Lost for words
- 1. Lost for Words What a lovely life, said the man, looking down at John. Her eyes fell on a skinny back, tiny waistline, long stringy blond hair hanging down on slim models hips. Thy name be Moses, she blasphened in her head, looking down at his Jesus- sandals and freezing toes peeping out under an ankle-length red gown. Moses dit not see her. He swept his arms up and out, embracing the whole of Camden Lock with New Age wellbeing and dangling copper bangles. John agreed. Or rahter, she thought he did, for he was smiling happily, although he was shaking his head. The heady happiness of the housebound let out for a few hours had gripped him. A torrent of love gushed through Moses long ginger beard as he bent down over Johns wheelchair, breathing the stale Sunday morning smell of the big Spirit past a silver nose ring into her mans upturned face. John opened his mouth. No sound. The words could no longer come. But the confusion of damaged brain and paralysed throat muscles went unnoticed by Moses, who put his head back and laughed, as if John had cracked the funniest of jokes. Concerned, she started forward, as ever the careful carer, especially when other folks are around hundreds of black-clad other folks at Camden Lock that Sunday morning. She dropped the outrageous silver earrings she was admiring and went to stand by her mans side. Protectively. Do you agree with me ? Moses was asking John, as his eyes swept up to hers, in an offer of friendship. She remembered to find a smile, opened her mouth to say, He cant speak, its called aphasia, hes had a stroke. she was about to say. She was desparate to help her man look less silly, less vulnerable. But Moses did not give her a chance. Foreigners ! he laughed, rolling his eyes to the rest of the universe as he came upright. Swinging his ponytail, he hopped away, chuckling. John caught her eye. They laughed. He held out his one good hand and grabbed hers. Does it matter if I cant speak, his grip said. Her step was light as she pushed his wheelchair back home. They giggled all the way. Suddenly Johns inability to speak, read, write, walk, eat, look after himself suddenly his whole disability was lighter. They were just two people being different, as every other body at Camden Lock that Sunday morning was different. And it felt OK ! Monica Clarke 2010 Permission is granted to copy this article, with credit to the writer monicaclarke@edev.org.uk 1 of 1