Today’s Genre: Romance.
FOWC with Fandango — Opening
They met again after many years. They had been close friends at college but had drifted apart since. Their careers were diametrically opposed. The life of an actor was not compatible with most normal jobs. A creature of the performing arts was often a nocturnal one, whereas most jobs and careers were diurnal with early starts that meant the nighttime was reserved for precious sleep.
However bumping into each other, it was clear from the way their breathing had become laboured, and a rosy glow developed in their cheeks, that the old feelings hadn’t died.
Desperate for an opening, he cleared his throat and said: “You’re looking well.”
“Thank you, I’ve been ill recently, but I’m better now”,
“Oh, what was wrong? Nothing too serious, I hope.”
A silence descended upon them again.
Anyone viewing the scene would have been able to cut the atmosphere with a knife. There was a tension there, a desperate yearning to speak, to spill out a tirade of emotions, of unrequited actions.
Instead, the young man said “Well, it was very nice bumping into you again. After all these years”
“Yes, wasn’t it. Are you still acting?”
“Yes, when I can get work. I have just been in a film, it won’t be out for another three months and it was only a small part, but it was nice to have some work. Are you still teaching?”
Their eyes met as they simultaneously remembered their last encounter. How they had expressed their love in the fullest physical way and spent the night in each other’s arms as if nothing else mattered. Only, in the morning, the reality of what they had done, of who they were, came crushing in on them.
That memory was a treasure, they say you never forget your first time, he had never forgotten it, or him.
“Well, I had better let you get on, it was a pleasure to meet you again.” He put out a hand, just beginning to show the advance of age. It matched the grey hairs on his temples and the fine lines around those warm brown eyes.
The young man grasped the hand in his, a strangely anticlimactic physical contact when compared to that memory.
“Yes, I had better be going. Goodbye.”
He quickly walked away down the street and turned the corner before resting against the wall and releasing a breath.
His first love.
Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 12/March/2019
I haven’t written much in this genre of romance. Was it romantic? Or was it just awkward? Maybe that is was romance is often like, for those struggling to come to terms with certain things.