I don’t love summer anymore.
Summer brings out the inner city kids, and their silliness. Drunken voices on their way home from the pub, or just hanging out in the street, make my veins flow with fear.
I hear my son in every group. The difficult years rush back at me. The time before the silence.
When I was younger I lay in the sun and swam for days. Jasmine, fresh cut grass, suntan lotion – smells of summer smiles. By day the box of mangoes on the kitchen table never seemed to empty, and father at the bbq by the pool in the evening.
Summer’s not my season anymore. I keep my balcony doors closed, and increase the volume until the tv’s rhubarb is louder than…