only. I send her through the automatic sliding doors then poke my head through to make sure she is ok. They close around my neck. No damage done.

2. I’m in my thirties, our first date, New York City, a trip to the cinema to see Back to the Future. We buy our tickets and walk downstairs to the screening room. As we enter the dark through the open door I look up and written large above it: The Future. No hesitation


3. I’m in my teens, in the church for Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. I went on my own, sang and took communion. It must have snowed heavily during the sermon because as I stepped out the door to go home everything had changed white. No footprints.

No sound.

Silent Night.

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