Snapshots

Latest 'pieces' last.

I - Two Seconds

Allowed out, even though the rain was pouring. Allowed out into the cold and dreary morning - somebody had been shouting again. So, Liam could see Luke's face in the water. Then Liam jumped up and down, legs and feet synchronized - bang, bang, bang - so Luke disintegrated into a million pieces, but Luke laughed anyway. Luke was like that in those days.

II - So Much Left Unsaid

"Are you waiting for Jonathan?"
"Yeah, you too?"
"Looks like we've both been stood up, can I get you a drink?"
"Yeah, an orange juice would be great"

A six foot tall brunette wearing a suit walks away from one of the rather grubby looking scratched wooden tables that formed the bulk of the furniture in 'The Open Arms', a place of business, but mostly drinking. It happened to be situated across the road and a few hundred yards down the hill from the Mill Trading Estate. Insurance companies, information technology. Away from the main building stood a smaller rectangular block home to a roofing company. A telecoms company had an entire building to itself, and at lunchtime disparate groups of suited people would disappear into their cars, or maybe walk across the traffic for a lunchtime pint.

Emma sat waiting for her orange juice, silently cursing Jon and his working habits, wondering what the hell Nikki was doing here waiting for him. So, when Nikki returned they sit and talked.
"He's always been like this, you know?"
"How long did you two go out with each other again?"
"Three months, and I wouldn't call it going out exactly. We never went out very often, it's always work with Jon, and he used to call me on my mobile with a new excuse, and it was always Nikki, Nikki, Nikki."
"He wants to talk to me about the new account," whispered Emma, slightly nervously, little faint lines forming on her forehead.
"Is that what he calls it? Don't hold your breath. And, my god he's aged. You can see the grey hairs coming in"
"You're too hard on him, I think he still looks great for a man of his age, and you wouldn't guess how old he was if you didn't know him"
"You really like him? Good luck, I want to talk to someone i've just seen through the window, i might not be back, so take care."

Nikki departed, Emma sat waiting sipping an orange juice until time became such that it was unlikely Jonathon was going to turn up. She waited until the last moment, then stepped out into the cold November air, waiting for the rain to come pouring down again. She didn't have many friends, she'd only had this job two months. She wanted to keep it, unlike other jobs. This was all distraction, but she was lonely. Living without her family was proving harder than she thought. And she really hated Nikki. You could tell, she went drinking with her every lunch-time to talk about Jonathan, whilst invariably he never turned up. Nikki was always there, and always with friends. Some people have all the luck.

III - Seeing In The Dark

She had been his one and only blur, he'd had poor eyesight for years and years, like milk on the retina. Medical terms eluded him, poetry and prose eluded him in terms of understanding, but he understood her, and loved her so much they'd clutch to each other in bed, like losing even the smallest grip would result in the roof collapsing, caving in and killing them both instantly. She had jet black hair, but then, a few things were dark to him. The house with the broken gate, a place where they both went and she'd always lead him by the hand. Close up he could see her every detail. Face to face, nose to nose, eye to breast, finger to mouth - whispers and caresses as the roof resolutely refused to collapse.

IV - Tell Her Everything

Your black hair scares the life out of me. I can feel the life seeping out as I stare at your aged face, and jet black hair sat like an unhappy slug atop of your head. There’s a couple kissing in the corner over by the fruit-machine. He looks lecherous to me, her breasts noticeable from 300 yards away, maybe – but he’s making a big deal about looking at them as far as I’m concerned. A DJ misplaces records, transitions far from smooth as he constantly puts on the wrong records, stops and then starts again. It’s been a freezingly cold night, time to buy a bigger and warmer coat, I feel.
The man with the black hair is sat opposite a witch whose eyes burn right through me. Here with me is a lovely girl with beautiful eyes and a happy smile, when she does smile. I like to think I help her smile a little more than she would otherwise. I’d love to be with her all the time, I’d love to say right now, ‘I Love You’, those words, but they won’t come out, so I skirt around the issue, staring into her eyes and laughing to myself, and she wonders why I’m laughing – she thinks I’m insane.

The DJ plays and then misplays James Brown. The lecherous man is falling asleep, people are leaving, and it’s still cold outside. The man with the black hair is still here sat opposite his spell casting witch, an ultra thin witch with a face that looks like it’s been made rather than a mere chance of creation or a mixing of genes. She looks created, and she’s scaring the life out of me. Gazing across, shuddering at the jet black slug. Despairing at the hands on approach of a man quite clearly so drunk, that it’s a wonder he can still stand, let alone offend every girl in the Pub that he speaks to. Gazing into the eyes of the girl I’m with. Smiling and laughing. I wish I could say exactly how I feel, I wish I could tell her everything right now.

