I was so ridiculisly happy.
It started to rain after about five minutes later from when he had started to hum that song.
Of course none of us had any jackets on, it had been such a warm day and we were both too optimistic to realize that it was october and that the weather changed with the winds.
There were two options.
The first was to go under the bridge, which was going to make our feet and legs wet, but our heads would be dry. And the ducks would give us shelter. Green, smelly shelter.
No.
The second was to run, fast. Now.
Where? I did not know.
The stew was still waiting for me at home.
I did not want to go home.
I still had some heart to pour out to this boy.
So we walked.
We ran.
We jumped a little to high.We slipped on the wet grass and fell without mercy on the ground.
As we were falling our hands touched. It was some kind of concious decision.
We both wanted to save the other from the fall.
But we couldn't.
So we fell together. Hard. Fast.
Autch.
We ran towards the city.
There was lightning.
It was beautiful.
We walked into a resturant.
It was empty, which was weird, as it was almost six-thirty pm.
It was a mellow place, painted green and black and from the corner of the bar you could hear some cool and calm jazz-music.
It looked complety abandoned for the day. Still it was open.
I felt a feeling of nausea of that music, I've never been able to stand jazz.
At the look of Simon's face, neither did he. It was turning pale and grey.
I remembred that I had a burned cd in my bag.
I took it out to put it in the cd-player.
The tunes of Bright Eyes started to fill the empty room.
”Now you have to listen to bright eyes” I said with a grin. We were even.
We spent all night there.
We took out a bottle of wine and sang along with Lover I don't Have To Love.
We layed on the floor and I taught him all the lyrics to At the bottom of everything.
Including the story Conor tells before he starts singing.
It gave us both goosebumps.
We opened another bottle of expensive, french wine, discussed music and listened to the whole, eigth and a half-minute long interview with Conor after the song ”An attempt to tip the scales”.
I told him about my life, about my big, junior-high eraser that had held all the angst and all the teenage fears in it's pencil-pierced, rubbery insides.
I told him how I had tried to toss it into the trashcan, and had failed miserably.
He wasn't surprised.
”Sometimes, it's just not that easy to let go of the past.” he said.
I nodded, but I had no idea at the time how those words would haunt me later on.
The last song of the cd started. It was Lua. My favorite.
He looked at me as I mouthed the lyrics.
Somewhere at ”we might die from meducation but we sure killed all the pain”
he got up from the floor and reached out his wright hand at me.
”May I have this dance?”
Maybe it was the expensive french wine tumbling in my insides, or maybe I was just dizzy from laying on the floor as the world spinned around me. But as I was saying yes, something else wanted to pop out of my mouth. And it was'nt words. I got up, and ran with my shaking legs and my tumbling insides towards the restrooms.
I did'nt see that he ran beside me.
As I stood there, infront of the toilet, bent fowards, I felt his hands holding up my hair from my face. He did not say a word. He just stood there. Holding my hair back and pulling me together again.
After a while we got back to the resturant floor, with an aspirin in one hand and a big glas of water in the other. He brewed us espressos.
I was starting to loose my dizzyness.
We sat on the bar-counter. Our clothes had dryed, but now they where stiff from the green rain that had fallen on the city.
I put the song that i'd intterupted on repeat.
He asked me to dance once again.
Only words came out of my mouth.
Yes.
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