Jasmine and the Boy
The Boy doesn’t watch, so much as observe. I can’t tell if he’s curious. I can only guess, because he never speaks. Sometimes, I think he’s trying to scare me.
Jasmine and I have done a lot of talking. I have made it very clear to her that I have a lot to gain from reducing my responsibilities. It was only after we played cards this morning that she decided to probe.
I grabbed her wrist. I asked her, What do you think you’re doing?
“I want to know what’s going to happen to your students,” she said, repeating herself.
The students are my concern. Haven’t I made this abundantly clear, even when you haven’t even been asking for it?
“Please slow down.”
I’m calm. I’m fine.
“Then what can I do to help?”
Nothing, I said. Perhaps you might understand.
“But I don’t understand. Do you want me to leave?”
No, I said. I don’t want to be alone again.
The Boy joins me whenever I decide to go for a walk. Sometimes, we sit in the row boat, and work the Fjord.
Sometimes, we go for a drive. We go into town, park up, and watch the women descend from buses. That’s when the Boy feels miserable.