V - Let It Go

We moved in the tide of the sideways swim. Everything either of us thought to bring proved useless in the downpour. Rocks, gravel and cement beneath our feet, trees hanging like ale ridden grey, sky so darked it wished us away, footsteps in the distance tipping our way and everything we said was whispered. Our whispers are caresses, our troubles become dreams. I love you in the Winter and I love you in the Spring. I’ll love you once forever, and everything that brings.

Why? We came to a road that went two ways. Go down this road, it has trees with branches overhanging and the rich smell of autumn. Go down this road, there is a light that shines over the hedges and the cars are bright and noisy. Which one do we choose? Do we stand still and stay right where we are, indecisive, eventually going down both roads, but apart from each other? Do we stay together? We should. Your eyes are everything to me and no small matter of rain is going to sway me. The sky sways the rain, moving it across the sky, lengthways rather than straight down. Everything seems to suggest we should give up, but love will grow, if we allow it to. Be with me. Let’s go right forwards and let’s go Autumnal, and be together.

VI - Rant Set Aside

Conversation? I’ve no conversation, but I’ve so much to fucking say. You wanna know what’s on my mind? You really want to know? Ah, fuck it, you wouldn’t understand. The war, I tell you, the war! Hands shaking, hands trembling, in the gutter, in the fucking pocket. I’m drunk, I’m so sorry. The first time that we met, your eyes burned right through me, and I knew right then. I’ve no prospects, and no conversation. Conversation? Let’s get jobs, I’ll work nights, and you work day-times. We’ll pass each other in the corridor for a few minutes. Let’s have children and lets make love. Let’s marry for convienience, everybody is doing it. Oh, right, lets make money. Money is everything, isn’t it? Money, ambition. Fuck that guy over the street in the dirty looking house. Curtains always closed, what’s he doing in there? A girl stays with him sometimes, and they look pathetically happy when they emerge, and he looks kind of nervous around her, like she’s a half broken piece of valuable china. Conversation? Let’s talk about what I did today. I sacked three guys and hired two, they play rugby, our team will be really good next year. What did you do today?

VII - 1952 Vincent Black Lightning

According to renowned English folk singer, writer and guitar player, Richard Thompson, nothing in the world beats a ‘Vincent 52’ and a red headed girl. You know, I’m only half-way there and already nothing beats what i’ve already received. She’d think I’d gone rather strange to suggest we hop on a vintage motorcycle, both dressed in black leather, and ride away with the wind rushing through our arms and up our backs, but maybe we should? Perhaps we will.

A furrowed brow. A brow where it looks like a little man has hopped upon your forehead and done some preliminary work towards creating a beautiful garden, but buggered off before doing much more than to dig deep ditches into your face. Ah, yes – that worried look, that frown upon my face – too much time worrying about things that don’t matter and too much time pondering and wondering and dreaming, that I forget the here and now.

Music is love. Nothing more needs to be said, but music has a rival! Many rivals, different for different people, and some people have no love, only companionship. As I said to my parrott the other day, “I should get you a lady parrott’ – only he’d peck her eyes out - boistrous angry green monster of a bird that he is.

Nothing in the world beats a ‘Vincent 52’ and a red headed girl? Well, I’m with you Richard, I’m with you. It’s a nice image – it’s romantic and the thought of motoring away somewhere away from everything, from absolutely every worry and every soul other than my own red-headed girl is very attractive to me. I’ll listen again. And again, and I’ll wish and dream. I’ll think of her, and flowers will bloom. Well, you understand the picture I am painting, yes? Brushstrokes lacking finesse and technique, because I’m only an amateur, you understand. Only an amateur. I possess no magic whatsoever. I hold her close and nothing else matters.

Closure

A part of me died last night. A huge part of me died. You know sometimes, you realise that everything you’ve been doing is wrong? That you’ve been clinging to something, or someone – and living your life in their shadow, in their memory? Oh, I think of her, oh lord I think of her. There’s an image in my mind, when she was carrying. She was huge, bloated with water retention. Her feet were like two medium sized castles attached to her legs. Her legs were bulbous, swollen. Her face and belly were rosy, plump, in the flush. Her eyes remained, and always shall remain, the most beautiful eyes in the entire world. So dark, a blackness full of such sadness, it’ll break your heart just to gaze at them. Eyes that are crying – so you cry along in sympathy. Her eyes follow me around.

I was out dancing. Yeah, I’ll jump around. I was out, gazing. Yeah, I’ll flirt and get rejected and come bouncing back. But, this longing within me, this huge longing to belong to something, someone – to belong somewhere – gets me into trouble. I’ll stare, into people’s eyes, hoping to find a reflection of her. I’ll stare, and get beaten up by boyfriends, into fights. I’ll get drunk, drink and drink. Carry on drinking to the brink of not being able to go home.

I lost a part of myself last night. A piece of youthful naivety. She’s no longer looking over my shoulder. I miss her terribly already.