A Fable

.At art college I became friends with Jim and Gris. I never found out what Gris was short for but Griselda is likely, as my tale will show. Jim was an artist and steam fanatic. His dearest wish was to become a lesbian; an undertaking that even the most optimistic American would consider doubtfully achievable. Gris worked for the Gas Board. They lived on a council estate in Kirby Muxlow. We lost touch but ten years on I decided to drop by. Though the rest of the houses remained neat, only obscured by the odd trike and climbing frame, J&G’s house had a forest of tall windblown saplings in the front garden, impenetrable except for the gate, which had an arch of use above it. Behind the forest was a cobwebbed front door that had never been opened in years. I tried the back, which was opened by a dimly lit harridan. “Yes?” I recognised Gris, just. “It’s B, I was passing.” She smiled and beckoned me in. The house defies my powers of description, a film set dressed for fairytale strangeness. The lounge was filled with an H block of bookshelves leaving only a maze of slim walk spaces between with a little extra around the fireplace where sat Jim in an old high backed green velvet chair. He was dressed in a shock pink leotard and tights. We go to the pub, with Jim adding green velvet trousers and a red velvet smoking jacket over his leotard for decorum. During our walk home, while Jim is relieving himself in a front garden, Gris confides in me, “I’m thinking of leaving him.” You think! We continue and as Jim sleeps his stupor in his chair by the fire Gris says, “Can I show you something?” We walk out the back door to a shed; she unlocks a padlock. In the gloom there is a tarpaulin. She lifts the tarpaulin. Revealed is a brand new Harley Davidson soft tail Sportster. “It’s just been delivered. It’s my dream.” I remember it as if it were yesterday. Shortly afterwards Gris left Jim and I met her the following year at a big motorcycle rally in Peterborough. I remember I bought some gloves. Since then Gris found a lovely man, a fellow motorcyclist and now lives in Norfolk. Jim I imagine is still in his fairytale council house in Kirby Muxlow, trapped by an unattainable wish.