Writing for Fun
November 2019
Foregone Conclusion - Jeff Kebbell
I went to Len Hawkey’s funeral the other day. It was bright and sunny and there were one or two butterflies among the flower beds. I smiled, despite the sadness in my heart. The crematorium chapel had only his parents in the front row but as I had no relationship with them and was regarded with suspicion by them, I sat near the middle.
Two or three minutes later a class of school children entered the chapel and were shepherded into four or five rows in front of me by their teachers. They too, regarded me with suspicion and one of them went to commiserate with Len’s parents and joined the class, which I assumed were Len’s schoolmates. There was some scuffing and elbowing but generally they were well behaved.
Len’s coffin was carried in. It was quite small and borne by two bearers then put on a stand in front of the altar. The coffin said it all and I felt a tear make its way down my cheek. It was me, in my eighties, not Len 10 years old who should have gone first. A vicar came to the lectern and started to speak and only half listening, my mind drifted back to when we first met those many years ago.
Len and I, Joe Livings, hit it off straight away at Earlsmeade School. It was just after the Second World War and he was very intelligent and not aggressive as I was and we sat together in Mr Sutton’s class. He never got a sum wrong and was slightly bored by the lessons. Our discussion after lessons were far ranging and his details of the wars on various planets that left them barren left me baffled. Were they true?
One day we were chatting over at the local park when Ronnie Stone, a bully and a lout, went past and jeered at us shouting, ‘Hello Professor Wimpos.’ In those days there were lots of butterflies about and one went to him. Ronnie clapped his hands and it fell to the ground lifeless. Laughing, he went off. For once my indignation got the better of me and I ran after him shouting, ‘You rotten swine, Stone.’ I noticed Len pick the fallen insect up as I passed. Coming back with my lip bleeding, I saw that Len had the remains of the butterfly in his cupped hands. He opened them and the butterfly, reborn, fluttered into the air. It was a peacock and unmarked.
Despite the pain my mouth opened in astonishment. ‘How did you do that?’ I said. Len replied, ‘Don’t ever tell anyone or they’ll take me away and experiment on me. Please say you won’t’. I swore to keep it a secret and did so.
We both went to the Grammar School and to University together and stayed friends till we were old men. Len never married. I did but divorced before having children and we both lived in our parents’ houses and met up regularly to have dinner together. Les was the next generation of evolution, Homo Superior and at University met up with others of his kind. They tolerated me at their secret meetings although a lot of their discussions went over my head.
One day at supper together, Len said ‘Joe, I’m going back to when I was a child. There are things I haven’t done or completed. Would you like to come back with me?‘
Not having anything to look forward to except older age and death I agreed and with the help of his colleagues we re-emerged as children and went to Earlsmeade Junior School once again and on to the Grammar School. This time I married the girl I should have the first time round, had two children, a good job and a happy life. Len did not marry, probably any girl he may have fancied would probably have been mentally to him like a Neanderthal. We met up regularly. My wife, Emma, liked Len and he was always welcome to our family parties and to his amusement my children called him Uncle. Time passed and when I was seventy Len told me he was going back to his childhood. He knew I wouldn’t come but would find me a friend once again at Earlsmeade. In fact it was a foregone conclusion.
This time something went wrong and Len turned up at my house with a full memory of all that had past but eight years old. When we had both recovered and laughed about it, he went home and we met up regularly as he went to school and back home.
Then tragedy struck and one day a car ran off the road hitting a wall and killing the driver and Len. I was heartbroken.
The service finished and when the coffin went out of sight of the crematorium we all stood and went out into the sunshine. As I walked to my car I saw a butterfly settle on a flower. It was a peacock.