I stared at her, and my sight crept into those pooled green eyes. I noticed the pattern of her iris and the shade her eyelashes created. The sun seemed stuck behind the skyscrapers, and as its muted rays sauntered across the windowsill and onto my back, they left me with a certain curious warmth.
'Jonathan,' she said, stirring her coffee and putting the spoon back down, 'it's good to see you again'.
My eyes had travelled south and I found myself analysing her hands, they had changed so much. Her fingernails were painted red and the soft delicateness that they once carried seemed now to be only harsh skin. She paid great attention to the coffee between her hands and managed to mutter something, 'I'm sorry.' I looked away. 'Do you hate me Jonathan?' She said softly but slightly impatiently.
'No,' I replied in a manner which shocked her, 'of course I don't hate you. You had to do what you had to do.' She smiled at this and took a sip from her coffee, but pulled back at once, 'Yowch! This is boiling hot, I'll have to let it cool'.
Steam rose slowly from the porcelain mug where the swampy liquid was waiting, and I followed it closely with my eyes. It swirled to the corner of the room and disappeared without any warning.
'You know I didn't mean to hurt you-' she said.
'Spare me the cliches Sybil, you know full well what you did. Let's just not dwell on that, it's been too long and we have more important matters to discuss,' she seemed shocked by my frankness and pushed her back against the now arched chair.
'It's been too long,' she replied.
Just then I felt myself being dragged out of my body, out of this suit, out of this seat, away from this table and this odd cafe. I could feel myself looking directly into her face, as if it were mine, like I was peering from a mirror, into another world. Her beauty was shocking. I had forgotten just how breathtaking she was. Her face still perfectly symmetrical and her nose slightly crooked but buttoned and straight. Her eyes were the same, knives of black and her hair was wild and lose but kept up in a bun, she always thought it made her look Parisian. Sybil's lips were the only thing different. They seemed thinner now, but the more I studied them the more I recalled their taste and I felt myself being dragged back to Earth.
My body clenched and I could feel something stirring above my nose; I realised I was beginning to cry. Stifling the tears and swallowing I looked away onto the table to the right to where an elderly man was sitting, newspaper in spread out in front of him, fanning his eyesight as he fussed around with the pages.
'Jonathan?' My heart leapt from my chest. 'I'm worried about you.' Her voice seemed to offer no solace and just shuddered and fell into the faint smell of blending and biscuits.
'Thank you,' I replied and sent a smile her way.
'Listen it's getting to 3 and I need to be off,' my heart sank, 'but we definitely need a real catch-up. What are you doing say...' She pulled out a brown leather notepad from her brown leather handbag, and flicked through the pages until she was satisfied. 'Saturday evening? We could get a drink - that is, if you still drink of course,' she joked.
Laughing, I meshed my fingers together and smiled at her, 'yeah I'm free, and yeah I still drink. The Arms, at 8? It's not too hard to get to from the station.'
'I remember exactly where it is, okay Jonathan, I'll see you then.' We both stood up and embraced awkwardly, my hand fitted perfectly around her waist - nothing's changed there. Her slim coal shoes ticked as she headed out, the door shook as it slammed shut and began to tremble in the wind once again. As quaint as an Autumnal leaf I floated back into the seat and felt its hard embrace against my sullied limbs.
I lent across the table to pilfer the biscuit Sybil had left uneaten and that’s when I noticed something strange. The mug had been left perfectly on the saucer, but nestled between the saucer and said corresponding mug there appeared to be a scrap of paper. It was quite far under, which led me to believe she had placed it under the mug when I wasn’t looking, or perhaps slipped it from her hand to its underbelly as she took a gentle sip. Whatever the method, this was trickery.
Naturally, I fished it out and began to scan it over. She couldn’t have written it here, there was far too much there to be done so quickly. Dear Sir/Madame, if you have found this then please look outside the café and chase down the man who was sitting with me and hand him this. If you can’t find him then feel free to read it but I’m not sure if you’ll find what I have to say very interesting - unless you’re the sort of person who enjoys meddling in other people’s lives. On the other side there was a more personal message however, one that I do not wish to remember word for word, but lots of regret and apologising.
The crowds outside were starting to disperse as the clouds gathered and formulated a plan to drench the businessmen and tourists. The trembling door gave me a bit of trouble on my exit, I could not fathom whether to pull it or turn the handle and push, after a brief duel with it and quite a rude interjection from the hulking shop owner, I found my feet firmly on cobblestone once again and as they met grey concrete, grey descended over the street. Then grey drops jumped down between the buildings, then I felt them on my hair and trickling down my face. Then, finally, I felt comfortable again.
Thursday, 25 December 2008
Friday, 12 December 2008
There's Something For Everyone
It was outside where things really start to puzzle me, why was William so intense in his letters? And why did he even want to write these letters to me? It didn't seem to make any sense at the time, but I wasn't going to be bogged down by it.
