The Very Great Importance of Unicorns
Gran works with computers.
Mum works with computers.
Dad works with computers.
Everyone works with computers except me.
Gran says her job is mostly emails and meetings.
That sounds ordinary.
But sometimes her phone rings and her voice changes.
Not louder.
Smaller.
Gran has a chair that fits her exactly.
It is brown and soft and makes a gentle thump when the footrest comes out.
When she sits in it after work, sometimes she is Story Gran.
Sometimes she is Funny Gran.
Sometimes she is Quiet Gran.
Quiet Gran looks at her phone like it is telling her something she does not like.
I do not like Quiet Gran.
When Quiet Gran appears, I get the glitter pens from the second drawer.
“Gran,” I say very seriously, “it is time for a unicorn.”
Gran blinks like she has just come back from somewhere far away.
“A unicorn?” she says.
“Yes. A very sparkly one.”
We draw it together.
Mine has twelve legs.
Gran never says that is too many.
After the unicorn, her shoulders are not up near her ears anymore.
Gran makes a lot of tea.
The kettle knows her name.
When she has meetings, she closes the office door and talks in her Calm Voice.
Her Calm Voice sounds like nothing is wrong anywhere.
But when the meeting finishes, she makes tea and goes out onto the balcony.
Then she says Very Loud Words.
Not at anyone.
Just into the sky.
The Very Loud Words are not allowed at kindy.
After the Very Loud Words, she drinks her tea.
Then she comes back inside.
On Monday Gran said we’d have High Tea on Thursday at three o’clock sharp.
She likes things to be exact.
High Tea is very important.
Tiny cups.
Tiny cakes.
Necklaces that are too big.
On Wednesday we polished the spoons.
On Thursday morning she winked at me and said, “Ready?”
I was ready.
At two fifty-nine I put on my sparkly shoes.
I set out the cups.
I chose the good biscuits.
I brought my best teddy bear, though it’s well known he doesn’t cope with crumbs.
Three o’clock came.
The office door stayed closed.
I could hear Gran’s Calm Voice.“I know we’re short.”
“It has to be done today.”
“Yes.”
Three oh five.
Three ten.
The kettle did not sing.
I sat in Gran’s chair.
It does not fit me.
It is too big and too full of her.
Four o’clock.
The door opened.
Gran came out already looking at me.
She didn’t look at her phone.
She didn’t look at the cups.
She looked at me.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Just that.
My throat felt funny.
I nodded.
Gran walked straight to the balcony.
The door slid open.
The Very Loud Words were louder than usual.
The sky heard everything.
After a while she came back inside and knelt down so we were the same height.
“Sometimes,” she said, “you get stuck in something that needs to be fixed. I really wanted to be drinking tea with you.”
I thought about shoelaces with knots you cannot pull loose.
“Is it fixed?” I asked.
She nodded.
“Yes.”
“Good,” I said. “Because the cakes are still here.”
Gran’s hugs are not quick.
They are the kind that make your bones remember where they go.
We had High Tea at four■thirty■ish.
Gran still works with computers.
She still has Important Face sometimes.
She still says Very Loud Words on the balcony.
The sky is very understanding.
Gran is mostly quiet.
Mostly funny.
Mostly ready on time.
And when she is not, she says, “I’m sorry.”
Then she makes tea.
And sometimes she needs a unicorn.
That is okay.
Because I am very good at unicorns
BlueKahu 