Love's Last Dance

Chris sat on the floor against the cold radiator. His knees pulled tight into his chest, his head rested on the tops of his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks onto his arms and down across his shins. It was summer yet the air was cold as he shivered against the coolness of the radiator.
His tears had been relentless, his heart was breaking within a body already ruined and a soul that had seen far too much for his years. For one moment he feelt better for the expulsion of emotion and the next, embarrassed for the scene he was creating. He was the only one in his room so he knew that there was no reason to feel this way yet, he felt hopeless and alone.

The morning had started well. A fresh Monday morning with the summer air warm but the English weather clouds were creating a heavy burden on the day. He felt positive and up beat about what was ahead and how he was going to achieve his dreams. At seven am he climbed out of bed and lit a cigarette, inhaling the smoke, filling his lungs with a comfort which had became a routine. His life was all about the routine from getting up, smoking a cigarette, using the bathroom, making tea, eating breakfast, going for a run, showering (which had its own routine) ironing his clothes, moisturising and getting dressed. For most mornings this routine would take 3 hours, after which he would leave his flat for work or be busy chasing up the next good thing. This morning however, something was different. He couldn’t place why but he felt different and his routine didn’t flow or feel as it should. On being dressed he didn’t leave but he sat in the chair in the corner of his room. It was an old chair with a individual old smell, one that tells a story.

Three hours passed and all he thought about was her.

They had met at a hotel several months before and he had been smitten from the first time he looked into her green eyes. From that moment they had been virtually inseparable. There wasn’t a day, or hour that didn’t go by that didn’t contain a message. Talk of how they would be together one day and how they look forward to the next touch, kiss and when they no longer have to hide.
Thoughts of her and what she meant to him kept him in a stance, the activities from their most recent weekend together tore lines through his heart and laid tracks in his mind. The sequence of events that happened next was not what was expected.

At three thirty in the afternoon, his mobile rang, startling him out of his daze which had left him exhausted. The call had no name but he knew the number. It was the number that he never wanted to call or receive calls from. The call represented a part of his life that he so desperately wanted to leave behind. Chris ignored the call, his heart began to beat, anxiety flushed over his skin and presented itself in small beads on his forehead. He picked up his mobile and moved it to the other side of the room, it rang again and a third, fourth and fifth time. His dealer would not give up, not when he had money to be made. As he sat, his legs curled under him he realised that the life he was living could no longer be sustained, that there was no fight left, the belief had slipped from his fingers leaving him empty and alone.

His thoughts switched to her, his girl; the girl he loved and the girl he knew he would lose. The thoughts of her smile, her skin, the smell of her hair, the way she looked at him when they laid naked next to each other, the curve of her hips and the way she was able to entwine herself into him so that their hearts beat as one.

He was torn. They had an understanding, one of trust and honesty, it was the foundation of their relationship and it was what they both needed and deserved to start over - one last time. Chris lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly as his heart pounded, for he knew what he had to do, what he should do was tell her , he couldn’t continue on this path but the more he thought about it and the more he rehearsed the words in his head, the more smoke in the room pressed on his heart and his hope that she would understand. He couldn’t bear this pain, this burden of his life and the person he had become. There seemed only one option. It had been almost a year ago that this option was last attempted, it hadn’t worked then but now it seemed more important, for he had failed himself and her.

With a sudden sense of determination, he picked up his phone and redialled that last missed call. The instructions were clear, he was to meet in the usual place in twenty minutes. He hung up, holding his phone in his hands, he sat back in the chair, the enormity of what he had just done and what he was about to do made is breathing deep and hard. His phone buzzed, startling him from his rhythm, his pulse reverberated through his whole body as he read the message. It was her; she had text to say she was thinking of him - asking what he was doing with his day. He couldn’t reply, there were no words to say how he felt. Flipping the phone shut he placed it in his jeans pocket, picked up his door keys and left his flat.

Five minutes later the deal was done and he possessed his way out. Overhead the clouds were forming and the wind was starting to pick up, it was as though the elements were preparing the introduction; the scene being set for his last performance.

Today there were signs

She always sat in the left hand side. Actually it was the right side but she preferred to always look and think of things head on. So, she always sat on the left hand side as she approached from the war memorial; the memorial that was always forgotten on Remembrance Day.

She always sat on the end, perched in elegance with a straight back, ankles and knees together with her hands rested in her lap and her hair pushed back behind her ears.
She was always a few minutes before him. She liked that she could watch his approach, pretending to be smiling at children in the playground or at the fat pigeons that patrolled the park.

She always thought that if he was there before her, and he watched her approach, then he would know by her walk and the way her hips flirted with her skirt in the gentle spring breeze. It would be all too obvious.

Instead she watched him and played games in her mind, guessing each day what he would pull from his bag for his lunch. She liked to think about sandwiches and how she would prepare his lunch which such care that he would be able to taste her love.

She always acknowledged his approach by blushing slightly, her cheeks flushing rose pink whilst her heart raced at the thought of the day being the actual day. She hoped that he couldn’t see the small vibrations on her blouse which, to her, seemed so powerful that they might burst the small yellow buttons from her chest.

He always sat at the other end, sometimes he would be closer, only slightly but this made her knee bounce with delight. She enjoyed the days where the breeze stole his smell so that she could wear it all the way home.

