I know your face, don’t I? Oh, yes I do, now, you lived in the house across the road, just down towards the trees on the corner; that’s it, the gate with the spikes missing. Must have been a few years ago now – goodness, you’ve grown! I’d know that little face anywhere. I’ve not seen your father popping out to the shops, as he would, for long and weary; he’d smile over if he wasn’t in a hurry. I do hope the family is well, you tell them I’m asking for them. They’ll know who I am.
Oh, and your brother, that was a terrible thing. When I heard, well, I prayed for you all, I said to myself 'I never would have thought’, but nobody ever does, until after. Kept himself to himself, didn’t he? Always the quiet ones. Still, some years ago now. What brings you back here then, dear? Raking up the past like this. Here, put this blanket over you, that’s it. It is yours, love, don’t you remember? You really couldn’t let go of it, no matter how hard I tried! Would never let go. Biscuit?
As I say, help yourself, even if you couldn’t help yourself back then. I suppose you’ll have your version of events anyway, might want to double-check what you actually remember. I hope you don’t mind if I shut this door? Might not have come back at all if you could remember, properly. You were so cold, being out in the rain all that time. Turning blue. You can rest as long as you like, don’t you worry now. You’re very welcome to stay here, in my Stanza Room. I do hope you make yourself at home, put your feet up, that’s it. Please do feel free to browse through the collections of poetry, prose, and short stories on the shelves over there. With any luck, I think you might find something you’ll enjoy.
— Giuliano Piacentini © 2022
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