Pitter-patter went the little feet, all day long, around his head. They didn’t vary their speed or change their direction, they just pittered and pattered their way along the same beaten track on the inside of his skull. The boy was sure, had his eyes been able to swivel round and allow him to see the inside of his head, he would have been able to see this track…Clearly at that. The track the little feet were gouging into his skull.
Every now and again the boy heard, or thought he heard little pittering pair of feet doing a dance of some sort. Sometimes it sounded like they did the stately waltz, at other times a cheeky tap dance even an elegant ballet. Before he could be certain that these dancing feet were real however, that pittering and pattering of little feet would drown out all other sounds.
The pittering made life difficult at times. Once while the boy was at school, his teacher had asked him a question. The boy asked his mind for the answer but before he could make out what his mind replied, a familiar pittering and pattering began to build so that the answer he eventually gave was a garbled version of the correct answer, with a pitter and patter thrown in. When the laughter had settled down, the boy found himself at the back of class. A space he occupied for the rest of his school career.
Looking back, the boy- now man- but still a boy smiled inwardly. He remembered that day so clearly. How much he had learned since then, how much he had changed! Looking back, it was almost like looking at a completely different Pers- pitter pitter patter -on.
Over the years, the pittering and pattering had become personalized. It had changed to match his unique head…And his head in turn had changed to match his feet. Lying in bed, drifting slowly to sleep he thought about his head. He now had at least three sets of feet each doing its own circuit of his cranium. The third pair he had only recently ‘acquired’. The boy was very happy with these feet. They sounded bigger than the previous sets of feet; they were shod in some sort of extravagant shoe; and they wend a slightly more unpredictable path. If any of the feet’s paths were followed for a period however, one would eventually find it repeating the same path. Perhaps unpredictable was the wrong word then, unconventional rather.
Walking along a promenade, his mind distracted by the little feet as it often was, the man was not paying attention to where he was going. He walked headlong into a figure walking in the opposite direction. Obviously this persons mind was also elsewhere. The man may have imagined it, but at the moment of collision, he thought he had heard the delicate steps of a pair of high heels walking along a well laid path. Glancing up, the man looked directly into the face of an apologetic woman. She was petite with brown hair and brown eyes. The eyes were deeply set in a soft, cream coloured face. The usually unimaginative man suddenly thought of two splotches of unreflective dark, stillness in a pond otherwise encapsulated by the light of the moon. The curls of hair falling from her brow he saw as reads reaching over and just touching the water’s surface. The man was taken aback. He resisted the temptation to turn and flee. It would be so easy, two steps and into a doorway.
The woman for her part was completely oblivious to the man’s dilemma. Her brow furrowed as she thought herself a fool. The pitter patter of children’s feet around her own head depriving her of clear thought. “This is enough”, said the man in the recesses of his mind. “Enough running! Enough hiding! Enough sitting in the dark with only the pitter patter of little feet in my head to keep me company!” Mind made up, the man stuck out his hand with some vigour.