Hitheron and Otherwhere.

The very first time, I don’t remember – but the last time I saw my sister was an hour ago.

Right now I’m in the kitchen, writing this, and she’s in the sitting room.

Sitting.

I’m sitting too in fact.

There has been no argument – in fact today we completed a compatibility quiz and found ourselves to be.

It’s just that she’s watching a film and I’m not.

She arrived here on Monday morning and – among other things- has interrupted the flow of post in this series.

She leaves tomorrow.

The next time I will see her, after that, is anybody’s guess.

We think it will be before too long, but that could be a long time considering that she lives over there and I live over here.

Besides, she is planning to be elsewhere sometime soon and I intend to be other-where before that.

Other-where is one of those words that I’ve just created, which hither-on (another) will be spelt without the hyphen.

Hitheron.

Otherwhere.

Lucky not to be in Jenny - a ninth part of a series.

Ok- hitchhiker.

Last time?

Yesterday.

“Are you going to the village?”

“I’m going near the village. Nearer than where you are now.”

“Cool.”

Brmmm – wobble, wobble. I’m driving Jenny (a van, someone else’s). 

Jenny wobbles.

Or maybe it’s a shake. It’s certainly a bounce.

“How long have you lived near the village?” The hitchhiker bounces.

“Thirty-five years. Do you live in the village?” I bounce.

“Near the Stadium.”

“How long have you lived there?” It seems appropriate to ask. She started it.

“16 years.”

We both bounce.

“Where are you from.”

“England. You?”

“The village.”

“Where were you born?”

“The village.”

Up to now I’ve been looking at the road, the bounces insist upon it. 

Now I risk a quick look at the hitchhiker.

She has a pierced nose. 

An extravagant piercing. 

She doesn’t look old enough to be sixteen let alone pierced, but then again I’m so old everyone looks about eight years old to me.

The last time – before yesterday – that I picked up a hitchhiker…. Hang on…. Ah

I was going to say that that hitchhiker was about eight years old too, but in fact a week ago I picked up another and she was only a whisper younger than I.

I was surprised when she put her bag(large) behind her and sat squashed against it

“You can put it in the back if you like.” I was in a car this time.

“No, it’s good, it helps, I broke a vertebra.”

“Oooh. Ow.” I didn’t know what else to say.

Then I did.

“It’s lucky we’re not in Jenny.”