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In 1957 Connor was nine years old. He used to lie in bed at night
reading science fiction magazines with articles and stories about people
who wore silver suits, went to work in jet-cars, shopped on hover-
scooters, and were served dinner by their personal robot. His favourite
advertisement had a picture of a boy strapping on a pair of heavy ankle
boots with rocket tubes and an enormous, coiled spring built into the
soles.
"Ejector Boots!" the caption said. "Launch Yourself Into The Future
With Our Amazing New Footwear!! Soar With The Birds!!! Look Down On
Your Friends!!!! $99.99 plus p&p."
Connor cut it out and kept it under his pillow.
His parents argued every night. Connor used to close his eyes and
imagine it was him strapping on those amazing new ejector boots,
stepping unsteadily into the middle of his room and then...pow! Blasting
through the window, arms outstretched, zooming through the cool night
air, the coiled springs breaking his fall near the end of the garden. Not
far enough to escape his parents' shouting, though. Crouching down
again and...pow! Rising above the rooftops, startling an owl, reaching for
the stars and vanishing into the night.
Connor started taking his amazing ejector boots everywhere he
went and whenever things got tough all he had to do was close his eyes,
slip them on, and take off. When ruffians bullied him at school he
escaped their blows and returned to drop rocks on their stupid heads.
When his parents' fighting became alcohol-fuelled and violent, he
jumped up to the highest tree and sat with the crows and watched their
silly games. And when the first girl he ever had a crush walked down the
street with his best friend - pow! He hit the tubes so hard he almost
made it to Africa.
Connor fell in love when he was twenty-five. Her name was Emma
and they met at the water-cooler, and the elevator, and the car-park, and
at a bowling night, until Connor finally got the message and asked her
out. They married in 1977 and a year later Jake was born, and he
needed the amazing ejector boots less and less - although sometimes
after an argument he'd retreat to the bedroom, take them out and...pow!
But one night Emma slipped into bed beside him and murmured,
"What do you think about when you close your eyes?" So he showed her
the advert which he still kept and after that whenever he tried to leap out
of trouble she'd jump on him, shouting, "Oh no you don't," eyes
laughing, holding him tight, telling him: "You're staying right here with
me."
In 1989 the laughing stopped. Jake fell off his bicycle and banged
his head. It didn't seem much at first but later when they were having
tea, Jake said he felt funny. He looked at his food as if it puzzled him and
then lost consciousness. Connor carried him to the car and Emma drove,
their faces taut and white. They stayed with him while the doctors peered
into his eyes and took x-rays, and then listened to the news that Jake's
brain had ruptured and there was nothing they could do.
Connor closed his eyes but Emma shook him and said: "Don't you
dare. Don't you dare go off without us." She put her arms around him
and pressed her forehead against his. "This is not something you can run
away from."
Connor opened his eyes and Jake was still there, and so was
Emma, and so was real life. He stroked his son's hair and then took the
advert he'd kept for the past thirty-two years and tucked it gently under
the pillow. "You're right," he said. "This belongs to a nine year-old little
boy. Not me."
He and Emma held hands until it was time to go.
Connor never closed his eyes on trouble again, but sometimes,
when the nights were very long, he liked to imagine that his little boy had
found his own amazing pair of ejector boots and managed to strap them
on just in time.
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