Three hundred words on the lose title of parenting.
This is me, tossing my hat in the ring....
Cliff needed a pint of milk, a pint of milk and a packet of fags. He fetched Trevor and headed out of the door, T-shirt, jeans, flip flops and wallet. He checked he had his keys and as he did he caught himself in the mirror. He wasn’t sure what a forty four year old ‘him’ was meant to look like, but he figured he was keeping the paunch under control and so he couldn’t really complain.
Walking towards the station he saw a girl, yet to be a woman but taking her steps rapidly there; a girl about his daughters age, and she was clearly in distress, chasing another girl on a bike while screaming, pleading with the cyclist to come back and talk. But she speeds swiftly away obviously distressed as well.
The chasing girl slumps to the concrete floor, right there in the middle of the exit to the car park sobbing and before Cliff even knows what he’s going to say he’s down there at her side, talking to her. Trevor is sniffing around and she’s hugging the big shaggy dog. They really hit it off straight away.
He knows it’s confusing and life can be hard and he doesn’t offer her solutions, just a shoulder and his time; the most precious thing that he ever gave to his own daughter.
Cliff, Trevor and Anne sit for a while, the sun is shining and after ten minutes she’s ready to face the rest of her day again. She thanks him and he tells her not to worry, gives her the bus money and heads on his way to the shops. She walks away still sad but now calmer, ready to face the difficult conversation with Susan later.
He has a smoke and heads back home again.
There ya go @DustandLove, that's my best shot right now.
Oh, and of course I'd love you to comment right here if you have any thoughts. :-)