That evening I go up to my room. Turn on my music.
Think for a bit, I don’t know about what.
Outside something’s moving on the balcony. I open the door and there’s Dennis.
“Well?” he says.
Well? What does that mean? Does it mean how are you, or what are you up to, or God you scared me, sit down and tell me how your day’s been?
“Well?” I say back.
Dennis leans against the balcony railing and looks out at the fields that start at the end of our garden. Then he looks at me, pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and holds it out to me.
I hesitate.
“You smoke, don’t you?”
I look back into the house.
“It’s okay. Mum and Dad are watching television.”
So I take a cigarette and light it with the lighter that I keep behind the eavestrough.
Then we stand there smoking and looking out at the fields.
“What are you listening to in there?” Dennis asks, nodding in the direction of the balcony door.
“Do you want me to turn it off?”
“No. What is it?”
“It’s a tape. Laura made it for me.” She gave it to me this morning. A cassette that she made for me. For me. For Mi.
“Laura, eh?” he says, looking at me briefly. “Turn it up. You can hardly hear it.” And then he goes back to looking at the fields.
I go inside, prop the door open with a flower pot and turn the music up a bit. Go back outside.
I finish smoking the cigarette and listen to the songs Laura put on the tape for me. Dennis has another smoke. And we don’t say anything.
When he’s finished, he crushes his butt and flicks it in the direction of the fields.
“Do you know what you need out here?” he asks as he turns around.
“No, what?”
“A bench. So you don’t have to stand out here like an idiot. You need a bench.”
And then he leaves.