Oh beautiful day: part two

The Polish and African neighbors were all in it together. You wouldn't want to be talking too loudly, because then they'll hear we would be leaving. The manic paranoia crushes your a heart a bit as it stares you into the face. Am I really going to do this with the mum and the dad? The sun's out, warm and comforting, oh glorious Sunday, but there's a nagging chill inside. One could say it is fear and trepidation.

Dad's all ready for it, with sturdy walking shoes, and a backpack for the books. Mum and dad chat away about the places they used to live long before I was born. About people they used to know, but oh how they can't remember their names. They share some comforting cliches about old age and the memory going. Mum asks whether we're being followed by a car. That's a conversation stopper right there, mum.

We walk into the tent, get our bearings. They both get a pull cart for the books, and off they are, dad towards the science and life books, mum towards the English section. Dad bunkers down solidly. Mum's looking slightly panicked, not really looking at titles or covers, just breezing past, one eye looking for the exit.

I ground her. Together we do the English section. The urge to flee is right under her skin, groping for excuses. Shouldn't you look out for your dad, where is he? But dad's only five meters further down the isle he started by the time we're finished. His cart is filled to the brim though. All books of science, very interesting! We need to check out and come back for more! I drag up the zen mothers all over the world find somewhere deep in their bellies when talking to wayward children. We're not doing that, dad. Don't you have plenty of books already? Besides, my car isn't big enough. But some of these books are only 2 euros! The manic desire to own everything that's on cheap offer staring brazenly into my face. They start chatting, hoorah, and mum forgets she wants to flee and dad forgets he wants to by the world for a penny.

The chill nags, like a sleepy cat repositioning on my lap.
I come from these two broken people.
Am I like this?
If not now, than later?

And upon this burden gets heaped the praise for their prodigal sons, who are not here to drive them to bookfairs on their only free Sunday this month. Not here to face their demons. Their amazing first born. Their amazing second born.

And by the time we're home, and they can rest from this formidable excursion, the world has gone grey to me, again, and tasteless. No matter how well the sun shines.