Blue Heaven

Epilogue

And now, the rest of the story. It actually took me hours to format it! Please leave me comments if you liked the story :)

Part 17

13 June 1982

Sunday 3:30pm

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"I just don't get the joke." He said.

It was sunny out. There were big white puffy clouds across the big sky.

You were resting on a picnic blanket. Paul laid on his back, his pretty hands folded on his chest. He drew soft breaths as the slight wind blew against his hair.

Rosemary was next to you, playing with the grass. She grasped the blades in her little fist, watching as some slid through her fingers. Others were pulled out.

"I don't know what else to say." You said. "It's funny to me. It's like... the joke is that he's a cat. He's a menace and does things a cat would do. But you can also see what's on the mind. The humour's very dry. Maybe you just don't get it."

Paul's eyes opened irate.

"Me? I don't get it? Cause it's dry?"

He laughed, shutting his eyes back.

"I'm fuckin' British." He said.

Paul's brows furrowed. The sun was on his face.

"I've read those comics of yours." He said. "They're not funny. There's a week straight of him hanging from a tree. Seven strips in a row. Don't know why your da bothers to clip 'em."

You tsked and turned away.

"It's almost his birthday, you know." You said.

Paul made a sneer-like bemused look, his eyes still shut.

"Oh, is it?" He said. "Is it your cartoon kitty's birthday soon? Is that all?"

"It's on the nineteenth." You said, pleased.

Paul let out a series of loud "ha!"s, taking the baby off guard, her head turning.

Your hand closed around his shoulder.

"They'll think you're mad." You said. "Making those sounds."

Paul's act cut off, and he let out a stiff hum.

"No one can hear us." He said. "Too far."

It was true. Likely anyone else was too far away to notice or care.

Paul shifted where he lay, hands still clasped, stretching his fingers. He tilted his head, resting it in your direction.

"He's turning four." You said.

"Is he?" Paul said.

It seemed he had stopped listening, autopilot with his sweet tone and replies.

"Four years since his debut comic strip." You said. "It was in 1978."

"Mmm hmm..."

"Maybe it isn't funny every week." You said, surly. "Let's see you come up with a gag every single day for four years. Let's see how you do it."

"I do." He said, the same sweet languid tone. "I amuse you every day. I'm funny."

He was funny, alright.

"He was more cat-like early on, maybe." You said. "Maybe Jim ran out of cat jokes, now he drinks coffee and watches TV."

Paul must be meditating. His features were back to neutral.