"Till we meet again

All my bags are packed
I’m ready to go
I’m standing here outside your door
I hate to wake you up to say goodbye
But the dawn is breaking
Its early morn
The taxis waiting
He’s blowing his horn
Already I’m so lonesome
I could die……………………………(John Denver)

I hate it when friends leave.

They have been here just over fourteen days, they have shared the highs and lows of mid summer, reminded me of why I missed them so much that they came, and now they are gone and the missing is even more.

Damm.

Why can’t we just live in one big happy future together?

As Simone reminded me at the airport; Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say good night till it be morrow. [Exit above].

Well in fact between us, all we could remember was the Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow bit, which for the playwright that Simone is remains a shocking lapse.

He made up for this by leaving his sandals - partly because of the airline luggage limit and partly because of their dilapidated condition. The baggage handlers might have said something about the smell too.

He also left a first draft of his new play which, given the flight time and hour difference, means I have about three hours to pass myself of as him among the nation’s finest theatrical agents and secure a financial future.

Other than that all that remains are the memories of the time that was shared and I will now trudge around the house picking up stray socks and staring at the cold ashes of yesterday evening’s last supper and fire.

The hole that they have left behind threatens to be physically filled by the presence of the unexpected extra teenage boy who seems to be living here at the moment.

Although I am often falsely accused of not listening closely enough to the conversation around me, I must confess I have no memory of being present when his appearance 3 days ago was confirmed.

However my ears pricked up when I heard someone utter, between mouthfuls of roast potato, that we had ADOPTED him.

I had been staring into the dying embers of sunset and fire but I was fully alert now. TWO teenage boys challenging my Alpha male status ?!?

“Er, adopted?” I spluttered.

Well things are darker than I thought. Prior to arriving in the bosom of our family he was evicted from within his.

“Er….when you say evicted, do you mean his parents just got angry and shouted at him to get out and once they get over the anger of the moment they will be phoning asking where he is?”

No one was listening to me, too busy stuffing potatoes into their mouths I guess.

“Er… do his parents know he is here….?”

My questions fell amidst the fading embers and sunset.

“How could this happen?” I was screaming at the fire now, “TWO people stealing my socks; TWO people eating all the cereal and TWO people playing loud shouty rap music?”

Surely his parents will realize that parting is such sweet sorrow?