He wondered if it would be less special if she stayed. Would the adventures be less exciting if they were every day?
He allowed that it was very decent of her to leave when she wasn’t needed any more. He admired her for that. He just…persisted. The only reason he didn’t become part of the wallpaper was because he kept on changing – he glanced ruefully at the tangle of instruments still sitting sadly in the corner of his lodgings. A fossil of a particularly unfortunate phase. But couldn’t she, wouldn’t she see that it wasn’t just the children that needed her? It’s not just children that need magic.
He heaved the kind of low, heavy sigh that could usher in an afternoon of mournful soul searching. You never quite find what you need when you search your soul.
He tried to be careful about this, but if he stopped running, if he had a day where he didn’t open a museum on a street corner or busk with bagpipes in Parliament Square he missed her. He missed her, from the hair on his head to the soot on the soles of his boots.
Then, as he always did when he got in these moods, he asked himself ‘what would she say if she walked in the door?’. Something a bit stronger than spit spot, he reflected. He made sure he did not look up to see if she had just walked in the door.
With an effort, he forced a smile and decided what he would be today. The smile became genuine as he played out possibilities…band leader? Lecturer? Tour guide? Tour guide had a nice ring to it, and it was a good day for a turn in the park.
As he marched out of the house whistling a familiar refrain, he allowed himself one moment of wishing down in his bones and his tattered heart that he would feel the wind change. But it didn’t, so Burt set his cap and went on his way.
~ Alex Watts 2015