Slow moving stream

Teenage dates, reunions and a kiss

I’ve been writing a lot more this month. A little tip from me to you: if you’re struggling to write, start in your notebook. There’s something special about handwriting.

I managed to write this short story to and from work over the last month. You can look at a long commute in two ways: either it’s a drag or an opportunity.

Anyway, I hope you’re all enjoying the twilight of summer. I’ll be in your inboxes with a little more regularity moving forward, so keep an eye out for me.

The sunflowers were a month away from being cut down and pressed into oil. They towered over the little footpath skirting around the perimeter of the field. On the other side of the little track, there was a stream and, on its banks, weeds and wildflowers. Thirsty soil turned to dust as I walked around the fields at dusk, and the mosquitoes gnawed on my exposed arms and legs. Citronella scented my hair and poisoned my sweat; each drop that found its way to my eyes stung.

 I remember those copy-paste summer nights more than birthdays and vacations because they are tiny fragments of absolute peace: hours of my youth when I still felt invincible. Moments in time when I played with dreams without the roar of reality echoing in the back of my mind. Pink skies, towering sunflowers, and noisy cicadas: the perfect recipe for a happy mind.

One night I rounded a corner to find a posing silhouette. Her name was Beti; she was two years younger than me but only a year behind me at school and had almost no friends. In dusk’s golden light, she was prettier than usual, although it could have been that she was just in a better mood. The only times I saw her were when I got on or off the bus or in the school corridor; on either occasion, she’d have her head down and her features covered. But that evening, she had her head tilted upwards and a little to the right, and her long, bronzed legs were feeding the mosquitoes.

It took her a few seconds to notice me walking towards her. When she did, she jumped and gasped. I saw her shoulders lift and heard her inhale from ten metres away. We both ended up smiling at each other as I closed the distance.

“Mark, right?” she asked confidently, holding out her thin arm and bony hand. Her grip was tighter than I expected. She was used to playing a role beyond her years.

“Yeah, and you’re Beti, right?”

“Yeah. I didn’t know you lived close by,” she lied.

“I do, just down the road,” I said, pointing down the lane I’d just walked, towards the bus stop we both frequented. “And you?”

“Same, I’m about ten minutes away,” she said, and her head tilted back to the sky.

“What are you looking for?”

“There’s a bird's nest up there; I think they are kingfishers. But I can’t tell.” I followed her line of sight to get a glimpse, but looking into the setting sun made it difficult, and I turned back to her.

“I can’t see anything now.”

“Close your eyes for a couple of seconds. It helps them reset,” she said completely naturally, as if she’d been doing it all her life. I did as she said. Just as I was about to open them, I caught a taste of cherry. Then I felt her warm breath against my cheek. I wasn’t sure what to do, but eventually, I opened my eyes again. She was where I had left her, standing just out of reach, looking up at the bird's nest.

“You know, when I was younger, my dad used to take me birdwatching every weekend. I used to hate it, but ever since last summer, I keep catching myself doing it,” she said, still looking up at the nest.

I can’t remember exactly what I said back to that, but I managed enough to carry the conversation for a few more minutes. Then, my phone buzzed in my pocket and I flipped open the screen to see a massage from my closest friend: Jamie. 

“Got somewhere to be?” she asked, kicking up dust as she fidgeted. 

“Apparently I have a date.” I said, showing her the green and black screen. 

“With Stephanie Wills? Check you out.” she sounded childish then and suddenly she looked two years younger. 

“Well it’s a double date. I’m just making up the numbers. Jamie’s really into Lisa.” 

“Hey, it’s not my business.” She said, returning to her role and continuing her search for Kingfishers. 

I had to be at the cinema by nine. It was awful in every way: the popcorn was tasteless, the film was predictable, and my date was equal parts beautiful and dull. To my left, I could hear two tongues swirling around each other; to my right, the hopelessly jealous whispers from Steph.

“I give them a week. Jamie’s far too clever for Lisa. Don’t get me wrong, she's great, but they have nothing in common.” I nodded along, trying to ignore Lisa's hand on my crotch. The credits rolled and the lights faded up, to a near empty gallery and a floor covered in crushed popcorn. 

