Two

I watch from the back of the crowd.

Lots of the people who’ve gathered here will be willing everything to turn out well for the little boy. But some of them are like a certain type who go to the circus. Their eyes, dark little beads of spitefulness, praying and hoping for the pretty girl to fall and end up a wet, red mess on the floor of the big top.

The mother’s plaintive wailing cuts through the noise of the park.

There’s a shiver of anticipation when the boy turns blue and the mother starts screeching for help. When the doctor rushes over, strong and focused, barking out orders and saving his life, it’s exciting.

When the child begins to breathe again and the blue colour in his face recedes, they start to lose interest. One or two peel off from the sides to resume their park rides.

The way most people can view the lives of others, as if they’re watching it through glass, never fails to stun me. The same way we can watch starving children or the atrocities of war and remain quite detached through our television screens…

I’m one of the last ones there. I stay until the paramedics arrive.

I’ve been following for a long time today but nobody notices me. Nobody asks what I’m doing here. I’ve worked on my ordinariness: grey and black clothing, beanie hat, pale, uninteresting face cast down towards the floor.

I’m good at keeping my feelings buried deep now, saying and doing all the right things.

I’ve seen the adoration on the mother’s face. I could tell her to be careful, but it won’t do any good.

I can see she’s already smitten.

More fool her.