Love hurts

In truth, I miss him so much." I could hear myself utter out aloud.
Finally I'd admitted what I'd thought to be my weakness. Quite simply,
I missed the one person who cared about me, who'd bothered to pay any
attention to what I said or did. And then he'd deserted me like
everyone else, but, unlike the others who always had their excuses to
leave me, he'd just left without saying a word. I had no idea whether
he was alive or dead. Melodramatic as it sounds, I knew he could be
either and I'd not know. I hoped he was alive, hope was all I had with
me.

We'd met at the shopping precinct one summery day in the middle of
April. It was hot yet breezy. I remember what I was wearing; flared
dark jeans, boots, a vest over a long T shirt and my long hair hung
loose and wavy. I'd coloured it the night before, adding vibrant red
streaks. The red dye had stained the bath and a couple of towels, Mum
wasn't too happy about this so I'd gone for a walk and intended to stay
out as long as I could.

I sat alone by the skate ramp and watched a few people skate up and
down and finally vacate the area. I remained there, basking in the hot
sunshine. Someone tapped my shoulder, I turned, it was him.

"Can I join you?" he said. I assented. I recognised him from about town
and from hanging around the "alternative youth club" otherwise known as
the pub. I couldn't place his name just yet, but he seemed to know me.
I looked over at him,or should I say looked him over. He was fairly
tall, although he was sitting, with floppy dark hair and deep blue
eyes. He wore skate stuff, well it wasn't skate wear strictly speaking,
it was smarter, unique. He wore it well, black combats and a skinny rib
with some band logo. Sensing I was checking him over He turned and
faced me. At times I wonder what he saw there, He didn't see what
everyone else supposedly saw. They saw someone labelled a "prime
weirdo" and I knew they didn't just question my sanity, they thought I
was insane, end of story. I was not mad, this was just me expressing
myself. It was my style, I liked the velvet coats, ankle length
dresses, black make up and glitter. I shunned their particular style,
the casual brightly coloured sportswear and the huge parrot perch gold
loop earrings and creole earrings. I abhorred their style of piling
their often permed hair in a huge ponytail or bun on top of their head
revealing their roots from their bleached blonde hair. I had my own
identity to deal with. I didn't need them, nor wanted to emulate
them.

Finally he spoke, a deep resonant localised drawl. From his mouth the
local accent seemed well, spellbindingly sexy, not that I fancied him
in any way, I wasn't even sure I liked men anyway, not in that
way.

" You come here often ?" Great, he comes out with the oldest cliche in
the book as regard to sayings. I didn't bother answering, I simply
nodded. It wasn't a great start,was it?

Still I persevered, entering conversation about trivialities, the
weather, local gossip and led onto music. Over the day we learnt more
about each other, taste in music, favourite colours, novelists, we
discussed anything and everything. The day flew by. For once it felt
worthwhile, something had filled a blank space within me. Hopefully it
was a new friendship, dawning instead of setting. I'd had too much
experience of losing friends, or people to talk to, they'd deserted me
after being threatened, cajoled by the trendies. Those who had stuck by
me had eventually moved away. I kept in contact via e-mail, but our
meetings between each other grew fewer and farther between. That was
what distance did.

Later he walked me home, saw me to the door. It was the beginning. I
saw him more frequently, around. We talked like close friends each time
we met. It hurts now to think of it but I grew to really like him. Then
it all changed, we'd arranged to meet out on the rec' , it was a couple
of weeks after that first encounter, he wanted to show me something, so
curious as I was, I went. It was dark, the stars were out though dimmed
by the light pollution from the town. There was no moon, that's what I
recall. He was standing over by the tree in the corner, waiting. I
walked his way, moving quickly, we hugged and sat on the night darkened
grass. We just sat there for an hour or more, and then he spoke,

"I've got to go..." nothing more than that. I didn't say anything
thinking nothing of the matter, but he slowly dusted himself off, got
up and began to slope off, he hesitated, stepped back, I was standing
by then, he turned to hug me and leaned in, my first kiss from anyone,
it went on forever. He stopped,

"I've really got to go..." he hugged me again and this time slowly
walked off. I was too shocked to react, that was the last I saw of
him.