140 292
JayMerill
140
funny one was thinner
than the normal one
which was fatter and had
hairs growing on it. The
thin-funny one never had
any hair and was so thin it
looked like a matchstick,
especially when he was
standing still and the two
legs were together. He
was Mum’s dad and she
remembered
cringing
when she saw him at the
seaside, the two legs
looking as if they didn’t
belong together. But there
the legs were all the same,
sticking out of the classic
rolled up trousers as he
ate an ice-cream on the
sands. She said I got the
funny leg from granddad
and that even though
mine weren’t funny in
the same way it was near
enough. An inherited
characteristic. The idea
made me shudder. I liked
this explanation even less
than either of the other
two. It made me feel I
had no choice but to be
hooked forever into this
crazy family.
I
could
never
ever
shake off the image of
the
ice-cream
eating
granddad and I always felt
uncomfortable about the
idea of the seaside. Kids
were supposed to like the
seaside, but me, I wanted
to steer well clear of it. I
grew up totally conscious
of my ill-matching leg
lengths of course, and
ironically, the only time I
was able to forget them
was when I was dancing.
And I could only dance if
there was no music and
there was no one around
to watch me. What a weird
kid, most probably you
are saying. But then you
haven’t met my brother
Ciaran. Oh yes, did I forget