“What did you think,” Jamie asked, smiling through tied, glossy lips. 

“I’m not so keen on the ending, but it was bearable.” I said, looking at Lisa, wondering if she’d known where her hand had been for the last half an hour. 

“What was wrong with the ending,” Steph said, leaning over my shoulder like it belonged to her.

“Yeah,” Lisa started, mirroring her friend. “I love happy endings.” she smirked and we all laughed as seventeen-year-olds do at those sorts of things. 

It was getting late so we all piled into Jamie’s car and drove around town, dropping off the girls. Steph was first. She kissed my cheek as she got out of the car and waved goodbye at her gate as we drove away. Jamie got out at Lisa’s house and they made out some more while I waited awkwardly in the passenger seat, playing snake on my phone. 

“Bye, Mark,” she yelled, strutting down her driveway.

“So,” Jamie said, pulling away from the curb and lighting a cigarette  

“So,” I said. “Have you ever spoken to Beti?” 

“Who?”

“Beti, the smart girl who skipped two years?” 

“No, why?” He said switching channels on the radio. “Where did that come from?” 

“Argh no where, I bumped into her before you picked me up and I realised I’ve never spoken to her before.” 

“She’s a bit young ain’t she?” He said, settling the radio on some garage music that thumped on the speakers either side of us. “Anyway, what did you think of Lisa? Fit, no? And Steph’s nice too.” 

“Yeah they’re both nice. Lisa’s funny.”  

Jamie and Lisa dated for five weeks from that cinema date until the end of summer when he spotted her with another guy at a party. He was devastated for a while, then he met another girl, this one sweet and shy and he moved on. I supposed Steph was right, it didn’t last long. But I’ve always wondered why? Was it because he was too smart for her? Would someone so much smarter be fooled so easily? Almost everyone in our year knew Lisa was carrying on with other guys whenever she felt like it. But once Jamie got an idea into his head he couldn’t let it go. In that case the idea was that Lisa was the best girl in school. Before that cinema date, he’d crushed over her for weeks.

Ten years on, Lisa is married or so I’ve heard, living somewhere down south in a big house. It’s not that I keep track, but she’s the sort who posts each life event online for everyone to see. Jamie is neither married nor living in a big house. The last time I heard anything from him he was posted out in the Pacific. He’s a Marine, extremely secretive and never at home. Steph vanished after we graduated, slipping into the stream of adulthood without leaving a hint of where she was heading. I heard a rumour she was in London, but that was only a guess.

I’ve come back for the summer as I always do. There’s a certain responsibility that comes with being an only child. And with old parents, that sense of duty is only heightened. 

The fields of sunflowers have halved over the years, replaced by uniform estates, stamp-sized playgrounds and carparks. But the footpath that runs around the old perimeter is still here, squeezed tighter each year between high fences and the little stream. Just as I’ve done all life during the summer, this summer I’ve continued to walk those dusty trails as the sun falls below the horizon. 

The cicadas are noisy, the sky is a pastel pink and what’s left of the sunflowers are towering. Now and again I check for Kingfishers, or listen to the bird calls, wondering what they are saying. A couple of years ago I thought I saw Beti along this very lane; a silhouette stood at the end, perhaps two-hundred metres in the distance. As I stepped closer it rounded a corner and I lost track of it. 

I can hear the water trickling down the stream. It rained last night so the flow is firmer than usual.Towards the end of August, sightlines to the stream are a rarity, the hedgerow between I and the water is thick with green leaves, thorny branches and dried berries. I hear splashing, as though a fish has got itself into a muddle and has ended up beached in shallow water. Then it stops and rusting takes over. I pause and hunt for a gap in the hedge. Muntjac deer like to cool off in the stream at this time of the day and if you’re calm enough they’ll come right up to you in search of a snack. At least they used to before the estate. There’s a gap in the hedge taken as it’s home by an impressive spider web, it’s silver in the fading light, and its owner is poised at its outer edge. Through it I see a bronze pair of legs, a blue cooler and a flow of dark curly hair. 

“Beti?” The dark curls fly into the air and land at the back of her head. Her face is red with blood from bending over. But it’s definitely her. 

