An Hour With You
written by: P.M. Jack
I always hated the cold, winter weather. The damp air, the biting wind against my face, the tension in my body as my muscles stiffened automatically. A desperate attempt to keep warm, whilst I longed to be somewhere else, anywhere else, as long as it was warm and dry. I never really dressed for the weather. I was never good at planning in advance.
Now, in the dark of winter, you ride your scooter in front as I walk along the path between the rows of conifers, the ones you said look like squashed-up Christmas trees. The concrete glistens and sparkles as the warm glow of the streetlights hits the first traces of frost appearing on the ground. We have to keep moving to stay warm.
At first, it wasn’t winter. That meant playgrounds, ice cream, or short walks in the park and feeding the ducks. In the summer, it didn’t matter that my house was too far away. It was easier then.
You’re wrapped up in your pink puffy jacket with matching woolly hat and scarf. The pink unicorn wellingtons, fully equipped with a yellow protruding horn on each boot, you say, give the added magic needed to make you go faster on your scooter.
I watch as you wobble from side to side, with the same erratic grace you only see in young children. Every time that left unicorn touches the ground, pushing you farther away from me, my heart stops and I wonder how you don’t fall. You’re so focussed on the joy of scooting, with absolutely no awareness of how perilously close you are to a thudding halt at some points. I wish I could be as fearless again and force myself to push away the thoughts of what your mum would say if you fell whilst with me.
“Irreconcilable differences” led to this. I don’t really know what that means either. But I smile as I remember the concrete way you think; “you used to live with me, but now you don’t.” I know, later, I’ll have a lot to explain to you. My eyes water as I wonder how I’ll find the words to answer your questions, but I tell you the cold wind is getting to me when you notice.
One day, I’ll tell you how I learned to be a better parent when our time became more precious, and how I wished I’d figured that out sooner. I’ll tell you that my love is evergreen, like the squashed-up Christmas trees you’re scooting past.
Until then, like every Wednesday in the dark of winter, when everyone else is warm inside, we’ll stay alone together, scooting towards the ice cream cones no one else buys at this time of year.
I still hate the cold, but I love you more.
- An Hour With You - February 19, 2025