Today the signs had been there: the sun danced on his jet black hair, his eyes alive with life. The breeze carried his musky sweet smell, embracing her as he approached. He sat closer than normal and from the corner of her eye she watched as he opened his rucksack and pulled out the neatly wrapped tin-foil lunch package. She saw a book, a diary with a name written in blue Biro across a white label positioned perfectly at the top right corner. "Tim P Johnson" she muttered over and over in her head whilst picturing her signature and how she would loop the 's' with the 'j'.

She knew his name and that was enough. She turned to her left, smiled and said "Hold me Tim"

Until next time

They stood on the platform, side by side with fingers entwined in a knowing clasp. There had been no words for several minutes. They just stood facing the line together, breathing simultaneous heavy sighs.

He hated these times, his heart always the same - deep rhythmic beats as they waited for the train to take her away. Small beads of sweat gathered under his trilby, giving away his anxiousness as they rolled down his temples. She must have seen from the corner of her gaze, for her fingers tightened, warm with re-assurance.

Across the platform, on the northern line, stood a young couple locked in an embrace so tight, that it was difficult to see where one ended and the other began; kissing with such passion it was as though their lives depended on the taste of the other’s lips. They watched, remembering back to the first time they had stood on the platform, a fondness for the memory made both of them smile; gone were the days of such physical goodbyes but flame still burned.

She lifted her free hand; red dry skin gave a sign of how age had caught up with her, similar to the mid September chill that tickled the back of her neck. Years ago she would have been like the young girl in the embrace – her legs bare, long and toned in a short yellow skirt and heels. She pulled her silk scarf close around her neck to stop the cold whisper. Where had time run away to? She looked at the gold watch on her wrist (her most recent gift that she would have to justify with a story of extravagant expenditure); it indicated that she had two minutes left. She turned to her everlasting love, his eyes sparkling with the dew of goodbye, his deep brown eyes still managed to leave her breathless. His eyes always said the same, twice a year, for forty years, they had begged her not to go and to leave him again, not to return to the life he was not part of. She thought about the day she had chosen her destiny and how she wished, all those years ago that she had listened to her heart.

The rescue of Green 10

I was attracted by your smooth, shiny exterior and the way that I could turn you in my hand and there would always be a star on your skin, a reflection of light, be it the sun, headlight or the kitchen light strip which flickers erratically.

It has been 1 year, 5 months, 3 days, 9 hours and 47 minutes since we first met and since then I have taken you everywhere with me. Some days I carry you effortlessly; my fingers fit perfectly in the space you provide. Other days, when it is hot and the air humid, I struggle to hold your weight and my arms become heavy and my fingers either slip from where they hang on to you, or they swell and I worry that we will be attached forever.
Sometimes I think I would like that, to have you with me always.

I have seen others like you, but they aren’t free. They live a monotonous life – rolling the same way and down the same lanes day after day. Sometimes I look at the others, their colours different to yours, you are one colour and the others are marbled with flecks of light. I feel guilty when I think about the others and I say sorry to you. I wouldn’t trade you for any of them. I promise.

My parents think that I am not well, they shout at me when I have you with me. They tell me to leave you alone, to put you back where I found you, to not be so strange. They don’t want a strange child. My mum always goes a shade of pink when she has to explain to her friends why I have you. She stutters and flusters, like a pigeon on the High Street trying to get out of the way of footsteps. Most of the time, she brushes the subject off with ‘ I don’t know where I went wrong, he clearly isn’t normal.’ I am normal I just have not-so-normal friends. My dad tries to grab your from me, but my fingers are always holding on tight. He has tried to take you in the night, he says it isn’t healthy or hygienic to have you in my bed, but because I am always attached, I know when he is trying. Last week I was grounded for nearly giving dad a heart attack. He had come into my room at night and was trying to prise you from my grasp. He had woken me up when he stood on the creaky floorboard; I like the fact I have a creaky floorboard, I like to think of it as an alarm, an intruder alarm, one that will save me from monsters and my dad. I waited a while, pretending to be asleep as he lifted my fingers one by one and just as he thought he was nearly there, that he would succeed in breaking our un-natural bond, I shouted "Boo". Dad jumped and hit his head on my model helicopter as he sprung to his feet, sending the model around in circles, as though the enemy had shot it down. He shouted at me, called me a ‘Stupid little shit’ and said something about being a freak for sleeping with you, before stating that he was ‘giving up’. As he slammed the door shut I chuckled and thanked you for giving me the idea.

You have never told me why you had come to be in the spot where I found you, but then I don’t know if I have asked you directly. I was just happy to have found you, mesmerised by your colour and intrigued by your name. I had been walking on the other side of the road, out of breath from the uphill climb and hungry for my dinner. The combination of maths and PE on a Thursday always made me ravenous for my dinner. I was already late but I couldn’t ignore you, I couldn’t leave you sat in the gutter surrounded by the wet autumn leaves looking cold. I was eager to cross the road, but it was gone five o’clock and workers were pouring out the city in a steady flow. I panicked that you might decide move on and not wait for me, so I ran, as quick as I could. Horns sounded, a voice shouted and I felt scared, but only for a moment, for once I bent down and picked you up, my fingers fitting perfectly into the 3 holes on your crown, I thought of how I was rescuing you and how that made me feel proud. I felt happy for I knew that I had found a friend for life.