“Yeah?” her voice is puzzled, her eyes darting, searching for my voice. 

“Over here,” I shake the hedge and she spots me. She smiles, picks up her cooler and ducks through a hole a little further ahead. 

“Well, well, if it isn’t Mark Kennedy.”

“I knew I’d see you along here one day.” 

“You knew?” She said surprised but pleased, her body felt sticky against mine as she wrapped her arms around me. 

“How’s life?” I ask, brushing past the hug on account that she’s wearing next to nothing. A pair of tiny denim shorts and an oversized T-shirt that’s so threadbare it’s see through. The extra ten years look good on her and I fight to keep my eyes in check. 

“Simple, boring, peaceful. You?” 

“Complicated, boring, and peaceful from time to time.” She catches my eyes wandering. If it wasn’t the end of summer, she would have seen my cheeks blush red at her subtle reproach. 

“Sorry, you just threw me off. You look so different.” 

“I hope so. I was fifteen when we last saw each other down this lane.” 

“I can’t believe it’s been ten years.” 

“Nine and ten months. Don’t wish time away like that.”

“I’m not wishing it away, I tend to round up or down.” 

“Isn’t that the same thing?” She’s right, I know it immediately. She’s always had a punchy comeback, I suppose that’s why she moved up two years. There’s a loud bang against the fence and a smattering of giggles following in pursuit. 

“I hate these new houses,” she says, turning back to me. “Wanna join?” 

“Where are you going?” 

“To a better spot.” There’s nothing I want more. My usual route has been ruined. Gone is the peace that used to accompany those towering sunflowers and noisy cicadas, and even though the stream is still here, its lyrical languid water is drowned out by games of garden football and afterwork arguments. 

“Coming?” Beti asks, looking over her shoulder. 

In a town like this you notice each change. When a new estate gets plonked at the edge of town you notice, and when a new shop moves into an empty lot, you notice. You really notice when the shop is something unusual like a yoga studio. I’ve never taken a class nor has it ever appealed to me. But the day I walked past, a few days after seeing Beti again, I couldn’t resist. 

Lisa looks exactly the same. Marriage and a big house has done nothing to her oval face, and long hair. She even has the same lips, the bottom more plump than the top, both painted red. Her smile’s the same too, full of flirtation and mischief. 

“Mark?” I caught her at a good time. Between lessons and with no one around. 

“Hey, I thought it was you.” Her arms wrap around my waist. I’ve grown since she last saw me and she’s looking up at me like a little girl. 

“How are you? What have you been up to?” 

“Life. uni, job, rent, a girlfriend every so often. You? I saw you’d gotten married?”

“Don’t remind me. You want something to drink? Coffee, Tea?” 

After years of house parties and drinking in the park, I never thought I would sit down with Lisa for tea. But that’s what we did that morning. I learnt she had gotten married at twenty and divorced at twenty two. But she’d done well out of it, earning enough money to start a business. Her and Jamie had hooked up two years ago when he last came back. He’d never mentioned it to me, but he was so mysterious nowadays that was no surprise. Steph was indeed in London, had a boyfriend, a dog called Sunny and a fit boss. We took a selfie to send to her, and shortly after I left her studio it was on her stories. 

“I’ve never taken a selfie.” Beti says with a hint of pride. 

“Never?”

“Not once.”

“Why? How?” She picks up a twig from between her feet, throws it into the water, and watches it until it gets stuck on a rock. 

“I read once that it steals your soul.” 

“What does?” 

“A photo of yourself.” 

“In that case wouldn’t we all be soulless? Other than you of course and maybe a handful of other hermits.” 

“Hey, I’m not a hermit.” 

“Sorry, I meant Hippy.” A smile curls the corner of her lips then fades like a wave washing ashore before its retreats. 

“Hippies are cool. But I’m not a hippie either. I just believe those types of things, I don’t know why. But I think everyone who takes a lot of selfies loses a piece of themselves to it.” 

“Like Lisa?” 

“I don’t know her that well. But let’s explore the facts.” She says turning towards me. “At school Lisa was like what?” 

“Which school? She was also in my primary school.”

