Senga

She hadn’t chosen the name ‘Senga’. The Tour Guide had given it to her, along with a list of rules as long as her tail. It was just meant to be a little break from the daily grind, just her and her sister taking a tour of that weird little solar system out at the edge of the galaxy. 

After a longer-than-was-needed visit to that dull satellite which revolved around the planet, they had finally visited Earth itself. It wasn’t at all what she had been expecting. It smelt and was a lot dirtier than she had been led to believe. She’d talked to people who had done the very same tour, and most of them had an opinion on Earth. You either loved it or hated it.

Now she had no option. If her sister hadn’t dropped her medicine, and if her sister hadn’t asked her to pick it up. I mean they were all strapped in for a whiz around Mars. Senga (to give her, her Earthly handle) had unbuckled and ran out to get the medicine just as they took off. Without her.

She had no idea when they would return. So she had started walking along one of those highways that the humans push their metal cars along. One had stopped, and she was informed that the human driver’s name was Anthony (‘just call me ‘Tony’, babe’).

So she called him ‘Tony’ all the way back to town.

Tony was married with eleven children and would occasionally go for a drive in his car to get a break from shouting. It was fortunate that he happened to be driving past Senga at that particular time, as he had been looking for a lady-friend for his best pal Gerald.

Given that Senga wasn’t sure when the tourist module would be returning for her – if at all, she couldn’t remember ticking the insurance box about getting lost along the way – she decided she’d better make the best of it, and eventually (after a whirlwind romance) she got around to marrying Gerald.

Gerald was an ‘accountant’  - something they didn’t have where she came from, but then this planet Earth seemed to be full of lots of types of jobs that didn’t involve anything in particular. If these people and their jobs had inhabited the same planet as Senga – they would have been pushed down the Great Hole of Trident – with everyone cheering (relieved that it wasn’t them, this time).

Senga couldn’t get to grips with the life that Gerald had provided for her. It seemed to consist of Gerald working Monday to Friday, after which he went for a drink with his buddies. On Saturday, they both would watch a little box in the corner – and a thing called ‘Something’s Got Talent’ or very similar. Gerald would cry when the judges took too long to decide, or if the wrong person was sent home (the one who had a dying grandmother and the old woman was hanging on to dear life in order to see her grandson win this stupid contest).

Senga loved a Friday night when Gerald was out drinking, and she could take off that ridiculous costume, get it washed and ironed and slip it back on again - before Gerald came staggering, drunk on something called Gin, up the garden path. That would be when Gerald would get amorous and request a kiss from Senga (goodness, she didn’t even have the same organs as humans, so Gerald didn’t stand a chance). Instead, she would just give him the usual death grip and send him to his bed.

Tomorrow was Saturday, and there would be that man on the box in the corner – Simon Cowell – Senga was sure that he had been left behind too and that she had bumped into him on her planet.

It would explain a lot. 

bobby stevenson 2019

Hope Street

“Only two kindsa folks in this life, boy. Thems with a conscience, and thems who ain’t got one.”

Then my grandpa would suck on his pipe, chuckle a little, and finally rock back on his chair.

After another couple of minutes, he reaches over to me and ruffles my hair. I’m sitting on the steps of his wonderful home, just getting ready for the night, getting for the rest of my life, getting ready for a way to my dreams.

“I know you got a conscience, boy. Just like me. The only downside is that you have to pay for it all your life. Those lucky folks who don’t think they need a conscience, well in a strange way the world belongs to them. They just go about their little lives hurting and hurting without a second thought as to what they is doing. Us, on the other hand…”

And this is where he points the end of his pipe at his chest and over to me.

“Us, well we gotta pay every day for caring. Every day forever. All on account that we was born with a conscience.”

He cleared his throat, then swallowed some.
“You need a few more bucks, kid?”

I shook my head. I didn’t want to look at him, as I knew it might start the tears – for us both.  He’d brought my brother and me up when my folks perished in a bus crash just outside Atlanta. My brother had since moved up to Massachusetts, where he’d started a little business. I was going to follow him up there. My brother had only been back a couple of times since he’d left and I guess that was what was going through my grandpa’s head as I sat there looking at the sky.

“I want you to know; you’ll always have a home here, boy. Always. And if you don’t make it back anytime soon, well, I’ll know you and me are thinking about each other. I loves ya boy. You know that — more than life itself. I know losing my daughter in that bus crash felt like the end, but bringing the two of you up, well – that was like the start of something new. You gave me hope boy. You and your kind-hearted brother. I wish the two of you well, and perhaps sometime I might just take a little trip up there and see how you are doing.”

“Sure grandpa. You’ll always be welcome.”

I still couldn’t look at him, and I could hear an emptiness in his throat.

“I want you to stand up boy, when you’re ready and walk up that street and just keep on walking.”
“What’s out there, grandpa?”

“Whatever you want it to be. But that street, well that’s your first step boy. That’s hope street.”

I stood and waved without looking around.
I never did see him again.

bobby stevenson 2019
photo: Larry Morgan Photography.