111

23 Feb 2008

He boarded a train to the city. It was the coldest summer day of the season. He was wearing black pants, a light blue shirt with French cuffs. A black belt with a brass buckle. A woolen winter coat and a black woolen scarf. The light drizzle of rain was beading on his coat and dripping onto his shoes getting steadily heavier. His black leather boots.

He watched his feet as they clacked on the pavement away from the station. Watching the city buildings around him in the reflections on the roads. Glancing up every few seconds to avoid a collision with someone, he dragged on his cigarette that he clutched between his fingers, holding it to the wind.

He was unfamiliar with the city, more so than seemingly everyone around him. Who all seemed busied and rushing by at a worryingly frantic pace. He wondered if the world was coming to an end and no one had bothered to tell him. He kind of hoped it was.

He stopped at a corner and looked up; flicking his damp hair from his eyes to read the street sign. It was bent, so you couldn't tell if it was pointing to the street straight ahead or to the left. Deciding left was a suitable change, he kept walking. For a moment his thoughts were not riddled with street directions, commuters, buildings and his cigarette and he found himself thining of her.

Whilst only a moment, it seemed like the longest thought and the slowest thought he'd had all day. His mind's eye was at her work and she was friendly and cute and touched his shoulder. And he instinctively put his hand on his own shoulder, pretending to be brushing the rain from it, but actually wanting to see if he actually remembered what her touch felt like. He couldn't.

He thought of her voice and tried imagining something she said to him in his head and what her voice sounded like. But she sounded just like him. He walked through the door of the coffee shop and sat down out the back. Lighting another cigarette he ordered a strong flat white. He realised his thoughts were wistful once again and it made him think of the last ten years. Not much had changed. He, really hadn't changed. He was still the same 12 year old boy, consumed by the possibilities of people not liking him but knowing he was likable but unsure how to convince them so.

It occurred to him that so many times what made him most sad, was that he just wanted a chance. He thought he was at least worth a chance. He wondered if it was really that much to ask for.

Taking the first sip of coffee that arrived hot and cozy and tasted so immediate, he brushed the rain off his shoulder again and closed his eyes for a second. Sighing to himself he decided that this would be his new place. But here, he wouldn't be so sincere, he would guard his heart with caution and he wouldn't be so sad.