Life Without Boundaries


He’d lived a different life to mine; climbing mountains I had never heard of but his eyes lit up with understanding when I spoke. You do not have to be young to be lost, and living a life marked by disapproval was a fate we both shared. I was twenty four and he “just over seventy” as he’d said for several years.

He was difficult by all accounts, and refusing to be wrapped in his memorial: we shared an aversion to the commonplace which is arrogant I know. By normal standards his morals were doubtful, his career patchy, yet he remained exuberant about life and a celebrator of the smallest episode.

He was there by force of circumstances and I, because I lacked direction, but our bond was to “Enjoy the moment and let the morrow damn you if it can. “

“Drink and smoke forever, and dance till your legs betray you, and never let the buggers see you beg for a reprieve.” Such was his advice to me, barely comprehensible, but his defiance of the fates was born on every breath. His eyes were full of mischief and his dreams clearly undisciplined: he knew the urgency of wanting “a good night out.” His mind was free to travel, his memories were infinite and in our wish to be “free of it,” we shared a common bond.

“Take me away with you. Let me see the moors once more, sit in a bar and share a smoke with friends” he pleaded, and so one night I stole him from the home, sneaking him out during a shift change, and helping him into my wreck of a car, “Nearly as old as me” he said, smiling at the thought.

For one night only, we sat and smoked and drank where no one would know us, as if we’d discovered home. I was not and never have been, “Romantically gifted” but he told me, “If you find a woman who’ll love you, discover her every day: eighteen or eighty, or somewhere in between, will not matter in the slightest: their eyes will be the pool in which you swim and their happiness the point of every day, and as he said it, I felt him shut down for a moment.

His Annie was sixty-nine when she died, he told me, and chided him every day for all that she celebrated him, and in the central well of values he loved her without question missing her presence always. “She was a corker” he said holding up her photograph, taken on their fortieth wedding and just before she died; and she was smiling up at him and her look was saying, “What will I do with you?” but she’d made an odd man happy which is a hard thing to do.

I got sacked the next day and was barred from seeing him because common sense will stand no reckless acts, but I will raise a glass to him forever: the boldest man I know.

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About Peter Wells aka Countingducks

Trying to remember what my future is
This entry was posted in character, creative writing, Fiction, Love, Peter Wells and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

31 Responses to Life Without Boundaries

  1. lenawalton says:

    Lovely piece again Peter.

    Like

  2. A wonderful story, Peter, both melancholic and joyful in equal measure. Just watched the final episode of Still Game (your story reminded me): a poignant reminder that we never change, merely, one day, fade away.

    Like

  3. delphini510 says:

    Your story is wonderful Peter. It has a lot of dare-devil and courage, at the same time
    the guys share wisdom and life.

    miriam

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Scarlet says:

    Yep, common sense is overrated – here’s to the reckless and random!!
    Sx

    Liked by 1 person

  5. I loved this story Peter. Having helped out at an old people’s home in my teens I could identify with your characters to a degree. Wonderful.

    Like

  6. Now that was a corker!

    Like

  7. Al says:

    I revel in your story-telling, Peter. This rates with some of your best, though ranking them seems counterintuitive since they are all equally delightful!

    Liked by 1 person

  8. beth says:

    so worth it. wonderful, wonderful story, Peter.

    Liked by 1 person

  9. Pingback: Life Without Boundaries ~ Peter Wells | Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

  10. colonialist says:

    A sad indictment on common sense, but true to life.

    Liked by 1 person

  11. willowdot21 says:

    Very nice story 💜

    Like

  12. Robin says:

    Ha! A corker! It’s been forever since I’ve heard that. Made me chuckle! I say CHEERS!

    Liked by 1 person

  13. It is always inspiring how many older folks, despite being reputed as wells of “common sense,” still see value in the seemingly impractical or the “imprudent.” They know taking a chance can sometimes give you an experience that imparts more wisdom than any amount of common sense.

    Liked by 1 person

  14. nelle says:

    Live here, live now, be kind… all key points for navigating life. Sometimes we learn that lesson, bre it early or be it late.

    Like

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