Agnes and Bim
Agnes and Bim :: 8
29
Bim is lying on the bed next to Agnes. She is barely with him.
“I wish mi dad was ere,” he says, “yeah I do, bin wishing for im plenty of recent, like. I don’t know why? He’d be in a right swelter of a mood with the way things are an all, never did like being still, that’s what I remember.”
“He don’t seem too bad, does he? Frank I mean. All these years and he’s kept himself to himself. Funny world. People don’t share things like they did.”
30
Bim is looking up the stairs. He slips out of his wheel chair and drags himself up. His legs always made hard work for him. Always. They offered to cut them off once, but he loved them even though they were crippled. He hated seeing stumps hanging over wheel chairs.
At the top of the stairs he crawls into one of the rooms. There is the frame of an old iron bed with a stained old mattress. He gets himself onto the bed, as he does so he becomes a boy again.
“What you doing in ere?” asks his mum.
“I just wanted to look out the winda.”
“What for?”
“I don’t know.”
“Ya drag yaself up ere all on yer tod and ya don’t know what brought ya.”
“The views better an down there. Can see more that’s all.”
“And what more do ya want see?”
“Just to the end of the street Mum and then around the corner.”
“There ain’t nothing round the end of that corner Sparky. Just more streets. That’s all.”
“Where’s Dad?”
His mum doesn’t say anything for a while. “I don’t know.”
A flock of birds fly over.
“No use running when you can fly, eh?” and she puts her arm around him. His head is on her shoulder.
The doorbell rings. He’s alone with himself. He gets down from the bed and crawls out of the room.
The bell rings again.
31
Bim is sitting beside Agnes’ bed. “Here, I made you a nice cup of tea,” he says before he hoists himself out of his wheelchair and climbs up onto the bed. He takes the cup of tea and gives it to her.
“Come on then Mum,” but she can’t drink.
He holds her in his arms.
“Ya know, it’s a funny old world,” he says after a while, “with people not happy where they are. Its a right old shame for some that we’re not born with wings, which might have bin well fine for the likes of me, cept I have a feeling, like, that mine weren’t meant ta work. Me? I ain’t happy none if I can’t be still where I am.”
“World should take a thing or two from you, she should. There ain’t nothing around the corner to run to, cept more streets.”
He kisses her head.
“Me, I don’t need no legs ta run. I’ve set mi roots.”
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