JUST SOMETIMES......................

SOMETIMES WHEN YOU LOOK OVER THE RAILING

Sometimes, when you look over the railing, you happen to see the old caretaker who says that there used to be a floor there. Used to be a hall there. Used to be the school hall, before this new place was built.

Sometimes, when you look over the railing, you can almost see the place, the memories still rich and fresh, though it's been fifty years if it's been a day. The old caretaker smiles to himself. He did.....still does.... love those memories.

Sometimes, when you look over the railing, which is really high up even though this place is only two storeys, (because there are openings all the way to the basement) the old caretaker comes out and talks to you, never pressing, he just tells you stories about the old school.

Sometimes, when you look over the railing, the old caretaker will launch into the story of the horrible fire that destroyed the old school. The old school, and the school hall. His face will grow sad.

Sometimes, when you look over the railing, the old caretaker will finish that story and go on to the one about his daughter. His daughter was in the school. His daughter was a dancer. His daughter was in the fire. But the old caretaker does not talk about that in this story, in this story he talks of the dances.

Sometimes, when you look over the railing, you can almost see the dances, mostly the solo dance his daughter did. The dance she did the night of the fire. See the long black hair and listen...is that music?..... big hazel eyes.....her mother's eyes, he tells you, the long limbs, the simple white dress she was so proud of against the brown skin...she always was rather dark, he tells you, and the beautiful, graceful steps. The old caretaker tells you she always loved to dance.

Sometimes, when you look over the railing, the old caretaker comes out to keep you company...hey....he won't come out for just any body you know.... and he tells you stories and he asks you, "Isn't she beautiful?",as though you could see what he sees and without even waiting for an answer he's gone, though you didn't hear or see him go.....did you even see him come?..... and you turn back to look over the railing.

And sometimes, when you look over the railing, you see a pretty girl dance and you decide that it would be a shame to interrupt her and you leave, murmuring "lovely" under your breath. Somehow, you don't feel like jumping anymore. How odd.

When I look over the railing, I see the plaque suspended from the ceiling. I see a picture. Just a simple family picture, of a father and a daughter. A picture of a father and a daughter in a glass box with a once pretty, now soot blackened necklace he gave her in honour of her dance. The only remains of either father or daughter that they ever found.

And the old caretakers daughter dances. It's what she does best. It's what she's been doing for fifty years. It's what she'll do forever.