Chapter Twenty One
Julia. It was always Julia. Oh, he dare not speak against her, he could never risk pushing John away. John is all he has left.
Paul had not gone to university, fear had held him back, tied to his home. When he left school he had found a job, for a while anyway. A clerk in a local business, the office junior, he had hated that job beyond all things. But there had been Helena…
Best forgotten? Wounds can heal quickly, but the razor of emotion is want to slice open the wounds afresh. She had been the one, the only one…
The one who had managed to reach his fragile heart, who had gained his trust – before smashing it.
The one who had tried so hard to understand him, had reached beyond reality’s veil, to where he hid – before rejecting him.
The one who had shared his bed, awakened his primal passions and made the child a man – before finding another.
Then his job was made redundant (the Recession blues, oh Mr Musician play that guitar in a slide fall solo); and Paul was left scraping a life together on Government benefits. He could have done so well, if only he had gone to college – his parents had rejected the unemployed prodigal.
The only thing left to give him solace was his painting. Slowly, when money allowed, canvassed tapestries opened new landscapes in dark baroque tones, exploring his faith and illuminating his pain…
To be rejected by society, by the girl, by his parents.
Then John had returned; John, the one who still cared, who still loved.
John, who was the same as ever and yet strangely, painfully changed. John who had returned with Julia.
Oh, Julia would not treat John in the way Helena had treated him.
© 1990 & 2006 Andrew M Boylan
Julia. It was always Julia. Oh, he dare not speak against her, he could never risk pushing John away. John is all he has left.
***
Paul had not gone to university, fear had held him back, tied to his home. When he left school he had found a job, for a while anyway. A clerk in a local business, the office junior, he had hated that job beyond all things. But there had been Helena…
Best forgotten? Wounds can heal quickly, but the razor of emotion is want to slice open the wounds afresh. She had been the one, the only one…
The one who had managed to reach his fragile heart, who had gained his trust – before smashing it.
The one who had tried so hard to understand him, had reached beyond reality’s veil, to where he hid – before rejecting him.
The one who had shared his bed, awakened his primal passions and made the child a man – before finding another.
Then his job was made redundant (the Recession blues, oh Mr Musician play that guitar in a slide fall solo); and Paul was left scraping a life together on Government benefits. He could have done so well, if only he had gone to college – his parents had rejected the unemployed prodigal.
The only thing left to give him solace was his painting. Slowly, when money allowed, canvassed tapestries opened new landscapes in dark baroque tones, exploring his faith and illuminating his pain…
To be rejected by society, by the girl, by his parents.
Then John had returned; John, the one who still cared, who still loved.
John, who was the same as ever and yet strangely, painfully changed. John who had returned with Julia.
Oh, Julia would not treat John in the way Helena had treated him.
© 1990 & 2006 Andrew M Boylan
