Week 16: Thumb: A Love Story

 Type of Writing: A love story based on Kit's love for his thumb.

Thumb: A Love Story

When Kit James Raj was born, he knew he was loved. Prior to his arrival, his mum and dad had cried separately. Tiredness. Football. Work. The Movies. Loss. Just some of the causes. What they had never done is cried together. They were solo artists when it came to sobbing. Sure, sometimes the other might join in on backing, adding some texture and volume, but not enough to put their name to the record. Yet when Kit was born, they were the Simon and Garfunkel of bawling. Together, their tear ducts joined hands for a weepy ballad. No troubled waters here though, only happy ones.

The thing is it wasn’t enough that Kit was loved, he wanted to love too. And not just his parents and the entourage they came with. He wanted to find something for himself, something to call his own. You might wonder how a baby could have such a romantic predisposition. Well, his father was probably to blame. In school, Kit’s dad was hapless and luckless with women. In fact, he was none of the two things: he was cowardly. Too afraid of failure and rejection, he said nothing, did nothing. The result was love became a fantasy, fashioned from romcoms and Indie lyrics. His idea of love was rooted in art, as opposed to realism. He was a romantic in the medieval sense. Like a courtly lover, he believed songs should be sung through windows and trinkets left at doors. He was to all extents and purposes a plonker. And even though he grew up and understood that love could be a kitchen sink drama, quarrels over bills and dirty washing, some of the fantasy genre- the make-believe and magic- never left him.

So when people looked at Kit and rightly saw his father’s colour and his mother’s features, what they couldn’t tell was he had his father’s romantic nature. Being in love for Kit wasn’t just desirous, but necessary to his being.

For the first few weeks of Kit’s existence, he couldn’t find anything to truly love. Sure, he enjoyed the wallpaper in the living room. The fact only one wall in the living room had wallpaper probably helped. The juxtaposition of bareness and boldness made the design as noticeable as a car alarm at night. A feature wall his parents called it. Or at least it would be a feature wall if it weren’t for the fact every other household in the country were doing the same, since they had seen it on a property makeover show. Yes, he loved the leaf pattern in the living room, autumn indoors if you will, but like the season he was sure his adoration for it would be short-lived.

Another contender for Kit’s affection was his nappy bag. It was in his room by his changing table, hanging off the wardrobe. It was great for many reasons: the first was it could be swung. Babies are not fans of immovable things. They find the immovable frustrating. Parameters are no fun. They like something that’s open to debate and deliberation, to be pored over and pondered, to be knocked back and forth. They like a mobile. Failing that, they like a bag on a coat frame that could move if the right pressure is applied. The second thing was the pattern. It had a great animal print with all the great animals on: the giraffe, the elephant, the zebra, the monkey, the frog. (Yeah, I don’t know why the frog is there. All the other ones you would pay to see: they’re blockbuster, big names, up on the Pyramid Stage, banging out the anthems. In all honesty, the frog is just there to make up the numbers. Niche or ironic appeal at best. Perhaps a few kids wearing frog t-shirts to show that they’re different, how they’re not mainstream, but deep-down they know their animal sucks.)

The thing was the nappy bag was upstairs so Kit couldn’t see it all the time. He wasn’t interested in a long-distance relationship where he would only see it 5-6 times a day for nappy changes; he wanted something that would always be there, that wasn’t dependent on his parents giving him a lift to.

For two months, Kit thought he was destined to never find love. If he hadn’t found it at eight weeks, what chance that he would find it in eighty years. There were times when it all got too much and he would weep for his lonely heart. His parents would check his nappy, his temperature, the room so as to find the cause of his discontent, but they found nothing. If they checked his heart though, they would have found the problem.

Then, one day he found it. Like most relationships, it happened by luck. A random meeting at a party. An introduction from a friend. Swiping right when you meant left. A happy accident was the best way to describe it.

Crying over his lonely life, his bachelor prison sentence, he brought his thumb to his mouth, not expecting anything to come from it. Chance led him to the door, but it was Love that let him in. From there a romance was born. Kit and his thumb went everywhere. To the shops. On walks. The bath. Even flying. When Kit’s dad took him by the waist and flew him through the skies, he did not drop his thumb; no, he took it with him. Whether it was on land, sea or sky, buggy, boat or parent, Kit and his thumb were inseparable.

For Kit’s parents it seemed like a good thing. He could soothe himself when he became upset. What is love after all, but something that makes you glad when you are sad. It did that. It did all of those things. Not all love stories are Romeo and Juliet though, not all couples are kept apart from parents; sometimes there are other events that conspire against a couple.. So it was for Kit and his thumb. But that obstacle is for another day. Today, I’ll leave you with the blissful image of a baby and their thumb.