Her parents intrigued me a little because her mother seemed
convinced that Lyn and I were destined to spend our lives together. I never
really understood why, but it seemed transparently evident from the fact that I
was the only young man who was ever invited to dinner.
I wondered whether it was because I used to let Lyn carry my
guitar when we went on camping trips to Welshpool. I supposed she might have
apprised them of the fact, and that maybe it was an ingrained motherly trait to
assume that any eligible young male who allowed her daughter to carry his precious
guitar must be about to propose. I thought it might be a tribal thing, like the
giving of a shark’s tooth or the standing on one leg outside the girl’s hut
between sunrise and noon with only a big fish strategically placed to protect your modesty.
Tonight I’ve been wracking my brain trying to remember
whether I ever kissed Lyn Pedley. No results so far. I do remember that she had
a front tooth which was coloured two different shades of white and that it
fascinated the hell out of me. I never did get around to asking her how it came
to be that way, and I never found out where her parents went every Thursday
night either. But I remember the night when I’d had more to drink than usual
and fell asleep in the downstairs toilet. I woke up some time after her parents
came home, but they pretended they hadn’t noticed. Maybe they’d decided to
start as they meant to go on.
And I do apologise for being preoccupied with the maidens
lately, but I do miss them so. And when you’re becoming half convinced that you
haven’t much time left in the vale of tears, the memory of past maidens can be
the one comfort left to you.
No comments:
Post a Comment