anyway!"
His mum smiled at the lady and thanked her.
"Come on, boy, it's time to go," she said.
The old lady walked away. He watched her go. She must have had a feeling he was watching her because she turned around and waved at him again before going on, her black Labrador bandily following on stiff, elderly limbs.
He handed the shell to his mum to look after.
That night when she came to his room to tuck him in, just before turning out the light, she took the shell from her pocket and placed it on his bedside table.
She kissed him goodnight, "Night my little angel boy, don't let the bedbugs bite!"
"I won't," he promised.
After she'd gone, the two-inch gap she left between the door and frame threw a bar of light across the room. It bathed the shell, making it brilliant against the darkness surrounding it, highlighting the mysterious entrance to its cave. Bruce reached out and took it from the table, turning it to hold up to his ear as the lady with the dog had shown him.
First, he smelled the salty tang of the sea, and then he heard its whispered whooshing from deep inside. It scared him.
The spirit of the sea held inside the dark cavities deep within. A whole world captured in such a small thing, was magic indeed.
It sparked a fascination in him. Although it frightened him, he carried it with him everywhere.
During the night, he dreamed he was on an island surrounded by the sea and the tide was coming in. With no rocky walls to hold it back, he retreated until he stood on a higher piece of ground in the middle. The waves licked at his bare toes. He couldn't swim, but he was holding the shell in his hand. It occurred to him that if he could listen to it, and it was magic, then maybe it could listen to him.
So he held it up and spoke into its cave, pleading with the spirit of the sea to save him, and holding it to his ear, he thought he heard it say, "I will carry you, but you must learn to hold your breath and swim."
In the morning, he asked his mum if he could have swimming lessons. "It's important," he told her.
Mrs Milowski looked at him thoughtfully; she'd never learned. Scared of the water, she'd always believed that it was far too dangerous to play around in. "We'll see, Bruce, we'll see . . . "
For a few weeks, Bruce managed to blank out what he'd witnessed from his memory. Even at that tender age, he possessed an uncanny ability to dissociate himself, instilled in his genes perhaps as a mechanism evolved from the great capacity for survival of his ancestors.
Tonight, he was unable to keep it out, no matter what he tried. Back then, he hadn't understood it. His mind felt an invisible force constantly pulling and re-directing it. He tired fast and stopped resisting, observing his thoughts as they flowed freely.
He was back at the edge of the field. Mum kept calling, telling him not to go any further, and every time she did, he saw himself stop and wave to her. He managed to inch his way to the fence. A curious sensation took him above and behind himself, as he watched how he'd scrambled on his hands and knees below the barbed wire into the next field, instinctively keeping low to avoid catching his clothes.
I did it!
Across a silent sea of rippling ferns, there was a wood on the other side. The wind whispered as it blew, animating the mysterious feathery fronds. He walked among them, away from the sunshine, into the darkness of the woods beyond. Bruce watched himself enter the dark shadows the trees cast.
He followed the coolness in the air, which led him to a small stream, and he felt cold as 'other Bruce' skipped on and off rocks along the bank, challenging himself to leap greater and greater gaps between the rocks, oblivious to everything.
Even expecting it as he was, he still jumped at the sudden appearance of a man standing up, throwing the woman over his shoulder. 'Other Bruce' skidded as he landed, slipping partly into the brook. The resounding thud of
His mum smiled at the lady and thanked her.
"Come on, boy, it's time to go," she said.
The old lady walked away. He watched her go. She must have had a feeling he was watching her because she turned around and waved at him again before going on, her black Labrador bandily following on stiff, elderly limbs.
He handed the shell to his mum to look after.
That night when she came to his room to tuck him in, just before turning out the light, she took the shell from her pocket and placed it on his bedside table.
She kissed him goodnight, "Night my little angel boy, don't let the bedbugs bite!"
"I won't," he promised.
After she'd gone, the two-inch gap she left between the door and frame threw a bar of light across the room. It bathed the shell, making it brilliant against the darkness surrounding it, highlighting the mysterious entrance to its cave. Bruce reached out and took it from the table, turning it to hold up to his ear as the lady with the dog had shown him.
First, he smelled the salty tang of the sea, and then he heard its whispered whooshing from deep inside. It scared him.
The spirit of the sea held inside the dark cavities deep within. A whole world captured in such a small thing, was magic indeed.
It sparked a fascination in him. Although it frightened him, he carried it with him everywhere.
During the night, he dreamed he was on an island surrounded by the sea and the tide was coming in. With no rocky walls to hold it back, he retreated until he stood on a higher piece of ground in the middle. The waves licked at his bare toes. He couldn't swim, but he was holding the shell in his hand. It occurred to him that if he could listen to it, and it was magic, then maybe it could listen to him.
So he held it up and spoke into its cave, pleading with the spirit of the sea to save him, and holding it to his ear, he thought he heard it say, "I will carry you, but you must learn to hold your breath and swim."
In the morning, he asked his mum if he could have swimming lessons. "It's important," he told her.
Mrs Milowski looked at him thoughtfully; she'd never learned. Scared of the water, she'd always believed that it was far too dangerous to play around in. "We'll see, Bruce, we'll see . . . "
For a few weeks, Bruce managed to blank out what he'd witnessed from his memory. Even at that tender age, he possessed an uncanny ability to dissociate himself, instilled in his genes perhaps as a mechanism evolved from the great capacity for survival of his ancestors.
Tonight, he was unable to keep it out, no matter what he tried. Back then, he hadn't understood it. His mind felt an invisible force constantly pulling and re-directing it. He tired fast and stopped resisting, observing his thoughts as they flowed freely.
He was back at the edge of the field. Mum kept calling, telling him not to go any further, and every time she did, he saw himself stop and wave to her. He managed to inch his way to the fence. A curious sensation took him above and behind himself, as he watched how he'd scrambled on his hands and knees below the barbed wire into the next field, instinctively keeping low to avoid catching his clothes.
I did it!
Across a silent sea of rippling ferns, there was a wood on the other side. The wind whispered as it blew, animating the mysterious feathery fronds. He walked among them, away from the sunshine, into the darkness of the woods beyond. Bruce watched himself enter the dark shadows the trees cast.
He followed the coolness in the air, which led him to a small stream, and he felt cold as 'other Bruce' skipped on and off rocks along the bank, challenging himself to leap greater and greater gaps between the rocks, oblivious to everything.
Even expecting it as he was, he still jumped at the sudden appearance of a man standing up, throwing the woman over his shoulder. 'Other Bruce' skidded as he landed, slipping partly into the brook. The resounding thud of
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