I had always listened to my Mother, and Father and Grandmother, although, I didn't have a Grandfather, no, it's not that I never had one, it's that he died when I was young, he'd been a television presenter. All I had, as regards memories of him, was being sat in front of the television and watching old faded grainy footage, footage of him using words I don't think even exist anymore, I certainly ever heard them from him. My Gran had kept old stock footage of him, or well, she'd been given the footage. Back when he was popular, he was talk of the town, talk of the city, talk of the whole world it seemed, from that old footage anyway. But, shortly after his death, he was swept away, in these new fast times, when life seemed even more fleeting, people liked to forget about mortality, as it seemed to arrive quicker than ever. Life was all about full speed ahead, dash and flash, with no memory of what had actually happened.
I used to sit on the floor, with my knee's crossed, sitting and staring, staring beyond that glass tube to a world that was rapidly deteriorating, every day I visited would be a day in front, watching the tapes. Every day watching the tapes we would see a new scratch a new white patch. Every day visiting, I would look to my grandmother and see a new line and a new white patch and I'd hear her say "oh how on that day he had been mine, after the show. With simply no where to go, but home. He'd roam home, and shout Joan! And we'd be together all day, he'd talk, he'd walk, with that swagger of his. He'd talk of his day and his wonderful pay. How I pine, when I see no line, on that wonderful face. How I groan and how I moan when I am all alone, without him.
How I cry and simply wonder why, when I see, he has not aged. Not in any day, not in any way, will he age, forever young he will be. While I, slowly fade away."
I would sit, never stirring a bit, never stirring a bit, watching and wondering. The tape may age, but he, he remained the same.
So it was, that each day, we would sit and watch and talk. I would tell her of my day, how many friend's I had what games we played and she would tell me of the games she played in her youth. I had never heard of them, of course, I often thought she was simply speaking gibberish. She would sometimes fall into that, the habit of using old words, forgotten words. She had told me the transition had been very difficult, but they had been forced to learn, it hadn't been fun, to say the least, learning an entirely new language. Her husband had adapted, she had said, so soon too, which was one of the reasons his show had done so well, he had showed an unprecedented skill at language. She often told me, that she wondered what would have happened if he had gone into an easier profession. She wondered what would have happened if he had become a writer? Would he have died so terribly young? Would he have been better remembered? Writer's always seemed to be, they lived life fully in the slow lane, as time passed they had all refused to adapt, so it seemed to world adapted around that.
"Television" she had said, "Television is the worst of it all, all zoom and boom. No thought, nothing is ever fought, just smooth talk and talk." She had continued to say that, after. I had heard it many, many times. I had heard it and never really listened.
I'd never really listened, but I'd never really watch television, it never really interested me. It was too tiring also. I'd be so worn, to have to sit down and watch all those fast paced images. Those days I'd much preferred to go out and play, at least that was only physically exhausting, something that was much more easily fixed.
So she sat and so I sat and so we watched, the only show I ever watched, if only because it had some magic, some feeling of the unknown, I assume that's what magic really is! Then one day, she cried, and cried, she became like a storm, frantic, wild and unpredictable. She raised and screamed, she started to speak in tongues, her eye's would not sit still, neither would she. She sat up and kicked me, it hurt and I cried, I am not ashamed to admit this, I was only a child. She sat up and kicked me, it had hurt so much, it had hurt inside and out that she had kicked my tender child's skin. It had left a long black bruise afterward. It had stung and thumped for a long while afterward. She had kicked me and moved on to the kitchen, screaming, but not screaming like a woman, no, more like a child. It was high-pitched fat too high-pitched. My ear's, relatively new to the world had been upset by such a noise. She then continued to babble, and started to fling dishes everywhere, they smashed against the walls, they smashed against the doors, they smashed against other dishes! It had all happened during the day, no less. I had sat in the corner, staring out the window, where the glorious sun had beckoned, called, it had shone so strongly. It seemed to not at all be aware of what was going on, as it seemed to say "Hey, today! It's nice and bright, come on out, get some nice treats! Have a nice bite! Come on, be happy! Smile and surrender to the fun, outside by the sun!"
She didn't stop for a while, however, my Gran. When she did, she continued to speak in that old language, I think. Which had been done away with, it had been needlessly complicated. We had a newer, quicker, better language these days. The teachers had told me that, however in recent years I've heard the word, they were told to say that, whether they liked it or not. Either way, it doesn't really concern me, I've had to live with it, after all, it could honestly be better. She spoke in that old language, I've tried to decipher it, I've tried to look up books on it, to no avail, none seem to exist, so I'm told. I caught, only one and another, only two. I have caught one word and another word. I've mastered, mastered pronouncing them, and so, I produced: " R-O-C-K-I-N S-I-N-C-E" then, it faded away to nothing. So she said "Rockin' since…"?
Well, my Mother came back in the afternoon, when the sun had decided it wouldn't want to share its presence with the world any longer. So, it was too little too late, I felt abandoned. Abandoned by all, especially by my Gran, she'd gone and made herself mad. Gone and left me living with a monster, who couldn't even speak properly. Well, a few days later they packed her off, she hadn't even said a simple "Hello, off I go!" or "Goodbye try not to cry!" She was strapped in a big steel chair, buckled up and sent off.
So, for the next few days, I thought I'd think of her words. I had thought I'd only take a few days off for it, sadly, it ended up taking a much, much longer time. I spent years thinking. Then I started to watch the old videos, I took them from out of her house. I watched and watched, the video seemed to be fading further, scratches abound, he, my grandfather seemed still, however.
Then, a strange thing happened; I started to see Gran, as wonderful young woman. She sat by my Grandfather's side, smile and laugh, sitting on his lap. Though, he never seemed to notice, no, not him, he was stern as ever. My mother, one of those days told me that my Gran was not doing to well, she was right on the bridge of the other world. I was saddened by this, naturally, so I sat and watched. And the more bad news that came, the clearer her vision seemed to be, she would soon be one with those old shows, she'd soon be happy, I was happy.
Then she came back, and was home again, everything returned to normal and I felt terribly uneasy, terribly unfulfilled, I told her "We'd come so close, you should have been a ghost!"
She smiled and laughed, telling me I was always had a good sense of humour.
I asked her "Are you happy?" she answered "Go away, shouldn't you be with your pappy?"
So I told her I'd help her on her way out!
I tried all sorts of tricks, but when I poisoned her candy sticks!
That did the trick, indeed it did the trick!
When she had left, strapped in a black box, once again, she'd not bothered to say good bye, she had simply stared at me, stared at me blank eyed. Then gone, gone forever, I had hated her, she shouldn't have kicked me, the damn witch. I think her kick, her kick shot up, unsettled my ticker, well, something feels lose anyway. I'll blame it on today the state of these days. It's easier that way. Everybody loves to play the blame game.
Out with the old, in with the new, the way of our world, not only the new, but the young, the beautiful, so now I watch; now I watch, those shows, day after day, as we did. Every day, the show seems better and better, not a scratch. And they, they are young forever, forever "Rockin" or whatever she had said, it was all crap anyway.