Tom

He walked with those he didn’t know but in a place he knew very well indeed. One on each side of him, blocking the tracks and the dreams of those who wished he wasn’t there at all. Singing- linking incy wincey spider and pointing at all things important to him and to his flat packed/convenience led world. He pointed at the cob-webs; strung from gate post to gate post in the park and the swings where his loving mum, now in heaven with her darning needle and unpicked wool, would be looking down at him and whispering how he was still her little boy.
Around him in the coffee shop voices swung up and down like the swings in the park or the patter patter or hurling of rain on his bedroom window; where he always felt less afraid…..but still lonely and sad for all he could never have. He heard notes in his head of bedroom tax, food-banks and about the deserving and undeserving poor. About a man called Milliband changing his way of thinking. About fat-cats and bankers and scams everywhere. Tom heard it yet didn’t know it.
He needed to do as he was told and sit still in his chair and not rock to and fro otherwise he would fall off of it or wear a hole in the coffee shop floor warned Jenny.
‘Don’t be silly Jenny, everyone knows how I would have to be here for trillions of years to do that.’
Tom stood ready to return to the chaotic street; his bum feeling sore from too much sitting. He wanted to fly like a plane; alone and quiet with the drifting clouds and his mum then much closer to him. But Jenny told him to sit down and to wait. ‘It’s not all about you-you know. He felt like throwing his sugar lump but that wasn’t a very nice thing to do was it.