Evergreen Gardens

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: September 20, 2017

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Submitted: September 20, 2017

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Point of View Exercise
 
He’d entered the shop from the back, coming down the stairs from our small flat above. He was looking around him when I noticed he’d come down, taking in the small shop as if it was the first time he’d been there. He looked tired, his hair was still bent upwards onto the side of his head from the pillow and I smiled at him. It had been a tiring night; his mother had called just as I was about to go to sleep and all hell broke loose as soon as I picked up the phone. I was never sure why she was always so angry all the time, even when I fell ill she still seemed to think it was my fault. Like I had any control over what my own body was doing to me. She’d said that it was my fault Charlie left school as well, said that he was too kind for his own good and didn’t want me on my own all day. Charlie’s a good lad though, but never did do well at school. 
“Your mother called last night,” I’d said. He’d looked up grimly, almost rolling his eyes as he replied with a sigh.
“What did she want?”
I flicked open the till in front of me, the old bell ringing on it with the movement.
“She wants you in Margate for Christmas this year.” Charlie didn’t say anything, just continued pointlessly straightening the magazines, biting his lip. “I suppose I have had you the last two years.” Charlie looked up at me then a strange kind of sadness in his eyes, like he didn’t want to leave me, like I was some kind of sick puppy that he felt sorry for. Then he sort of shook his head and righted himself.
“I guess I could go down for a few days. But I’d be back for Boxing Day.” He’d quickly rushed out the last bit, as if he was worried I would be upset. I wouldn’t have been, I understand that his mother wants to see him, I’d just got so used to having him around. Boxing Day was Charlie and I’s special day. We’d pull up our trays over our knees in front of the telly and eat a tin of beans each on two toasted slices of white gunky bread. Charlie prepared his on the more burnt side. 
He looked back at me as if he’d been distracted by something outside, “Couldn’t miss TV dinner with you.” I smiled because he knew how much it meant to me. 
“Well, if you don’t mind…” I’d trailed off, scratching the back of my head almost nervously, as if his mother would round the corner at any moment to shout at me for hogging our son. 
“Of course not.” Charlie had said with a grin as he made his way over to the door. I chuckled to myself at his strange enthusiasm for another boring day at the shop as I turned to count the money from the day before.


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