David Moody - Straight to You

by David Moody

As I had planned earlier, I arrived at my parents house washed, refreshed and feeling a little more relaxed than I had done earlier in the day. I parked the car and walked towards the little house which had been my home for many years. There were thousands of memories locked up in the tiny building and, as I approached, I prayed that the people close to me who still lived within its walls were safe and well. All the talk of energy waves and all of the confusion that I had witnessed over the last couple of days made me long to return to the security of the past and of my childhood. As I stood on the doorstep and opened the front door, a wave of tender sentimentality washed over me.
One of the most unusual and unexpected aspects of the heat and of the recent bizarre conditions was the distorting effect that they had on my body clock. Although it felt like summer, it was dark by five oclock and it stayed that way until late in the morning. It was difficult sometimes to convince myself that it really was late October and, although the darkness made it feel as if it should be much later, by the time I went into the house it had only just turned seven-thirty.
Inside the building was dark and the living-room was illuminated only by the flickering blue light of the television set in the corner of the room and by a dull, yellow glow from the open kitchen doorway. When she heard the front door open. Mom came into the living-room and she smiled when she saw me.
Hello, love. How are you? she asked in her soothing, peaceful voice.
Im fine, Mom, I replied as I walked across the room and followed her into the kitchen. Tired, but fine.
Finally hearing Mom speak again helped me to calm down and to forget the troubles of the day. She had a relaxing, gentle quality to her voice which immediately took me back to my childhood days. When we were younger, Moms incredible ability to remain restrained and rational had usually resulted in both my sister and myself ignoring her when she had needed to reprimand us (authority was always maintained by my father who, in such instances, always told us off with a well-aimed slap with the back of his hand). Today, however, Moms tone lifted me and managed to restore a little piece of normality to the increasingly crazy and hectic world that I found myself living in.
Wheres Dad? I asked as Mom filled the kettle from the tap.
Hes outside, she replied, nodding her head through the window and towards a barely discernible shape sitting out on the back lawn. Poor thing, she continued. This heats really knocked him for six.
I walked quietly towards the back door and peered through the glass to look at my dad who sat bathed in the low yellow light which spilled out across the lawn from the kitchen window. When I had been living at home, my parents had never seemed to age. In my mind, they had looked the same on the day I left home as they had done in my earliest memories. It was only now that I was not seeing them on a daily basis that they seemed to be getting any older and today, sadly, Dad looked desperately frail, tired and ancient.
As I watched my father sleeping in an old deckchair, a light wind blew across the garden and he shuffled uncomfortably. The breeze ruffled the delicate strands of white hair which lay across his head and the light from the house combined with the sparse silver rays of the moon to cast ghastly haggard shadows across his face. Dads glasses were perched precariously on the end of his wrinkled nose and the only movement he made was as his chin slowly shifted up and down as it rested on his heaving chest.
He doesnt look too bad, I said to Mom. I was quite worried by Dads appearance but I did my best to try and allay any of the fears that my mother might have had.
He might look all right, she said, but hes not himself. You know your father, hes not one to make a fuss when hes under the weather but I can tell. Ive been with him for long enough.
I looked into Moms face as she toiled over the hot pots and pans on top of the kitchen stove. She looked tired and worn out and I could see the strain and worry that Dads condition was obviously causing her to feel. Although there was the best part of a ten-year age gap between my parents and she didnt look anywhere near as aged as Dad did, Mom still seemed to be growing old at an alarming rate.
Steven, Mom said (she was the only person who called me that and not Steve). Were going to go up and visit your Uncle George for a little while.
I was relieved to hear that. Uncle George lived on the Scottish coast and, when I was younger, whenever we had visited there as a family, Dad had spent most of our time there complaining that the North was far too cold for him.
Thats good news, I told Mom. That should really do Dad a lot of good. Its about time you had a rest as well.
Mom nodded and smiled. She seemed pleased that I approved of their plans.
What about Michelle? I asked, wondering what my younger sister was going to do.
Shes coming with us. The poor loves been having a rough time at college recently. I think itll do her as much good to get away for a while as it will your father. When are you thinking of going?
Tomorrow. Were going up by train. We leave at half past nine.
The immediacy of their leaving shocked me. Dad was notoriously slow at making plans and decisions and Mom could see that I was genuinely surprised.
Itll be for the best, she said, reassuringly. Well stay up there for a while and come home when things get back to normal.
Michelle came bounding down the stairs and burst energetically into the kitchen.
I thought I could smell something! she joked, cheekily. Stevies here!
I laughed sarcastically and walked over to greet her. We hugged for a moment and, once more, I realised just how much my conceptions of my family had changed since I had moved out. Before I had left, there had been days when Michelle and I could hardly bear to be in the same room as each other and yet we now hugged one another as if we had been apart for years.
Hows things? she asked.
Not too bad, I replied, giving little away. What about you? Are you all right?
Strangely subdued, she nodded her head slowly and sat down at the table.
Can you go and get your father for me? Mom asked, looking in my direction. Im about to serve up dinner.
I went outside to fetch Dad and was surprised by the brittle crunching of the moisture-starved grass beneath my feet. I stood at Dads side and gently shook his shoulder. He began to come around.
Hello, son, he said in a voice that sounded tired, feeble and weak. How are you?
Im all right. Dad, I replied. Ive had enough of this heat though. Its a bit hot, isnt it?
Too bloody hot, he snapped bluntly as he pushed his aching frame up and out of the chair. I held his arm to help him but he brushed my hand away. Im all right, he grumbled. Just a bit stiff, thats all.
Dad moved away from the support of the deckchair, turned and shuffled towards the open back door. I watched him sadly as he moved. Dad had always been such a fit and active man that to see him like this was heartbreaking. I knew that Mom was right and, although she hadnt said as much, I could see that the incredible conditions were killing him.

We sat around the kitchen table to eat our meal and, for a while, things were just like they had been before I had left home. Mom sat opposite Dad and I had the pleasure of sitting directly across the table from my little sister. Although Mom had struggled in the kitchen for a long time to prepare our meal, none of us seemed able to eat much. I toyed with the food on my plate while I thought of Samantha and I chewed a couple of hot, filling mouthfuls. I looked up to see that Michelle was staring at me and I was sure that she wanted to ask something. Her intuition seemed to have told her that I had begun seeing someone and then, with her usual disregard for tact and decorum, she began to pursue the issue with unavoidable and embarrassing questions.