British. old. White hair, and tactly curls. Brilliant. Looked more than sixty. Did everything right. Lived a long full life somewhere eventually. These things don’t come naturally for everyone.
He gruff, and American. Mid-forties. black hair and a few greys, but nothing outstanding. Stocky build, worked every field he applied himself. they were friends. They reserved themselves with class brought up and a respect he had earned.
age didn’t matter, with her brilliance, it always was.
sip of whiskey.
She smile curtly, a small bow with her lips. They talked in a pub.
If you saw these individuals, the gruff man and the elderly woman, it wouldn’t make sense and wouldn’t seem worth the trouble. Why would anyone? As the saying goes.
The hours were long that day. It was too hot to do anything, and too stale to stay inside. The rare moments of wind were the only saving grace. Even the ice in the whiskey ran warm too quickly. The only luck she had was in her old age, she was blue blooded as a lizard and as long as the sun wasn’t reaching her, she seemed to stay cool. He didn’t know it at the time, but her cool intellect, would be all he ever wanted.
It was the least of her worries, and turned out to be a low priority on his.
‘What’s it to you anyhow?
‘I enjoy the lemonade here. Maybe even more so than in Britain because it’s hotter here. It’s still so good to see you. You’re not as lumpy as you appear. How you saved a spot I’m not sure.’
It’s not and you know it. Just as that lemonade. You’re mistaking for tart. And I’m plenty of tart. A little bitter, eh, but not really. I’m-… Who cares what I am or what you are. Pardon me, I mean. I hope I didn’t hurt your idea about yourself.’
‘It would take a bit more to knock me down. Even when insulted. We have navigations and springboards, loops of our own, embedded that won’t ever tire. I can keep up some. And yes, I miss Britain, despite the lemonade in this heat, and yes I’d rather be at a nice table than this, but I can’t picture you coming with me, and then again, I make no sense in here either. Why don’t you visit sometime?’
‘Eh. I wouldn’t want to put my body through that. Would be like trying on a pair of shoes. I’m worn in and comfortably suited here. Now come on. We’ll go, I’m taking you to the lake. There’s a wonderful bench built to your standard.’
‘That sounds more than. But all I would need the setting sun.’
‘Huh.’
‘The refusal of acts would be a challenge that I accept. I gave in to the peer pressure, the alluring points of my deepest fantasies, I’d be a stick in the mud rather than have this deep inner joy of staying joyfully innocent.’
And they stayed together like that for many summers. And where she went when she passed away, either back home in Britain or in the hot summer, he didn’t know. But he somehow knew she would find a place cool. And that he always wished he could have made a place like that, welcoming in his arms. But he was too gruff and that he knew. And he drank that fact while they were together. But once she left, he gave it all up, let the tadpoles nibble his toes, and swam in the cooling lake forevermore and a day, knowing he had her and himself the best he could while she was there, and even more so, when they parted.
Short Stories
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