The boy’s small shoes dragged their knotted laces through puddles as he headed for the back door. He tugged at the few buttons left on his shirt where its seams stretched at the shoulders. Licked his swollen lip. Brushed fingers through sweaty hair. Then feathered fingertips over another black eye, and trudged into the kitchen.
“How long now, Grandma?” he called out.
Grandma, at the table, moved towards the calendar. Head high she peered below the lens edge of her glasses balanced on her nose. “Two weeks, three days,” she said. Picking up the pencil string tied to the board, she crossed off today’s date.
The man-child grinned as he grabbed an ice pack from the freezer. “Two weeks and three days to go.” And that’s when school rules no longer mattered. Not in summer holidays when his Bully Payback Programme would begin.
It’s kind of a contradictory piece when I’ve just returned from summer holidays, watching streams of children return to school. Some happy, while other students look as excited as the adults returning to work. Guess it’s never soon enough to plan for next summer.
Hope you’re all well and here’s my belated ‘Happy 2017’.