A quick note: sometimes in life, an author is presented with a series of observations and events which stick in their mind. In some cases, it forms the nagging scope of a short story or item. The issue that then faces that author is whether to use that opportunity to write something which is then picked up by friends, colleagues and dissected – sometimes accurately, sometimes not so – or just read as a piece of fiction. As with much in life, the timing of thought to publishing is key; leave it long enough and people forget what it is that may have prompted the piece in the first place. I decided not to leave this too long, but it was too simple to just consign to a notebook of ideas. So, dear reader, here is something that you may decide has been written from the heart or an idea sparked from life’s synchronicity….
Jonathan scrolled through the list of emails on his computer screen. It had been a few days since he’d last checked, but was still surprised at how many of them he was deleting without reading – offers from companies that he’d signed up to, spam email, junk mail… he’d started to get into an automatic process until … something stopped him. An email from Richard. “Old Friends” said the subject title.
Jonathan quickly checked the deleted emails folder to make sure that he hadn’t inadvertently deleted another email wrongly before returning to his inbox.
“Old Friends”.
Jonathan clicked the “read” button and the message popped up on screen:
Hello everyone!
I’ve been going through my old photo collection and decided to scan a few in; hopefully you’ll enjoy them! Bob – that picture of you with the inflatable tree is in there..!
There was then a link to a web page. Jonathan smiled at the comment to Bob; what a great weekend that had been and how Bob had been a good sport when he was left on the beach, clutching an inflatable Christmas tree to spare his blushes whilst the rest of the gang leaned by the cars a few hundred yards away. Richard was always one for capturing those pictures, which then turned up at Christmas parties years later, typically when someone had come along with a new partner who was introduced to everyone. Older, but never wiser.
Jonathan clicked the link and the browser page opened up.
“Old Friends” said the title.
Jonathan reflected that Richard had been busy. So many memories now trapped digitally, all those incriminating pictures displayed side by side, revealing Richard’s knack for catching people when they least expected it. There were several pages of thumbnails, so Jonathan paused momentarily and poured himself a whisky, then sat back down and clicked the first image.
As the images lit up his face, each one brought back its own little snapshot of history. The first camp that they all went on, that trip to the pub when they were all under age but still managed to get drinks served; that tent that would not stay up no matter how many pegs were banged into the ground…
Sometimes, the snapshot in time wasn’t to do with the picture at all. Jonathan recognised that some of the images were taken on camps and events that he hadn’t been to – whilst they went off together to the Channel Islands, or the Lake District, Jonathan’s other interests took him in different directions. There was a little regret lodged in Jonathan’s mind, but this was quickly dispelled as he then remembered the adventures he had instead.
Then Jonathan was brought back to earth with a bump. Holly.
The photo was a fairly candid one of Holly and himself at a Christmas party. Both were laughing and looking straight into each others eyes. It was clear that these were two people who were oblivious to the world around them, just wrapped up in each others emotions and arms. Yes, thought Jonathan, I remember that night. It had been a magical, wonderful night. They had left the party fairly late, but he’d promised Holly’s dad that he would get her home before midnight; and yet even though he was going to make that time… well, if they were a little late at the end of her drive, her dad wouldn’t have minded; they seemed to get on so well. That walk home, as the snow fell insistently, silently, muffling the sounds of the passing cars and dimming their lights to a yellow glow, they walked hand in hand and step in step. The warmth that flowed from hand to hand ensuring that they really didn’t notice the snow as it wetted their hair. And before they had got very far from the party, Holly had pulled him to her for that electric, wonderful kiss. Jonathan could still remember the warmth through the snow-chilled lips, the streetlight back lighting them in that classic, iconic pose of lovers the world over. Cars still drove by, but with the snow falling heavily no-one tooted their horn or offered any words. They were together, alone, but displaying their love to the world. It was a magical night – their first night when they arrived at the party as friends, but left as lovers. Jonathan felt the warmth flow through his heart, he felt the smile in his eyes as he recalled those perfect, honeyed days.
Click.
Then, Jonathan’s world stopped. The smile dropped from his lips, the pain welled in his eyes.
Holly again, but this time lounging on a bench, her back arched ever so slightly with her head turned towards the camera; her eyes slightly closed but still burning with that passionate intensity. This was a photo for a lover, not a friend and there was no hint in the picture that it was anything else. Holly was looking at her lover in the picture, not the camera, and there were no shadows around the picture to show other people in shot. This was a photo that Richard had taken, of Holly, on holiday. There had been rumours of holiday romances and though never spoken of, were sometimes cautiously hinted at. Well, I guess I’d not been an angel on holiday, thought Jonathan – remembering the camp that he had attended with other friends and whilst his friends got serious with girls, he and Annette had sat, stoking the campfire and talking about their own respective partners who weren’t with them. And he certainly had not stopped Annette when she said (pretended?) to be tired and leant on his shoulder, or the quick gentle kiss before she had gone to bed that evening. But it was nothing… so was this picture nothing too?
Jonathan reached instinctively for the CD remote control. As soon as he hit “play”, the familiar lyrics from “Script for a Jester’s Tear” started…
So here I am once more in the playground of the broken hearts
One more experience, one more entry in a diary, self-penned
Yet another emotional suicide overdosed on sentiment and pride
Too late to say I love you, too late to re-stage the play
Abandoning the relics in my playground of yesterday
Jonathan knew that this wasn’t going to help… this was a track that he always found played to his maudlin nature, setting his mind to the tortured jester, locking his feelings away to present a happy face to the world – even though he partly knew that he wore his heart very much on his sleeve.
But Jonathan could not do a thing. Unable to click the mouse, unable to skip the track, he just sat staring at Holly and that picture. He found himself trying to put himself into the picture, but he just couldn’t. He questioned if Richard had thought at all about the emotions that would be brought to the surface by publishing a picture from…. Jonathan stopped himself. This picture was now about 26 years old. Why was he being so foolish to get so emotional about something nearly thirty years old?
Jonathan then heard the familiar sound of plates being restacked from the dishwasher, which brought him back to the present day. His wife, whom he’d now been married to for over ten years old, was sorting things out. His wife, who he’d met at one of the gang’s summer parties just shortly after she’d had a major break-up with her old partner; her partner who was a good friend… of Richard. Jonathan paused for a moment, and quickly thoughts flooded into his mind of the happy times that he had shared recently and how only yesterday he’d considered made life perfect.
“Hmm, life does run in circles”, thought Jonathan. “I really must thank Richard for putting these pictures up. I wonder what Holly is doing now? I hope she’s happy”.
With that, Jonathan drained the last of his drink, and moved the mouse across the screen.
Click.
(Lyrics taken from “Script for a Jester’s Tear” by Marillion. Words by Fish (Derek Dick))
