Laughter Lines

Posted on

CC Image courtesy of kiki follettosa on FlickrFriends react differently when I tell them.

Beatrice draws on her own recent and painful experience, of being courted by a guy in a relationship who assured her he would leave his long-term girlfriend.  She tells me in no uncertain terms to do nothing.

‘I’m not doing anything!’ I say.

It’s true, I’m not, aside from spending every spare moment thinking about him.  There’s not much else to do during a power cut.

 

Lucy is pragmatic.  ‘Probs best to park that one, non?’

Err…

 

Sophie, wonderful Sophie, invites me to tell her why I’m so crazy about him.  Initially I make a joke of it – ‘You’ve seen the pictures! I’m only human!’ – before feeling annoyed at my own flippancy.  ‘No, it’s not just that.’  What is it exactly?  ‘He’s so funny!’  I laugh at the memory of our conversation the other night.  ‘And….’

I can’t explain it.  A similarity in the way we think, what makes us laugh?  Or something less complicated.  The light in his eyes, their brightness, his laughter, lines at the corner of his mouth.  And when he does moan or complain, I tease him, and he lets me, and it falls away to laughter.

And other things.  His directness.  He asks me straight out if I’m Catholic, because I reel, and apparently ‘quite a few Catholics do it’.

‘No, and I’d say it’s more Evangelicals.  Are you Evangelical?’

‘No,’ he says.

So that’s religion out the way.

And his voice.  I love his voice.  And that he says ‘chap’ without irony.  And his shoes, they’re beautiful, golden brown, like his eyes.

CC Image courtesy of saxoncampbell on Flickr

And the way we dance, close, his knees slightly bent because he’s taller than I am.

‘I can’t believe you’re OK with my dancing,’ he says, turning me.

I say nothing, only smile.  He takes me into a closer hold.

Dance In The City



Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *