(035)
It’s not quite autumn, but the signs are there. The leaves are beginning to curl at the edges and though at a glance they may seem green, a closer look would reveal the hint of a brownish hue. Two young boys have scampered up into the lower branches of a sycamore tree and their two father’s – Gareth and Chris – watch on from below.
“Be careful up there you two!” Gareth calls, absentmindedly pinching his t-shirt away from his midriff.
“Not too high!” Chris adds.
Satisfied that their warnings have been heard, their focus shifts to other matters. Chris breaks the seal on a packet of 6 jam donuts and offers the open pack to Gareth. “Did I tell you I’d been jamming with Walter lately?”
“No?” Gareth peers in and picks the one covered with the most sugar. “How long’s that been going on?”
Chris takes one and holds his out for Gareth to tap.
“Cheers.”
They both take a bite. Jam squirts out into the palm of Gareth’s hand and he busies himself with licking it off.
“Mmm, a few weeks now I think,” Chris says, his tongue taking a quick lap around his lips to collect the sugar before continuing, “it’s nothing major like, but it’s good to be playing again.”
“What does he play?” Gareth asks, dusting off his shirt with his less sticky hand.
The sound of the boys playing is occasionally interspersed with shouts of “Dad!” from one or the other, to which they receive a cursory glance and a smile or a thumbs up.
“Drums– and he’s actually pretty good, I was surprised.” Chris pops the last morsel of donut in his mouth and starts hunting for a second.
“Yeah I had no idea– he seems too calm for a drummer– what sort of stuff are you playing?”
“Just covers at the moment, but I’d like to try my hand at writing something again at some point.”
“Well, if you ever need a bassist,” Gareth plucks at his shirt and points at the bag to ask for another just as Chris takes his, “I’ve been meaning to get it out of the loft for ages.” Chris holds the bag in Gareth’s direction, his eyebrows ever so slightly raised.
“Yeah? Is that right?”
“Yeah, I used to be in a band yeaaars ago; we played a few gigs here and there around town.” He looks for the hole before biting this time, careful not to spill more jam.
“Dad! Dad! Dad! Dad!” Both boys shout over one another, but neither of them looks.
“Yeah I did the same in my hometown!” Chris beams. “That’s the plan with this eventually as well– let me just text Walter.” He puts the last half of the donut into his mouth and whips out his phone to write the message.
“Daaaaaaaaaaad!” The boy’s voices meld together in one long whine.
“I’ve got a list of good band names on my phone somewhere as well!” Gareth exclaims, taking his own phone out to find them in his notes.
The boy’s pepper the air with their unheard calls for attention.
“Heeeere it is.” Gareth taps the screen, then rubs it with his other palm to try and remove the smudge he’d left.
“Just a sec–” Chris’s thumbs duck and weave to finish off the message before pressing send. “Alright, hit me.”
“The Nouns…” Gareth glances in Chris’ direction, who grimaces. “It’s like a play on all the band’s being ‘The *insert noun*’ – no nevermind, how about ‘Rendezvous With Destiny’?”
“I dunno, it sounds a bit…”
“No, yeah I agree,” Gareth scrolls a bit further, “ah! – ‘The Frito Banditos’?”
“Dad, look!” The call is loud, but to the men it’s almost inaudible.
“Hmm, maaaybe that one, but I’m not sure–” Chris’ eyes flick to his phone lighting up. “Walter’s in!”
A loud cracking sound and a high pitched scream suddenly snatches their attention. Chris’ son skitters down the trunk in a staggered freefall, snapping branches in an attempt to hang on. A soft thud accompanies his landing, and Chris is at his side almost before he hits the floor.
“Ooft, are you alright?” He asks, kneeling over him. The boy tries to sit up, clearly in shock. “No, no just stay still for a moment, let me check you. Where does it hurt?” He looks the boy in the eye and sees tears shimmering at the edges. Chris strokes his head, then slowly bends his son’s elbows, wrists and knees, seeing if they hurt him. Gareth stands over them until it’s clear the boy’s okay, then he lifts his own down from the tree.
“Does your neck hurt?” Chris asks, and his son shakes his head, his eyes full and glistening.
Chris puts his hand under his back to lift him into a hug.
“Come here, you’re alright–” his boy sobs into his shoulder. “Shh, shh, shh, you’re okay! There’s no broken bones, only broken branches– come on, should we go get some ice cream?” He pulls his head back to look him in the eye. His son sniffs, then nods.
“Yeah? I think so too, but we won’t tell mum will we? Tree climbing and ice cream is boys stuff isn’t it?” He nods and his son nods with him, his eyes glinting at the suggestion of a shared secret. “Alright h’uup we go.” He scoops him off the ground and stands with him in his arms.
“You guys fancy some ice cream?” Chris asks.
“I’d love to, but Michelle would kill me if he had it before dinner–” Gareth looks down to his son, who’s gripping his hand with both of his own with a fearful, vacant look in his face.
“Well, a little one won’t hurt, will it?” He asks, and the hint of a smile flickers into view.
“Should we be off then?” Chris asks the group. They’re only a few steps away from their starting point when Gareth speaks in a hushed voice to say:
“Hey, by the way, I have it.” He pauses for dramatic effect.
“Broken Branches.” He says, eyebrows lifted and mouth open, proud of his own suggestion.
Chris mulls on it for a second, then nods his agreement.
“Yeah, Broken Branches sounds good.”
Chris’ son wriggles and asks to be put down, catching Chris in the face with his hand in the process.
Gareth’s son falls into step with Chris’, asking if he’s okay, who brushes it off like it’s nothing.
“Look at us, starting a band” Gareth laughs, “… you don’t think we’re starting our midlife crises a bit early, do you?”
Chris shakes his head, grinning. “Naah– I mean, how old are the rolling stones now?? We’re basically teenagers in comparison to them.” He says, brushing hair from his face – ignorant to the white ones that hide from view.
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