by James Bruce
It was on St George’s day. The street they lived on held a street party. The road was closed down and tables were laid down the street.
The blue stoned cobble streets were damp from rain but glistened in the sun. Alfred was drinking coke and rum, in his mind this was just an excuse to be drunk.
He wasn’t proud to be English, the only thing that made him proud was the movement. He had recently been laid off and his nerves were frayed.
He knew as an Archaeologist that it was unlikely he’d ever have a job he enjoyed again. Four years and crippling debt, to be unemployed, he was embarrassed and ashamed.
He hadn’t told Citra yet and was gathering the nerve and Dutch courage. The rum was bought before he knew, so he thought he might as well enjoy it.
When Citra arrived back from her lecture, Alfred was sitting at one of the tables, still drinking Rum and Coke.
When he saw her, smiling, holding her bag straps childishly, her nose ring swinging with her strides, he knew he loved her and the world was still his.
“I love you and I always want you to love me, even now” Alfred said.
“I love you but I feel like you want to tell me something”
“There’s no work left Citra, they told, they just don’t need me anymore.”
She hugged him and he awkwardly dug his face into her neck to stop his tears being visible. They soaked into her denim jacket.
“You’ll live with me, I don’t care if you’re ready or not, we’ll sleep next to each other every night and keep each other warm. We’ll shop at damn Iceland if we have to.
It’s a good job you’re chubby, because we have nothing but each other now”
It was a strange sentiment to Alfred, he was also taken a back when she called him chubby, but it made him laugh and for the day he wasn’t nervous but rather relaxed,
though that may have been the rum.
When they both felt sufficiently drunk not to care, they started dancing on the pavement somehow without falling over.
They started to slow dance, holding each other so close they were exchanging breath. “What are we doing?” she laughed as they both had a little stumble, still clinging to each other.
Absolute beginners by David Bowie was being played from a speaker.
“What are you doing with me, what do you want?” He looked into her eyes as he told her “Well you’re my best mate init” and that was quite satisfying to her as he expected it to be.
Some older people scrunched their faces but on the most part everyone watched them, in part jealousy and part adoration. Even when it was dark, they shone in starlight.
When they sat down again,
Alfred quipped out his notepad and read “Falling in love with you made me feel which only can be described by an excerpt from the book East of Eden by John Steinbeck" He cleared his throat.
“A kind of light spread out from her. And everything changed color. And the world opened out. And a day was good to awaken to. And there were no limits to anything.
And the people of the world were good and handsome. And I was not afraid anymore.”
She couldn't speak she only wanted him.
They looked a strange couple. A black overcoat hung over his broad shoulders, jeans gripped him and black boots gave him a military air.
He was tanned from working outside constantly and his yearly visits to family in Spain. His hands were shined and cut up from digging. The cut over his left eye captured attention.
His brownish blonde was combed back revealing his more than manly brow ridge.
Citra, having Afghan family but choosing not to wear a Hiqab, was quite interesting to men, especially to those who were not kind. Men that were all so proud. Pride she thought, was taking credit for genocides your government committed.
They all wanted her. Maybe because it made them feel like by fucking her they had won one over them.
She never did though and rejecting them angered them so greatly it was almost enjoyable except when they became aggressive.
Her hair was jet black, except on the sides where she had dip dyed it grey, to which Alfred always joked she was paying someone for her to go grey.
She was skinny enough, that her skinny jeans were loose. Though she did have, what Alfred regarded as “Happily, Surprisingly large breasts”.
Her smile, was what Alfred just melt. He'd never met someone so brave.
It made everyone she meet instantly like her. She talked and listened to people.
As your narrator I've failed to even touch the story, or their part in this debacle we call the revolution. They were my closest friends and I loved them and I miss them dearly.
I may have to continue this later, because even after all this time, I cry even thinking about what happened.
We will talk about them another time. I can no longer control my emotions.