" Dear Mags ..... "

 

  I've just written that, on Notepad. I have a physical writing pad here. I just guessed I'd waste a hell of a lot of paper, scratching shit on that. Binning it. Starting again. Binning it. I knew I wouldn't get started. 

  Couldn't get started on Note either. Then, I had the bright idea to come here. Where I've spilled my guts for the last god knows how long. To the ether.

   This is to the ether. Because no one ever comes here any more.  They don't care. And I don't care that they don't care. This isn't for them. It's for the ether. Or where ever souls would go. If we had souls.

 

  My Family Tree, on line, tells me it was a decade or more since my mum died. Un fucking believable! Flash! And ten, a dozen fucking years have snatched away. Incredible. 

  I went back to england, to say goodbye to my mum. She was living in a tower block. Place they liked to put older people. We were due to go for a pub lunch with her. I went down stairs for a crafty smoke.

  And, as I stood there, enjoying my roll up, the door opened and out stepped Mags. I'd seen her already. Coming in or out. She hadn't seen me. I figured she too must have been visiting her own mum there.

  Now, I was standing there. I just said, " Alright, Mags? " and she stopped dead. It had been thirty years. Bit of a fucking surprise, for both of us really, I s'pose.

  The fuck do ye say to the very good friend of a very good friend. From three decades back? And I'm not very good with words, at the best of times.

  " Just here to say goodbye to my old dear, Mags. She lives here. She's dying. I'm in Ireland now. Leitrim. "

  And, with that, the flash flood hit me. The doors burst open and my sister and brother were there, with our mum. Chattering and hurrying. Debating last minute plans. Heading for someone's motor. Sweeping me away.

  My eyes locked on Mags'. Seeing her mouth move in a silent agony. Knowing just how her mind must be racing. Like mine was. In silently screaming agony. Desperation.  What can I say?!? 

  And then, I was in the motor. Surrounded by a hubbub of meaningless chatter. And Mags was getting smaller, through the window. And I'd never see her again.

 

  My sister's fucking useless. See, when mum was diagnosed as fucked, Jan' moved in, to nurse her. She must have been there the best part of a year, I'd guess? I wasn't talking to her, at that point. Hadn't been for some years. We're a dysfunctional lot.

  So, I heard it from my brother, at some point, that Jan had met Mo', in the laundry room there. Mo' and I went back a ways. Thirty odd years back, around that point. Then we'd gone our ways in life.

  Christ, we'd run deep together though. For years. And, Mo' actually said to my sister how she'd like to hear from me again. Actually said that. Face to face.

  But, my sister's fucking useless. Fuck knows what she said. How she even looked at her. How she managed to side step the issue.

  I wonder if she even said; " He's in Ireland now. " Perhaps she just said; " Oh. Dunno. I haven't spoke to him in years. " Anyway, she managed to kill the conversation. Relating it to our brother, at some point. He eventually telling me. 

  That would have been at some point before we ~ Jan and I ..... well, I, actually ~  buried the hatchet and it was agreed I'd come say goodbye. And that's how I came to suddenly find myself face to face with Mags. Mo's life long best friend.

   I'd imagined Mags was visiting her elderly mother there. Because, it was a place for older people. It's only since dawned on me. Mags (and Mo') have ten years on me. We're 'older people'! Mags fucking Lives there!!!

  And, in that thirty seconds, after thirty years, all I'd managed to say was, " I'm in Ireland now. And the flash flood hit. Pulling me helplessly away.

  As my mind screamed; " Oh shit!!! I haven't got a fucking business card on me! Could she even fathom the twisted code needed to ring Eire?  My email addy ~ does she Have email?! ~ is too long and complicated for her to grasp. My home address too ..... " Gone!

  If I'd Only pointed at the block and just barked: " What Number?! " .

  And that's why, to this day; I go down to the stables, to feed those hairy fuckers. I look at Rosie. See how absolutely fucking beautiful she is. And I think of Mo'. How I'd love to show her Rosie. How much that would unfold, for both of us.

  Over a decade. I've googled. I've tried. I've even trawled the obituaries. My best hope if to pen a swift note to the House Mother of that block. Include my email and number, for Mags.

   Can't do it. I'm not very good with words, at the best of times.