fun ; phan

forty three

I spot a guy looking at us from a few metres away and grow worried. Likelihood is, he's looking because he's judging us, which is fucking absurd. I keep a tight grip on Dan's legs, making sure he won't fall off my shoulders. Every now and then he apologises for being heavy and says I can put him down; but I've lifted heavier things with ease, plus, he's really skinny.

"Hey, is there a problem here?" I snap at the guy, and he looks confused. "Cause, like, you're kinda staring at us, and if it's cause you have a problem with it, then will you gladly fuck off?!"

"No, no! Sorry if it seems like that; I'm just looking cause I think it's cute, and- I dunno, nobody like you really has the confidence to do stuff like that in public." The guy says, waving his arms around to express his points.

"Oh, okay. That's fine." I say, making my way a bit closer to him.

"I'm Mark, by the way." He says in a thick American accent, smiling brightly.

"I'm Phil!" I respond.

"I'm D-Dan," He says nervously with a stutter, reaching out his hand to shake Mark's, to which he gladly complies.

"He's cute, you got pretty damn lucky." Marks inputs; and I look up to see Dan with a wide plush on his cheeks, burying his face in my hair.

"I know, right!"

"So, are you from around here?" He asks, and I shake my head. "Where you from, then?"

I make the decision that saying where we're actually from is a bad idea; I don't want anything to do with that shithole anymore.

"Up North." I decide on saying, and it's not exactly a lie.

I remember everything about it; from the downpours of rain every other day, to when my dad taught me how to play rugby for the first time, which has stuck with me for my entire life. When my mum and I would bake cookies for when dad came back from a long day of work. 

Those times seem so far off now.

When I was younger, my parents both taking me to the park; watching fondly as I giggled on the swings, then coming over and ruffling my hair. They'd tell me stories late at night, and we'd watch movies together far past my bedtime; an obsessive amount of popcorn consumed.

But then my parents fought. Dad claimed she didn't spend enough time with him, but it was because she was ill. She never told us, because she didn't want sympathy or to let us down. For a while, I didn't understand what kind of ill mum was. Dad told me she just had an illness and died, but a few years back, looking through some old stuff; I found something that made me realise that she didn't die from her illness; not technically. She killed herself. The illness was depression.

And all of that time, while she was struggling, dad was cheating on her, because 'she didn't care about him, and spent to much time to herself'. When she died- when she killed herself, we moved out abruptly... With Melissa.

I guess you could say dad got diagnosed with the same illness as mum, and so there was a repeat of events. It started off happy, then there was a whole lot of shit, but now I guess I can say I'm happier than ever.

"Phil!?" Dan shouts, and I snap my head around, pulling myself out of my thoughts.

"Sorry, just-uh, just thinking."

"About?"

"I'll tell you later," I say with a giggle, holding his hands as we make our way back.