seems like it's been forever..
A white double cab lorry pulls up onto the sidewalk. The driver turns off the engine and pulls up the handbrake. From the passenger side, out pop's a little boy,no older then 5, still clad in his work overalls with streaks of oil and paint on it. He closes the truck door like a miget closing a bank safe vault, to him that door was the biggest and heaviest thing he's had to move ever. Tiring as the day has been, he still beams a wide smile and runs around the front the lorry, waits for his father to exit.
Then holding hands, they cross the street, Jalan Lepang over to "blueberry hill pub". "Will Uncle Tim be there?" he askes. "Yea, probly." "YAY!" he screams, unable to keep his excitement, he breaks from his father's hand and pushes open the stiff creaky pub door. He makes his way past other people, and sees uncle tim at the pub bar's corner. There sitting on a bar stool smoking a cig, drinking beer and laughing with the bar tender like how a sailing captain should. He's fizzy long berd, stalky looking body and norway accent are instantly reconisible amits others in the pub. He spots the youngling looking up at him with a smile. "John, I see your son went to work today! He still wide eyed and willing to learn? Or giving you orders already?". The boy's father replys "He thinks he's the boss, and i still have to pay him." Both man share a laugh before engaging in small talk.
The small boy climbs onto a bar stool, tapping uncle tim's drink glass. "Whats that?" "Magic juice from heaven" comes the reply. He hands over the glass to which the boy takes a sip. Apparently whiskey was not his forte that young. Uncle tim taps his huge hand over the boy's back, laughing at the disgusted look which pulls over the boy after drinking.
Then, as a small prize, he asked "Wanna fly?" The boy's face breaks into a smile. Immediately knowing whats next, he quickly and clumsy climbs down from the bar stool and spreads his hands apart, eye's closed. Two hands clenches the sides and lifts the boy up into the air and lighty throws him into the air. The pub becomes quiet, only leaving the enthusiastic laughing echo to circle the pub. In that boy's mind, for that split second of feeling weightless, he imagines himself flying around the world, the cold aircon air rushing on his face like clouds brushing his skin, he extends his arms, thinking he's superman. For that split instance, he's free. All the laws that goven him, all the rules he followed, all the worries he had shatter like glass in his head, leaving him joyfully radiant once he's feet hits the ground.
As the years pass, uncle Tim went lesser and lesser due to his sailing schedule. And finally, the pub closed. That little boy grew older and more handsome (ahem ahem). Uncle Tim was never heard of or seen again. I've always asked my dad's friend's if they've seen or heard from him, the replies always the same. A shoulder shrug and a shake of the head.
Where ever you are now, this little wide eyed boss still would wanna have that drink with you. Thank you for giving me that small freedom. God bless.
Where'd you go?
Then holding hands, they cross the street, Jalan Lepang over to "blueberry hill pub". "Will Uncle Tim be there?" he askes. "Yea, probly." "YAY!" he screams, unable to keep his excitement, he breaks from his father's hand and pushes open the stiff creaky pub door. He makes his way past other people, and sees uncle tim at the pub bar's corner. There sitting on a bar stool smoking a cig, drinking beer and laughing with the bar tender like how a sailing captain should. He's fizzy long berd, stalky looking body and norway accent are instantly reconisible amits others in the pub. He spots the youngling looking up at him with a smile. "John, I see your son went to work today! He still wide eyed and willing to learn? Or giving you orders already?". The boy's father replys "He thinks he's the boss, and i still have to pay him." Both man share a laugh before engaging in small talk.
The small boy climbs onto a bar stool, tapping uncle tim's drink glass. "Whats that?" "Magic juice from heaven" comes the reply. He hands over the glass to which the boy takes a sip. Apparently whiskey was not his forte that young. Uncle tim taps his huge hand over the boy's back, laughing at the disgusted look which pulls over the boy after drinking.
Then, as a small prize, he asked "Wanna fly?" The boy's face breaks into a smile. Immediately knowing whats next, he quickly and clumsy climbs down from the bar stool and spreads his hands apart, eye's closed. Two hands clenches the sides and lifts the boy up into the air and lighty throws him into the air. The pub becomes quiet, only leaving the enthusiastic laughing echo to circle the pub. In that boy's mind, for that split second of feeling weightless, he imagines himself flying around the world, the cold aircon air rushing on his face like clouds brushing his skin, he extends his arms, thinking he's superman. For that split instance, he's free. All the laws that goven him, all the rules he followed, all the worries he had shatter like glass in his head, leaving him joyfully radiant once he's feet hits the ground.
As the years pass, uncle Tim went lesser and lesser due to his sailing schedule. And finally, the pub closed. That little boy grew older and more handsome (ahem ahem). Uncle Tim was never heard of or seen again. I've always asked my dad's friend's if they've seen or heard from him, the replies always the same. A shoulder shrug and a shake of the head.
Where ever you are now, this little wide eyed boss still would wanna have that drink with you. Thank you for giving me that small freedom. God bless.
Where'd you go?
2 Comments:
Really amazing! Useful information. All the best.
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Nice idea with this site its better than most of the rubbish I come across.
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