‘The Longest Moment’

He thought of she and him, breezing round the coastal roads on his old Gran Royale Bicycle. They installed a second seat at the start of summer and though he opposed the pink; she was the one with the skills. They shared an earbud each, as they listened to the soundtrack of their rural montage. He nearly crashed when he skipped that Switchfoot song in jest, he was unsure what impressed her less but the clasp of her hand on his waist never wavered.

As he lay on the ground now, breathing heavily, he could still feel that hand clenching his hip. His whole body was clenching. He moved his own hand to his side. He winced. He heard Tatsuro Yamashita playing on the earbud which remained intact, the other stricken on the cold concrete his cheek rested against. His mind wandered to her head leaning against his back, listening to Magic Ways.

She would caress him with her black hair as he peddled, nuzzling as they passed the tides which stroked the golden beaches. The gulls glided along beside them, sniping suspicious looks. He liked to think they had a mutual appreciation for the scenery, an understanding that transcended language but they were probably just eyeing up the picnic basket.

He spent all summer in that highlight reel by the sea, maybe he should have gone with her to Uni. He wouldn’t be in this situation if he had, he knew that. It only served to elevate this pain. He could feel trickles of heat sliver over his hands, but his body grew cold.

Fresh from sunbathing the sea massaged her shoulders as she raised her head out of the warm water, sliding her damp hair behind her ear. He placed his hands at her waste and ran his fingers over those stretch marks at her left side, she stood on her tip toes and kissed him. They later laughed at how rude it was for the gulls to pick that moment to pilfer the picnic.

He felt saliva seep down the side of his cheek onto the concrete, escaping his now coarse throat, as he wriggled his brittle bones against the slates. He had once snapped a picture of the cafe tiles for his Instagram, now they were ruined by a growing pool of red.

He recalled Pineapple Sand, how she cast her chair aside and bounced to her feet when they planned their future, selling bicycle decorations made of sea shells out of a camper van. The clock in that coffee shop had a heart shaped time piece. It swung slower now.

The music got quieter. He could make out a woman yelping. He mustered a couple of splutters, warmth splattered across his lips and smothered the dryness in his throat. He could hear sirens.

They lay upon a bed of green, she rested against his bare chest with her hand placed upon his side as clouds gathered on the horizon.

He heard the music no longer, nor the sirens, though they continued to ring. The heart shaped time piece had come to a halt.

‘Between Love and Hate’

 

Between Love and Hate

I swig my Jack and Coke and a fleeting darkness is chased away. The leaves that decorate the hotel hiss behind me and I remember that familiar game of hide and seek the sun plays during summer here. Today the sun basks in a rare victory, baking any clouds that dare to impose. I look out at the sea which lethargically licks the beach, even the breeze carries a warmth that itches.

“There you are, I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”

Shit.

“Listen man, I had to bring up Lisbon-” he’s already got me by the neck.

“That was a hell of a speech Lee!” He says letting me go, no need for the nudge though.

“I thought you hated it, Stu.”

“Nah, you nailed it. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”

“When have I ever?”

Stuart points to his ring, “Seriously man, you kept me on the straight and narrow. We wouldn’t have made it this far without you.”

“You made it yourselves.”

“Have you spoken to Alice yet?”

“No,” I say, gulping my drink and loosening my tie.

“You can’t hide from her forever.”

“Yeah, this place isn’t big enough.”

“Take that up with the missus!” Stuart says as I pour the remnants down my throat.

“Oh look, I’m empty. Better get another drink.”

“Talk to her man, I know she’s eager to see you.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll get round to it.”

I skip up the steps to the door.

“And thanks for not mentioning Luxembourg!” Stuart shouts.

There are two bars in the hotel, one chaperoning the dance floor, or hell as I like to call it, and the other for the professional drinkers. I prefer the latter, she won’t be there. I consider taking my suit jacket off but I can feel my shirt sticking to my back, which affords me a shiver that I savour. I squeeze past faces in the clotting corridors recycling a smile. They want to talk about how good they’re doing but I just want to know who the hell decided curdled custard was the right choice of wallpaper and why the ceilings sagged by what I hope is design.

I stop at the doorway. Her back’s turned but I know it’s her. Sweat trickles from my armpits. She’s sitting with someone. It isn’t her short blonde hair that gives it away. Nor is it the single freckle on her dainty shoulders. When you’ve seen a person stripped bare, when you’ve lain with them, you could spot them blind. The sun beams through the window, that prick she’s sitting with catches my eye. I can feel my cheeks sizzling, I’m already looking forward to drinking in hell as I turn for the other bar.

“Jack and coke please,” I say.

