'Go Now'

Cherry

By Silver Spun Sand

Tue, 20 Oct 2015
  • 1427 reads
6 comments
 
The Moody Blues blasting out from a cherry red ‘Dansette Bermuda’.  There we were; my sister’s boyfriend, Rob, and me, and Monday’s washing, dirty-dancing on the line, on the balcony of our council flat. It was one of those high-rise blocks on stilts in South London; quite the ‘state of the art’ in the late fifties, early sixties.  Purgatory unplugged, more like.  Where we’d come from, even though I’d had to share my mum and dad’s bedroom, at least we'd enjoyed the luxury of the postage stamp we called  'a garden'.
 
The night’s clear as the proverbial bell; one of those evenings you can hear yourself tell your teacher where you’d like them to stick Pythagoras and his theorem.  Rob was potty about astronomy and he’d brought his brand new telescope round to show off.  My sister said it was a complete and utter waste of money, and that he was supposed to be saving up for her engagement ring, so she’d gone back indoors in a huff. Anyway, she wasn’t interested in anything like that...shoes, makeup, and then, even more shoes, her sole passion - pun intended, naturally.
 
I felt sorry for him, so pretended to be dead enthralled, as he pointed out The Plough, and Orion...held me close...guiding my hands with his.  They smelt of Benson & Hedges – a dab of Old Spice, and a hint of engine oil mixed with petrol; a water-melon moon dangled from a ‘conker tree’, and even my estate looked kind of OK...ignoring the errant, spent French letter, or two,  round by the rubbish chutes, and  dog doodah on the patchy grass Mum called ‘the esplanade’.    No one else in the whole wide world existed that night, except us.
 
“Is being in love like this?” I said, my heart beating out of my chest. 
 
He kissed my nose – cupped my chin; pulled me to him, even closer...so close, his warm, moist breath melted into my cheek. He laughed, and asked,
 
 “And, are you in love...by any chance, little lady?  So...who’s the lucky boy, then?” his voice kind of strange, as he squeezed my hand – suggested we’d best go inside before we both caught pneumonia. He’d be wearing one of those super long, white, silk scarves with tassels; used to take it in both hands and flick it at me to make me squeal.  
 
“See you later, alligator,” he’d quip, only to dally half an hour on the front step, snogging my sister.
 
I watched him zoom away in his black and white Riley; crazy about cars, Rob was.  Off to watch Fulham play at home, knowing my sister hated football...and at any rate, she just had to wash her hair.
 
That was the last time any of us ever saw him; just round the corner he swerved to avoid a dog.  Hit a lorry – head on; the rest’s history.  We even heard the ambulance...kind of joked it might be him.  Nothing new though, not round our neck of the woods; sirens going all hours.
 
A bit of me died with him that day.  I recall, so vividly, I just couldn’t take it in.  Kept thinking he was going to be standing there with his cheeky grin – every time the front door bell rang.  Couldn’t let on though...not to my sister.  She was gutted; didn’t go out for weeks after.   Just shut herself away.  Mum took her to the doctors, but they wouldn’t give her anything.  Said that grieving was ‘natural’; she’d get over him, eventually.  I never really did though, and remember thinking, if I couldn’t have him, I’d rather nobody did; especially not my sister.
 
 ‘Better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all,’ so the vicar preached at his funeral, or Celebration of Life, as she called it.  Some life he would have had with her...the selfish cow.
In my naivety, I told her I thought the vicar geyser was probably right. Thought it might cheer her up a bit.  It didn’t though. Quite the reverse, and at the time, I couldn’t, for the life of me, think why.
 
“What the fuck would you know about love?” she said.  Oh, but I did...As young as thirteen, I understood the language, even if I didn’t speak it.
Certificate 15
Story
Silver Spun Sand Poems
Love

Comments

Submitted by VeraClark on

I really like how this condenses so much and doesn't lose depth in the economy. The narrative voice has the hindsight of maturity in it - and gets more cynical towards sister as you go.

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

My thanks to you, Vera.  More than appreciated

Tina

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

Hi Tina,

you told this story so well, the ending was unexpected...just had this picture of the girl running off with her sisters boyfriend. Um! How wrong I was.

It's definitely the way you tell em, that has me glued to the end.

Jenny.

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Hope you've unstuck yourself by now, Jennysmiley  Many thanks for reading and I'm so pleased you enjoyed.

Tina

 

Submitted by Frances Macaula... on

I remember the angst and what I thought was love at 13... in the early sixties, too.

So, this is the first story I've read of yours, I think.  It seems you are as good at stories as you are at poetry and I'm not really surprised. The circle of story-telling is always in both.  

A very enjoyable trip down memory lane.  

Thank you.

 

Soundcloud:  https://soundcloud.com/search?q=FrancesMF

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Sincere thanks to you Francis.  I find prose a challenge, so your words mean a great deal to me.

Tina