"You look like a punk!" his first words to her in more than six years.
The black leather jacket rested on her hips. This was to show off the buttocks. This was to assist her quest for a mate. The jacket: it was oh-so-very nineteen-eighties. Pockets for hands, no zips there. Clinging fabric at the waist and wrist. Wide lapels. It was a badge that said "Yes I have had my OE, I know places, I know things".
"Muuummm you look like a punk!" the small boy shrilled. The zipper didn't work properly, it had to be forced. too many nights, to many furtive moments.
He ran forward and pressed his face into her, into it. Wrapped his arms around. Held on tight. The jacket smelt unfamiliar. It was new to him. Those worn teeth rubbed against his flushed cheeks. "Punkafix! punkafix!" the influence of newly discovered Asterix and Obelisk comics.
"I'm not a punk, I'm your mother!" Nervous laughter. She put her hand on the back of his head and smoothed his hair. He felt the cuffs brush past his ears; they smelt of stale cigarettes, late nights and adventure. He had been in hospital for weeks, only recently starting to walk again. He craved adventures of his own.
Why the defensive tone? What was she thinking? Punks were rebellious, a punk certainly wasn't the perfect wife; staying home, looking after children, and keeping house for husband. Her jacket creased, furrows formed on her brow.
The stitching under one arm was coming loose. A small eyelet of thread exposed and vulnerable. The child had a bandage on his face; this is why she was here. Her son needed her. He had been in bed a month and a half now. Doctors had told her he was going to be all right, the infection hadn't damaged his vision or his brain, most of the fluids had been drained.
She felt so very tired. A flight from London, a connection to Hamilton, then taxi ride to Waikato base hospital. The nurse asked her if she would like to refresh herself. No, she couldn't leave yet. She sat beside him letting him explain the comics to her. The leather was worn at her elbows. It was starting to gray, tiny ridges were forming.
Jotham Read. March 2006.