Seven-year-old Me's Least Favourite Summer

Nobody remembers the summer in
Which I almost – ALMOST – broke my
Leg dancing in the rain outside a bus stop.
It was pouring, and the occasional breath
Of thunder hummed in my ears but the
Lightning was too shy to show itself, and
Hid high above the clouds; I knew this
Because I could see it giggle between the
Outlines of the raindrops, peeking out from
Behind its cloudy curtain. I danced while
My mother scanned the timetable for the
Bus’s arrival, and strangers looked around
Nervously as if the anticipation of a fucking
Bus arriving was too much to bear. I played
Happily alone, as many seven-year-olds do,
Splashing in puddles and following a stream
Of dirty water round the corner and listening
To the faint sound of it drip down the drain,
Drowned out by the sound of the rain and the
Thunder and the bus pulling up behind me.
It took my mother four minutes into her journey
Home to realise I wasn’t there.
In the time it took her to come back, I had seen
A stray dog across the road, which, obviously,
Was the most beautiful thing in the world to
Seven-year-old me, and my seven-year-old head
Thought it would be a brilliant idea to run across
A thirty-year-old road right in front of a three-year-
Old car. My face dropped its smile as I braced for
The impact, stopping dead centre of the headlights.
I heard my mother scream. She covered my eyes.
I woke up to lights just as bright, and shrieked.
The doctors that were in the ward heard me,
And looked as though they’d forgotten I was
There. They told me I hadn’t broken anything,
however I’d almost – ALMOST – fractured my left
Femur, but got off easier than my mother.
Seven-year-old me didn’t understand how unlucky
I was.
Twenty-eight years later, and thirty-five-year-old
Me remembers this summer, eating alone at an
Empty Italian restaurant down from my flat, the
One-bedroomed prison finding company with the
Other rooms in the building while I’m gone. I’ve
Been waiting twenty minutes for a waiter to
Come around to ask for my bill, but so late on a
Friday night, the staff just want to go home to
Their families, so often enjoy each other’s
Company before their customers’. Eventually,
One came and collected my dish, the half that I
Left now stone cold. I ask for my bill and he nods,
Without looking at me. I pay and leave, thanking
Them but being dismissed as just another patron.
I pulled my hood up as the rain outside poured
Down, and I walked to wait for the bus alone.