On arriving from afar…
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| Way back when... |
Patrick: I drove past our first house on Park Road.
Charles: How does it look now?
Patrick: Much the same. No additions or alterations. Change of paint.
Charles: How many years since you saw it?
Patrick: Way back. About thirty. Where are you living now?
Charles: I took refuge on a ten-acre block out in the hills. Bit of bush, a few hens, and too much time to think.
Patrick: Sounds idyllic. Beats trudging through airports.
Charles: And now you’re back attending funerals, same as the rest of us.
Patrick: Yes. Parents go, teachers go, now our peers are going.
Charles: Makes one wonder about one’s own passing. I’ve laid a few tentative plans. A simple cremation, ashes scattered among the manuka on my block. No speeches.
Patrick: I suppose that’s what we’re all after. Not grandeur, just quiet endings.
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Voice-over
Charles reflects that when they were young the talk was about houses, children, jobs, the future. Patrick follows up about putting things in order so others don’t have to tidy up after.
