My nephew Michael is seven today, he's opened his presents and been left with me to play marbles, his birthday present from an uncle we never see. I know he'd rather play with his Nintendo but he's been told to play with me first. I used to have the best collection of marbles in our primary school. The marble man used to appear every few weeks, he'd be on the other side of the fence and always had a handful of marbles for my sister and me. I must have been 10 ish which means Cath would have been 7. Our garden backed onto the Depot, an army base and if you went on the top of our shed it was possible to jump over to the fence, usually to retrieve a ball but sometimes just for the thrill of it. These were before soldiers carried guns as they patrolled the area. Mum and dad knew about the marble man and would smile as we shared our new marbles, steel ball bearings, tiger eyes, some pearlescent ones occasionally, deep blue. Never did we think he was anything other than a kindly old man.
This all comes back to me in a single flash, the whole memory downloaded as I hear the marbles collide.
I can't recollect the marble mans face but something feels wrong, I try not to judge my past by our current sensibilities. It's happening more and more, memories from my past intercepting my present. I have one where I'm running , running so fast I have to use my hands to keep up the speed. Michael looks at me and pulls a face, he tells me I'm doing it again.
" You can go and play with your Nintendo now Michael, I think I'm remembered enough for today ".
