A red, red rose (1/7)

By Drum Digital
06 July 2015

True love always comes out on top.

It was a trademark Takapori night, with crickets, bats and beetles singing a lullaby. But it was no help to Lea, whose three-year old, Thabo, had woken her at midnight, sweating and sobbing. All through the night, she tried home remedies.

She called Owner Goodman at 3 am. Always quick off the block when it came to Lea, he offered to come there and then on his bicycle. The nearest clinic was in Buxton, 10 km from Takapori, so there was very little that Owner could do at 3 am.

He calmed down when Lea said, “You know what, Owner, right now he doesn’t seem that extreme. Maybe just knowing that I’m talking to you is medicine for the boy. Let’s wait until sunrise.” “Okay, I’ll pass by in the morning on my way to work,” he promised.

The 35-year-old’s favourite word was “ownerable”, and that’s what people called him, or “Owner” for short. The word was the result of lexical crossed wires, a mixture of “honourable” and “ownership”.

The first thing he did that Friday morning was put R70 in the pocket of the jeans he would be wearing to work at the butchery. He left the jeans on the bed, and went in search of his 17-year-old nephew. “Where is he?” he asked his niece, he asked his niece, Dipuo.

To be continued...

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