“Let’s focus on high school.” 

“Okay, I can’t remember much from primary anyway.” I say trying to picture little Lisa in our old itchy uniforms. “In high school she was the popular kid; confident, flirty, clever too. I think she was in all the top classes.” The memory of our first double date comes to mind and I can’t help but laugh.

“What is it?” 

“Nothing. Lisa was a lot of things. But overall I would say she was a free spirit. No one told her what to do and she did everything she wanted.”

“And is she the same now?” I have to think about that one. Afterall I only saw her for an hour, maybe less. She looked the same, still wears red lipstick and pouts in that pretty way.

“I guess. The only thing that’s different is she’s divorced, has a yoga studio and she seems shorter. But I have grown since we were in school.” 

“That’s just it. Maybe I’m making something out of nothing. But someone so independent and confident doesn’t normally rush into marriage. The business makes sense, but why yoga?”

“You’ve got a point. She always hated exercise and she never seemed like the type that would be quick to get married.” Just as I finish my sentence there’s a finger on my lips. I’m confused. Then I follow Beti’s eyes; someone’s walking by. Their voices make me feel guilty about being here, as though we’re teenages sneaking out to get some privacy. We’re both watching the bushes behind us, but only shadows make it through. Once the voices fade down the lane I remember something.

“You kissed me when we first met down here. What did you say, nine years, three months?” The sentence falls to the ground and Beti looks at her feet. There’s an old Mars wrapper wedged between a handful of pebbles. 

“So what do you think?” She asks, pulling the wrapper free. 

“About what? The kiss?” 

“No, Lisa.”

“Oh, I don’t know. She seems lively enough, if not a bit more plain.” 

“Do you think her soul is rotting?” It’s a crazy question, but I give it some thought, letting my gaze float to and from the twigs stuck in the stream. 

“I think it is, if you want to phrase it like that. But at the same speed as everyone else. Don’t we all end up a washed out version of our teenage selves?” 

“No, that’s crazy.”

“How? You’re the one talking about eroding souls with selfies.” 

“Not just selfies, although I bet they are the worst. It’s everything, anything that pulls you out of reality. There's a reason you feel shity after bindging TV. You never feel like that when you read, or when you go on a long walk. It’s as if we have three modes. Nurturing, rotting and neutral.” There’s a pair of voices approaching. I’m about to answer but her finger presses against my lips again. I feel my eyes widen, and see hers narrow. Her finger drops. A black and white border collie bounds through the hedge, and jumps in the shallow water just in front of us. We’re showered with cool water. The voices pause behind us. Thick green leaves and dense branches separate us and them. A pair of orange trainers stand out in a gap no bigger than a coffee cup. 

“Locco!”

“Locco!” The dog freezes, his paws still planted in the stream. He’s panting as he looks at us then at the hedgerow. 

“Locco!” He regains his movement, gallops to the twigs caught in the stream, picks one up and releases the other. Then he turns to the hedge and takes off through the same gap he came through. 

“Good boy.” The first voice says, before they all move off into the distance, their voices and panting fading into the distance. 

“Did you and Lisa ever get together?” 

“Where did that come from?” 

“I was just thinking, you were close in high school, no? You went to the same parties, and had friends in common.”

“Not like that,” I say, flicking through all my missed opportunities. There's a heavy weight of regret on my chest. 

“You wanted something to happen though?” Beti asks while pulling herself to her feet and stretching her arms in the air. 

“At some point I thought it would happen, but Jamie asked her out and that door shut in my face.” Her delicate hand reaches down and I grab it. She’s still stronger than she looks and pulls me to my feet with little effort. The sun’s fading, golden lines puncture the hedgerow as if they were made of lead and propelled by gunpowder. 

“Can you remember the first time we met down here?” She asks, walking a few paces ahead of me parallel to the stream. 

“Yeah, why?”

“After you left for the cinema, I walked home thinking I would marry you.” I laugh, I can’t help it, she just has a way of catching me off guard. 

“There’s still time.” 

“I know. But first you should go and talk to Lisa. I don’t want to marry a man who’s full of what ifs.” I know she’s joking, there’s a warm grin curling her lips, but I can’t help thinking she’s not wrong. 