London was particularly gorgeous this afternoon, it was a Sunday afternoon actually. There were no birds in the trees, the sky was a muggy grey fieldish colour that seems to match the cement perfectly. There was, however, a stiff breeze that seemed to rush through the tiny gaps between buildings. Looking up, I took my time to analyse the folds in clouds and the sporadic spaces of sky between them. These were particularly interesting to me, and I noted their size and the patterns they made. I had originally planned to visit my publisher somewhere off in Camden, but I always think it wiser to avoid crowded areas on Sundays. Instead, and I don't know why, I had decided to visit Regent's Park.
See that's the thing about London, there's something for everyone; whether you seek the quiet contemplation of a park, or a winding street you're bound to find it in London. Actually, the more I thought about places I was a fan of, the more I seemed to get lost in thought, and I cast my mind back to an eventful night in Islington.
'What can I do you for?' The woman smiled at us both with cheeky rosy red lips, covering mucky teeth. 'Don't worry Ma'am,' William replied, 'we won't keep you long. We're just wondering if you could give us some directions...' I glanced at William and then back again at this woman of the night.
'Oh, don't listen to my friend here,' placing my hand on his shoulder and turning my face from her I whispered into his ear, 'for God's sake William, try to make the story more plausible'. She got up from her stoop and paced around us, passing her cigarette between her forefingers and cackled.
No, that's not right. How did it go... I can't remember. I'm sure it'll come back to me later. Or maybe it won't? That's the problem with memories, even if you remember it, how can you be perfectly sure it occurred? Well I hope that didn't sound too silly. Let's keep walking.
As I crossed from the station to the park, I thought about everyone we used to talk about, and indeed the fun we used to have with them. This memory was starting to bother me now, I could not remember who the woman was, or even why we had found ourselves talking to her. The oddest thing was that William was pretending we were tourists, or at least strangers to the area. Perhaps he thought he was, I actually remember on numerous occasions how nervous he was when it came to travelling around London. He was never comfortable in London, not from the first day I met him to the day he left us did he once relax.
You know, and I know, that there is nothing more heavenly than reclining in a studded leather armchair, chai in hand, and a dust ridden copy of Waiting for Godot waffling around under your nose. For a good soaking of ambrosia one must achieve an inhuman state of perfection; where the striking pain in one’s heaving limbs becomes like a second nature, because after the exhaustion of suburban subordination a little self-indulgence is the perfect icing on the cake. At once, there is a great flash between my pupils and the cloudy English day pulls itself back a year, once again.
She stopped herself as she neared us and placed both hands on her hips, along the ruffles of her corset. ‘A couple of handsome boys like yourself, lost amongst these parts of town… It’s not safe around here…’ She said, waving her painted nails in front of William’s now nervous smile.
I stepped in front of William and looked her in the eye, ‘we are from around here, ignore my friend - he’s just looking for trouble.’ She sidled past me and clung onto William’s arm, he did not seem to notice her affection and carried on looking around the street.
She tilted her head onto its side and looked melancholically at me, ‘now what’s eating this one?’ She said, chuckling under her breath.
‘I’m not so sure myself, and I’ve known him for a while’ I commented, stepping back onto the steps by the doorway. ‘He just gets like this sometimes, he thinks he’s a poet’, her eyes lit up.
‘A poet! Ooh we’re in the company of a poet.’ At once she pushed herself further onto William’s arm, he finally took notice and flinched with fright. ‘Are you published? Will you write something about me? Oh imagine! Little old me in a poem. A sonnet? A sonnet for Sarah!’ William laughed nervously and his eyes kept darting back to mine, where they were only met with my giggling.
‘Come on leave some for the rest! There’s not enough to go round, have you seen him? He’s all skin and bone.’ I said and proceeded to winch her away from his arm and back to the door. She reluctantly opened it and stepped into the hallway, then turning to us and putting her weight onto one hip, she smiled cheekily.
‘Aren’t you gonna come in?’ I could feel her eyes on me, even though I was looking at William, who by now had really become a quivering mess. ‘Don’t worry William, it’ll be alright.’ I said calmly, he looked at me quickly.
‘What are we doing in this place, Jonathan I want to go home I don’t feel welcome, I feel awful,’ he replied anxiously. I placed both my hands firmly on his shoulders and put my face in front of his.
‘Come on William. You said you needed to meet some of these people. It’ll help your writing.’ I say, slightly patronising him but also encouraging him. He picks up on this sentiment and steps from my grip.
‘Okay. I’ll go in,’ I walk forward, ‘BUT, if there’s any funny business…’ He continues and gestures between the door and the end of the street with his hand, ‘I’m going.’ I nod in agreement to him, and we head into the doorway into the unknown.
