Dream Story- In touch…….

In Touch.

 On the outskirts of a small town, stood a house, one of about a dozen comprising a close. It was not quite a cul-de-sac, because the builders had left vacant a plot of land at the end of the road – probably in order to extend the road into the fields beyond at some later date – should more houses be required. It was this green oasis at the end of the road, that the children who lived in the identical red brick houses of the close used to gather to play, and it was here that I first saw the small, tubby, sandy haired boy. He was standing on his own, quite happy to watch the other children, who included his elder brother and sister, playing in the uncut grass and sparse bushes. they did not ignore him, rather they seemed to respect his desire to watch them in a far away, but intent manner.

 Several times, I noticed that one of them would approach him, he would look down at the ground and shortly afterwards the other child would bend down and pick something out of the grass. This happened on numerous occasions, and I was at a loss to understand what was going on until moving closer, I watched unobserved.

 What I saw happened over and over again, yet it defied all logic. Every time a ball couldn't be found, or one of the kids lost something, they would walk up to the boy, stand in front of him and smile. He in turn would smile back, look down at the ground, and the missing object would be there, just lying in the grass.

 A long time passed and the kids in the close took life as it came, and the parents paid little regard to the appearance of lost objects, even when their children brought home things which had been mislaid Indoors.

Eventually, however, word got out. Probably because at school, where most of the children now went, an explanation was required for everything.

Logic had to prevail; mystery was not allowed.

 One day, a man wearing glasses and a rather worn raincoat, appeared at the front door of the house where the tubby, sandy haired boy lived.

"A lot of people are taking a great deal of interest in your sons’ talents" he told the boy’s mother. "I can offer you a large sum of money for exclusive rights to the story of your family, and my paper will make sure you don't get bothered by reporters hanging about your door and disturbing the peace of the close".

She told him to go away.

Over the next few days, life became very different for everybody in the close.

Men with notebooks and cameras were constantly badgering the children with questions, after a while nobody played on the grass. Eventually, they all went away, and life started to get back to normal, but a cloud hung over close. Children were afraid to look at the Sandy haired boy, fearing something would happen to bring the reporters back.

Then, one afternoon, something did happen. Nobody knows quite how, but a large smelly oily substance appeared in the grass, as if a quantity of oil or some chemical had been spilt on the ground where the kids played. They all stood around it, looking and holding their noses because of the stink. The boy looked down from his bedroom window and wondered what the crowd was looking out. A mild curiosity slowly overtook him, so he crept downstairs, opened the back door, and went out to look. As he approached the circle of boys, those nearest parted, ten, or perhaps a dozen faces looked expectantly at him as he bent over the noxious substance. No one noticed the scruffy man with the glasses who stood by the wall at the side of the end house. When all the children, who had been smiling rather shyly at the boy, looked down at the ground, their faces broke into wide grins. The grass was no longer a dirty black, flattened to the ground, now it had regained its former soft springy texture.

Also, it has changed its appearance dramatically. Now it was the colour of pink candy floss – nobody could miss it – not for miles around. This was not all. The smell, which had shortly before made them feel almost sick, was replaced by the heady scent of roses.

Nothing was said. The children stood for a few moments in silence, smiling at the boy, who smiled back at them. Then, with the look of happy contentment on their faces, they walked slowly to their homes. The mother of the sandy haired boy had been watching this.. She knew the dark threat that would disrupt the simple happiness of her family. As the children went home in twos and threes, she saw the reporter walk quickly to the candy coloured, rose scented patch. Saw him bent down, and finally lay outstretched on the ground, sniffing and digging his fingers into the strange grass.

When her children were indoors, she turned to them, and said "it's time for us to leave ". She opened the front door, walked past the reporter, and ignored him as he sneered "now you have to give me the truth about your son – you can't hide this can you".

The reporter looked on, his hands still stuck in the grass, as the sister and brother quietly followed their mother down the road.

A moment later, the sandy haired boy came out.

 He didn't bother to shut the front door.

Indeed, he couldn't, as his hands were holding a large tea tray, on which were precariously balanced an assortment of small toys and wooden building bricks. As the boy passed the reporter, he tried to stand up.

 But his hands were quite firmly stuck to the ground. As he twisted his head to look at the boy, he saw an old portable radio, which seemed to rise out of the jumble of toys on the tray. When it was on top of the pile, a small aerial extended itself, the radio turned itself on and slowly revolved, as if it were on an invisible turntable. Music wafted over the close, the first few bars of Gershwin’s "An American in Paris ". Then the announcers voice said, "now it is time for In Touch, this programme is about The Language of Disability".

 The boy looked at the reporter, smiled and said, "this is my favourite programme". Then he walked on to follow his brother, sister, and mother.

Those were the first words anybody had heard him say.

End.