“And what if that ‘what if’ turns into something.” 

“Then it does. Some twigs get picked by the dog, others are left to float down the stream.” 

“You’re really strange, you know that right?” 

“I do.” 

The next day I went back to the Yoga studio and noticed the name on the door. Sunflower Studio By Lisa Murry. She’d just finished a class, a circle of middle-aged women are drinking tea talking about someone’s birthday weekend. Lisa spots me at the door and waves me in. I already know I should have waited for a better time, perhaps a call ahead would have worked or a message on Instagram. But now I'm here, I’m forced to swim in the spotlight. 

“Ladies, do any of you recognise this handsome man,” Lisa says, squeezing my bicep and reaching my cheek for a kiss. 

“You’re James Kennedy’s boy, aren’t you?” A lady with a thin frame and red hair asks. I have no idea who she is. 

“That’s me.” 

“Let me guess, you spent the afternoon reliving high school while you sipped green tea?” 

“Pretty much.” I say, cupping cool water into my hands. It’s been the hottest day of the year, two hours of which I spent drinking hot tea in a glass studio. I splash my face, then cup another handful for my back. 

“Don’t wash with it, it’s not that clean,” Beti says, watching me from the side.

“It’s fine enough for me.” 

“So what did you find out?” Beti asks, lying down to listen to my story. This evening she’s brought a blanket, a cooler full of beer and a joint. 

“I learnt that she started yoga three years ago after falling madly in love with a teacher in Ibiza. She swears by Lululemon and… you’ll love this one, the selfie she and I took the first time I saw her this summer got over a hundred comments.”

“What’s Lululemon?” 

“A yoga clothing brand.” 

“Sounds…tight.” 

“Pretty much.” I say, lying down next to her. “Mind if I light this?” 

“Go ahead, I was thinking the same thing.” 

“So what about the ‘what if’?” 

“What if Lisa and I got together?” I say inhaling as deeply as I can manage without coughing. “I’d end up learning yoga too, move back to this town, settle down and then get left for something more interesting.” 

“You mean, someone,” She says reaching for the joint, her eyes still closed. I slip it between her index and middle finger. 

“No, I mean something. And I think I have an adjustment to your rotting theory.” 

“You do?” She says, propping herself up on her elbows. 

“Uh-huh.”

“Go one then.”

“You say we have three modes. Rotting, Nurturing and neutral, right? What was neutral by the way?” 

“Sleep.”

“Love it. So, you have those three things, and I agree with two. But rotting is the wrong word. Lisa isn’t rotten. She is the same as she has always been; social, confident, funny. The only difference is her aims. It’s like she has been… corrupted.” 

“And that’s not the same?” 

“No, rotting implies that her soul is dying. That’s definitely not happening, but it is bending into a new shape.” I say and she takes a deep drag, leans back and closes her eyes. 

There’s a twig by my feet, half pressed into the soil softened by the wet summer nights. It comes loose with a little tug and I throw it into the slow moving water. It drifts unhindered until it’s out of sight. 

“Did it get stuck?” She asks. 

“No.”

We spend the rest of the evening talking about high school: classmates, teachers, the smell of the science lab, the taste of the lunches, the sound of the final bell. She asks about Jamie and I tell her all I know, which is just a fraction, a thin beam of light. I ask her the things I’ve always wanted to know: how did she manage to skip two years of school? What did she dream of doing in adulthood? Where did the name Beti come from? Her father was a respected researcher, she still doesn’t know and she’s named after her grandmother. Then, just like that the cooler was empty, the snacks were eaten and the joint smoked. Only a faint hint of sunlight was left punching the hedgerow and sparkling on the stream.

---

Love, Luke

PS, my novel - Love, Loss & the View from my Window - is still available to purchase as a paperback and on Kindle.

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“The author vividly portrays the frustrations of an elderly lady battling dementia and a young man haunted by grief and trauma. The author uses evocative words to paint a picture of the characters, and makes you really care about them. Even though the story goes a little slow, it's perfect for people who are able to appreciate a slow burn. The short chapters make it easy to pick up and read whenever you have a minute!”