We need to talk, mateychops.
I stood in the living room of my Brother, Big D's house. It had been the old family home but he had technically won the inheritance lottery and was proudly living there like a King, rent-free.
Whit aboot?
Asked Big D suspiciously as if I had offered to give him a soapy love enema.
The ashes.
I jerked a head in the direction of the front room where for the last three years our parents had lain in ash form in two cardboard boxes.
They had wanted to be cremated. Which we had done but had made little preparation as to what to do with the ashes and so, on their return to us, in the front room they lay forlorn and almost forgotten.
But this was a new year and it was time. Time to do the do and the do needed oh so desperately to be done.
Fuck it. We need to do something with them. What about taking them up Conic Hill? They loved it, remember?
I tried not to look him in the eye in case he started crying and saying he wanted to keep them forever.
Much to my surprise, he didn't.
Aye... Aye, that's actually a good idea.
He nodded slowly as he said this, the wrinkly bags under his eyes crinkling like anus skin.
So do we take the whole box of them or just a cup or something?
I had to ask as my experience of scattering dead people's ashes was next to nothing.
Whit would I do with the rest of the box?
Big D spoke in a low voice as if the ashy denizens of the next room were listening.
I dunno. Put the rest of them in the bin?
Fucking whit? Throw them in the bin? What the fuck?
My brother curled his right fist as if he was going to blooter me with it.
Aye alright, calm down. We will take the fucking boxes.
With that, we headed into the room and lugged the densely heavy boxes out to the car. It was only an hour's drive. Plus a couple of hours humphing up a hill. Finally, it would be done.
After some time and much puffing and regretting having been smokers we made it about halfway up Conic Hill where we could see Loch Lomond and all that shit that tourists get all ejaculatey panty for.
Quite a shite pic but I had to be surreptitious as Big D was all pious and reverential on the walk, prick.
Here then? You can see the water, it's quite nice.
To be honest I didn't want to walk any further with the dead weight of the box that I had. I bet I had my bastarding Dad, he had been six foot odd.
Aye, alright. Here then.
My broham was sounding forlorn. No doubt thinking sad thoughts.
I opened my box. The ashes inside were sealed in a ridiculously thick clear plastic bag. I pulled out my Leatherman Skeletool and sliced it open.
It smelt faintly of fags. Fags being cigarettes in Scotland and not hordes of gay men. Maybe I had been carrying my Mum all along? She loved smoking.
I passed the blade to my brother who sliced his bag open. He looked at me for what came next.
I scanned around to see if anyone was about, it was quite a popular hill to be walking and I was sure there were laws against throwing dead people's ashes about.
There was no one. I tipped my box out and my brother did the same.
The ash tumbled out with a feathery whoomph and a gigantic spume of grey and white dust rose into the air.
I coughed a bit and tried to shield my eyes.
Fuck.
FUCK?!
FUUUUUUCK!?!
The wind which had been behaving itself had roused itself into a mini gale and started whipping the piles of ash into the air.
AARRGRHHH?!
I COULD TASTE MY MUM IN MY MOUTH?!?!
At least I hoped it was my Mum.
I looked over at Big D, he too appeared to be eating some of our parents and was flapping his tongue about while sputterily spitting, flapping at his face with his big strangler's hands.
The wind picked up and whipped up more of our parents into the air and in our faces.
Fucking hell, let's get out of here.
We nodded our heads respectfully in the direction of the whipping ash clouds that had been our parents. Together now perhaps more than they ever had been.
And ran.