London was particularly gorgeous this afternoon, it was a Sunday afternoon actually. There were no birds in the trees, the sky was a muggy grey fieldish colour that seems to match the cement perfectly. There was, however, a stiff breeze that seemed to rush through the tiny gaps between buildings. Looking up, I took my time to analyse the folds in clouds and the sporadic spaces of sky between them. These were particularly interesting to me, and I noted their size and the patterns they made. I had originally planned to visit my publisher somewhere off in Camden, but I always think it wiser to avoid crowded areas on Sundays. Instead, and I don't know why, I had decided to visit Regent's Park.
See that's the thing about London, there's something for everyone; whether you seek the quiet contemplation of a park, or a winding street you're bound to find it in London. Actually, the more I thought about places I was a fan of, the more I seemed to get lost in thought, and I cast my mind back to an eventful night in Islington.
'What can I do you for?' The woman smiled at us both with cheeky rosy red lips, covering mucky teeth. 'Don't worry Ma'am,' William replied, 'we won't keep you long. We're just wondering if you could give us some directions...' I glanced at William and then back again at this woman of the night.
'Oh, don't listen to my friend here,' placing my hand on his shoulder and turning my face from her I whispered into his ear, 'for God's sake William, try to make the story more plausible'. She got up from her stoop and paced around us, passing her cigarette between her forefingers and cackled.
No, that's not right. How did it go... I can't remember. I'm sure it'll come back to me later. Or maybe it won't? That's the problem with memories, even if you remember it, how can you be perfectly sure it occurred? Well I hope that didn't sound too silly. Let's keep walking.
As I crossed from the station to the park, I thought about everyone we used to talk about, and indeed the fun we used to have with them. This memory was starting to bother me now, I could not remember who the woman was, or even why we had found ourselves talking to her. The oddest thing was that William was pretending we were tourists, or at least strangers to the area. Perhaps he thought he was, I actually remember on numerous occasions how nervous he was when it came to travelling around London. He was never comfortable in London, not from the first day I met him to the day he left us did he once relax.
You know, and I know, that there is nothing more heavenly than reclining in a studded leather armchair, chai in hand, and a dust ridden copy of Waiting for Godot waffling around under your nose. For a good soaking of ambrosia one must achieve an inhuman state of perfection; where the striking pain in one’s heaving limbs becomes like a second nature, because after the exhaustion of suburban subordination a little self-indulgence is the perfect icing on the cake. At once, there is a great flash between my pupils and the cloudy English day pulls itself back a year, once again.
She stopped herself as she neared us and placed both hands on her hips, along the ruffles of her corset. ‘A couple of handsome boys like yourself, lost amongst these parts of town… It’s not safe around here…’ She said, waving her painted nails in front of William’s now nervous smile.
I stepped in front of William and looked her in the eye, ‘we are from around here, ignore my friend - he’s just looking for trouble.’ She sidled past me and clung onto William’s arm, he did not seem to notice her affection and carried on looking around the street.
She tilted her head onto its side and looked melancholically at me, ‘now what’s eating this one?’ She said, chuckling under her breath.
‘I’m not so sure myself, and I’ve known him for a while’ I commented, stepping back onto the steps by the doorway. ‘He just gets like this sometimes, he thinks he’s a poet’, her eyes lit up.
‘A poet! Ooh we’re in the company of a poet.’ At once she pushed herself further onto William’s arm, he finally took notice and flinched with fright. ‘Are you published? Will you write something about me? Oh imagine! Little old me in a poem. A sonnet? A sonnet for Sarah!’ William laughed nervously and his eyes kept darting back to mine, where they were only met with my giggling.
‘Come on leave some for the rest! There’s not enough to go round, have you seen him? He’s all skin and bone.’ I said and proceeded to winch her away from his arm and back to the door. She reluctantly opened it and stepped into the hallway, then turning to us and putting her weight onto one hip, she smiled cheekily.
‘Aren’t you gonna come in?’ I could feel her eyes on me, even though I was looking at William, who by now had really become a quivering mess. ‘Don’t worry William, it’ll be alright.’ I said calmly, he looked at me quickly.
‘What are we doing in this place, Jonathan I want to go home I don’t feel welcome, I feel awful,’ he replied anxiously. I placed both my hands firmly on his shoulders and put my face in front of his.
‘Come on William. You said you needed to meet some of these people. It’ll help your writing.’ I say, slightly patronising him but also encouraging him. He picks up on this sentiment and steps from my grip.
‘Okay. I’ll go in,’ I walk forward, ‘BUT, if there’s any funny business…’ He continues and gestures between the door and the end of the street with his hand, ‘I’m going.’ I nod in agreement to him, and we head into the doorway into the unknown.
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