The sunlight floods into battle with the disco lights through the chandelier, conducting above the dancefloor. I lean on the counter, my arms outstretched further than my suit allows, watching the reflection of the dancefloor as those faces and their spouses jolt, bounce and sway teasing me in harmony. I drink, swinging the contents around the glass and drink again, until only the ice is left. I rest it on my tongue, willing it to caress my throat as it drains.

Then she enters. Parading him around.

“Another please,” I say.

They slip into the pack, swinging and sliding. My Adam’s apple retreats as I swallow but my chest fights back against the music, resisting their rotations, denying their demonstration. Beads flee my forehead, racing down my temples as I escape the room.

I slam the door off the wall. I run the tap and grip the sink. I look up at the mirror and cup my hands together, cleansing my face. I look into the mirror again, beads slipping down my face as I exhale.

“Pull yourself together,” I say.

The door swings open and in bounces Mark. Great.

“Eeeyyyy! Lee mate! How are you?” He says, marching over to the urinals.

“I’m good mate.”

“You don’t look it!”

“It’s the heat…” I say.

“Heat? Maybe you’ve had a few too many, eh?” He says, trying to control his aim and maintain eye contact with me.

Only you.

“I’m only joking mate. Listen, that was a hell of a speech! Can’t believe you didn’t mention Luxembourg though.”

Mark zips up and approaches, slower this time.

“Listen mate, I was sorry to hear about you and Alice.”

So I keep hearing.

“I thought you two were great! Sucks she’s here with someone else, seems like a decent sort though,” Mark said.

He drapes his arm around me, did he wash his hands?

“Seriously! We need to go out for a few drinks soon, been too long.” Mark pulled the door against his foot at first, before leaving.

I look up, gritting my teeth I punch the mirror, recoiling, my teeth cling together, I stretch and clench my fist. Small red cracks creep across my hand. I watch as the blood seeps from my hand, smearing the white tiles below. Why am I even angry? He was being perfectly pleasant. I shake my head at the mirror and leave.

They stutter and stop on the dancefloor as I march towards them.

“Alice. Can we talk outside please?”

“S-sure Lee.”

The heat lashes only my knuckles now. I leave my drink on the steps, returning to the front of the hotel. The sea tickles the shore and a solitary cloud flirts with the sun. Threatening to smother it, but releasing it soon after.

“What happened to your hand Lee?!”

I’ve been moulding a face for months but I don’t use it.

“I… hit the mirror in the gents,” I say, looking at my hands.

“Jesus Lee! Maybe it was a bad idea me coming here…”

The temporary darkness cushions the sun, the air licks my neck.

“No. This is on me. I’ve been so angry and I thought I was angry at you, for a while I was…”

“I understand that,” She says, she’s been looking at me this whole time.

“I’m just… You’ve moved on, you’re doing well. There’s a part of me that’s happy about that. I am happy about that. I guess I haven’t and I’m sorry, seeing you now reminds me of that. Everyone thinks I’m a better person Alice…”

“Grow the fuck up, Lee. You are a better person than that: than this. Start acting like it.”

Her words drag my eyes to hers.

“Be the person who delivered that speech.”

I pick up my drink from the steps, swirling the contents. The blood from my knuckles trickles onto the glass but the only burning is in my eyes now. The sun soothes my skin and I place the glass down, determined, not to follow Alice’s lead, but to walk my own path.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Commentary

 

I chose to tell the story from the first-person perspective of Lee, the protagonist. I originally intended to write it in third-person, but as I progressed I realised that we wouldn’t be getting an authentic feel for the place, the season or the hotel through the narrators descriptions, it had to be Lee’s perspective. I was influenced in this sense by William Golding’s ‘Miss Pulkinhorn’ here. What I then wanted to do was create tension by building towards him meeting Alice, but his own temperature rising as well. I didn’t want the weather to be inducing this frustration, he draws a different experience from the weather from everyone else because of his own turmoil. The weather doesn’t change much, but his emotions contrast with the positives others experience because of his own turmoil. When he confronts Alice, when he realises what’s to be done, he’s speaks with the cool clarity he had lost when trying to avoid her, embracing the positive warmth of the sun.

I settled on the structure of my story because I wanted to introduce a hurdle for the character early on that the reader will remember, which re-appears throughout the story and creates tension, while also building a sense place early on. Through dialogue I wanted to build Lee’s character as others perceive him, but he’s dodging a conversation with Alice and that creates tension. Why is he afraid of this woman? I felt that having them confess their sadness that Lee and Alice had ended a relationship and having Lee react to it, there would be tension built, unreleased tension as some of the reactions will be through his external or internal actions until finally he confronts her, something he’s been avoiding throughout and the story is brought to its conclusion.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bibliography

Primary Sources

‘Miss Pulkinhorn’ by William Golding