Status: Finished, but never forgotten.
Live Forever
I waited for a thousand years for you to come and
She’s already there when I arrive. Leaning up against a tree. Completely untouchable, dressed all in black. Did she get lost on the way to a funeral? Hmmm. That’s not a good start, surely? Black’s a depressing colour. Not really date wear. But I suppose we match in our opposites; me in my white t-shirt and her in a black sundress/sunhat/trainers. And we’re both wearing sunglasses. So much in common!
Before I reach my final destination, the tree, she strides towards me with purpose in every step. Woah. Is she going for an immediate repeat of our last jaunt to the park? In true, clichéd form, my heart skips a beat and then some.
Don’t give up the day job, Dan. I’m completely and utterly wrong. She’s looking for confrontation... oh, crap.
“What’s your name?” she snaps.
“Well, hello to you too...” I mutter lamely.
“If you don’t tell me, right now, then I’m going home and I’ll never see you again. Yeah?” Issuing her ultimatum, she folds her arms and wrinkles up her slightly over-large nose.
“What’s brought about this all of a sudden? ...And before you walk off, I’m Dan.” She relaxes.
“I’m not a slag. I don’t do the anonymous business that my colleagues at school do. Try telling your best friend that you spent four hours with some guy, an hour of which was... errr... yeah, well, you can fill in the blanks with your imagination there.” Cue red cheeks from both of us. We’re so innocent. “...And yet you can’t tell her what his name is. Not fun. Especially not when she could single-handedly reinvent cross-examination.”
“What’s her name?”
“Stella.”
“Nice name.”
“I’ll tell her.”
“What’s your name?”
“Lyla.”
“Very nice name.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s fine.”
“Why are we speaking in monosyllables?”
“Cuh. Because we don’t know anything ‘bout each other?”
“Glad I’m not the only one who thought that.”
“Now you’re using monosyllables.”
“Yeah. I am.”
“What are we going to do about this?”
“This?”
“Us.”
We’re standing far too close to have a proper, thought-provoking conversation, which is probably why we can barely string sentences together. And what does she mean by ‘us’? Is there a definite ‘us’ in her mind? This is good. Better than good, this is great.
She bites her lip nervously, which is just about enough to tip me over the edge of liking her, into the boundaries of utter and complete adoration.
“What do you want to do? ...about this, that is,” I ask, twisting my hands together in terror. What if she’s playing games with me? Her eyebrow is raised in a ‘come hither’ way, and it’s really not helping the drum solo occurring somewhere near my heart.
“What do I want to do? I want to know more about you, and once I’ve decided you’re a decent human being and not an escaped convict, then I’ll decide what I want to do with you. Or to you.” The lip bite again! It’s not healthy to be within twenty yards of it. To articulate my thoughts here would be unrepeatable and involve lots of capital letters.
“Right. First stop, the police station?” She looks confused. “To check my criminal record. Apart from the time I nicked a Duran Duran pencil case when I was seven...” She sniggers, and my cheeks are probably the same colour as that pencil case. Awkward, traffic-light red. “I’m on the straight and narrow. Can you say the same?”
We’re walking now, and with any luck the slight breeze can carry away my stray words. All of Manchester’s scuzzy pavements can’t take away the damned Duran Duran comment, though. Stupid Dan!
“Yeah, I’m a good girl. Me and the police have never mingled. My brother was once cautioned, though.” Tentative steps towards learning about each other.
“For what?”
“Drink-driving. On his way back from uni. It was a couple of months ago.”
“What uni does he go to?”
“Newcastle.”
“Not bad! What’s he studying?”
“Law. He wants to be a lawyer. Should be interesting, now he’s got that caution... ah, look! It’s the corner-shop round the road from school. I’m pretty much their best customer.”
It epitomises Manchester perfectly. Grey, battered, and desperately in need of repainting. Well, I better do the chivalrous thing.
“Want anything?”
She laughs to herself with some private joke, and her answer is by turns both naff and music to my ears.
“Yeah. You.”
It’s too much to stop myself grinning like a moron.
“...Oh, and a Yorkie.”
I think I’m in love.
Before I reach my final destination, the tree, she strides towards me with purpose in every step. Woah. Is she going for an immediate repeat of our last jaunt to the park? In true, clichéd form, my heart skips a beat and then some.
Don’t give up the day job, Dan. I’m completely and utterly wrong. She’s looking for confrontation... oh, crap.
“What’s your name?” she snaps.
“Well, hello to you too...” I mutter lamely.
“If you don’t tell me, right now, then I’m going home and I’ll never see you again. Yeah?” Issuing her ultimatum, she folds her arms and wrinkles up her slightly over-large nose.
“What’s brought about this all of a sudden? ...And before you walk off, I’m Dan.” She relaxes.
“I’m not a slag. I don’t do the anonymous business that my colleagues at school do. Try telling your best friend that you spent four hours with some guy, an hour of which was... errr... yeah, well, you can fill in the blanks with your imagination there.” Cue red cheeks from both of us. We’re so innocent. “...And yet you can’t tell her what his name is. Not fun. Especially not when she could single-handedly reinvent cross-examination.”
“What’s her name?”
“Stella.”
“Nice name.”
“I’ll tell her.”
“What’s your name?”
“Lyla.”
“Very nice name.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s fine.”
“Why are we speaking in monosyllables?”
“Cuh. Because we don’t know anything ‘bout each other?”
“Glad I’m not the only one who thought that.”
“Now you’re using monosyllables.”
“Yeah. I am.”
“What are we going to do about this?”
“This?”
“Us.”
We’re standing far too close to have a proper, thought-provoking conversation, which is probably why we can barely string sentences together. And what does she mean by ‘us’? Is there a definite ‘us’ in her mind? This is good. Better than good, this is great.
She bites her lip nervously, which is just about enough to tip me over the edge of liking her, into the boundaries of utter and complete adoration.
“What do you want to do? ...about this, that is,” I ask, twisting my hands together in terror. What if she’s playing games with me? Her eyebrow is raised in a ‘come hither’ way, and it’s really not helping the drum solo occurring somewhere near my heart.
“What do I want to do? I want to know more about you, and once I’ve decided you’re a decent human being and not an escaped convict, then I’ll decide what I want to do with you. Or to you.” The lip bite again! It’s not healthy to be within twenty yards of it. To articulate my thoughts here would be unrepeatable and involve lots of capital letters.
“Right. First stop, the police station?” She looks confused. “To check my criminal record. Apart from the time I nicked a Duran Duran pencil case when I was seven...” She sniggers, and my cheeks are probably the same colour as that pencil case. Awkward, traffic-light red. “I’m on the straight and narrow. Can you say the same?”
We’re walking now, and with any luck the slight breeze can carry away my stray words. All of Manchester’s scuzzy pavements can’t take away the damned Duran Duran comment, though. Stupid Dan!
“Yeah, I’m a good girl. Me and the police have never mingled. My brother was once cautioned, though.” Tentative steps towards learning about each other.
“For what?”
“Drink-driving. On his way back from uni. It was a couple of months ago.”
“What uni does he go to?”
“Newcastle.”
“Not bad! What’s he studying?”
“Law. He wants to be a lawyer. Should be interesting, now he’s got that caution... ah, look! It’s the corner-shop round the road from school. I’m pretty much their best customer.”
It epitomises Manchester perfectly. Grey, battered, and desperately in need of repainting. Well, I better do the chivalrous thing.
“Want anything?”
She laughs to herself with some private joke, and her answer is by turns both naff and music to my ears.
“Yeah. You.”
It’s too much to stop myself grinning like a moron.
“...Oh, and a Yorkie.”
I think I’m in love.