Short Story: The Other Side Of The…

Short Story: The Other Side Of The Glass

“Your mum and I are sitting outside. We’ve lit the chiminea. Like to join us?”

“Okay Dad, in a bit.”

I slowly got up from the sofa to turn off the TV. With my finger over the power button I realised it was already off. The routine error brought a faint smile to my face. I passed through to the kitchen, looked to the window outside of which my parents are sitting, and I put the kettle on. My mum waved an action that requested my company. I mouthed, two minutes, and made the peace signal with my right hand. She turned back to my dad. They were having a serious conversation. I could tell. It had never occurred to me before how interesting a silent conversation can be. The kettle boiled so I took a cup, placed a teabag inside, and filled it three quarters full. My dad got up from the patio furniture to place more firewood into the chiminea. It looked peaceful out there. People can sit quietly in front of a fire, and not need to talk. Just look up occasionally to space, sip their drinks, and then warm their hands. Sounds fine. I firmly pressed the teabag against the side of the cup and walked over to the bin to throw it away. Again, my mum’s waving caught my eye, which reminded me that there was a bin-bag outside that we were to use before beginning to fill the one in the kitchen. I topped up my cup with cold milk from the fridge. I walked over to the patio door with a cup of tea in my left hand and a burning teabag in my right. I opened the door with difficulty and threw it away.

“There’s whisky if you want it,” Dad said. He was already drinking.

“Or lager,” added my mum raising and drawing attention to her drink.

“Perhaps in a while. I’m a little tired.”

“We waited for you,” said Mum. “Wanted to have a drink for Peter.”

My dad looked down, or perhaps he was already looking down, and he said, “yes,” I think, or, “shame.”

“A year today isn’t it?” Mum said.

“Yeah.”

There was a moment's awkwardness. Everyone missed him.

“Well, anyway, to Pete hey,” said Mum.

We all drank. My tea was too hot and it burned my throat but I’m sure each of our drinks were just as difficult to swallow.

“I’m going to get some water,” I said.

“You okay?” Dad asked.

“Yes, I’m just quite warm.”

I stepped inside. I found I had forgotten to close the patio door and already some insects had flown in. I shut the door then poured some water. Once more I could see my parents deep in conversation.

I stepped outside, this time closing the patio door.

“You okay?” Mum asked.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, see what I’ve done to the hedge - look, I’ve cut it right back. Much better don’t you think?”

“I think so, yes.”

“You must see. Look. It was right out and in the way, and now it’s right back.”

“I see.”

“I helped too,” Mum said.

“Ha, I was the one up the ladder.”

“And you’d have fallen off if it weren’t for me holding it,” Mum said with a smile.

“It’s good Dad,” I said.

“I think I’ve been bitten. Look at that. Blasted things!” Dad said.

I sipped my tea. It was still hot but cool enough to drink. Tipping back my head I noticed the stars, more of them than ever it seemed. It seemed appropriate.

“Are you seeing Stephanie soon?” Mum asked.

“Yes, next week.”

“Oh yes, I remember.”

Dad went inside to refill his whisky. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a drop?”

“Okay I will then, a small one please.”

This seemed to make him happy. The truth is I didn’t fancy one. Though, it would help me sleep better at least.

“I might go in and get a cardigan,” Mum said.

She left me alone with the warmth of the fire, and passed Dad who was carefully measuring the whiskies. I looked up and noticed how neatly he had trimmed the hedge. Figures.

My parents had another conversation but this time I was on the other side of the glass. I soberly lifted my cup of tea, looked to the stars and said something under my breath, just loud enough to hear.