End Of A Film

Call A Vulture A Dove - Final Scene (edit)

...and that was the last time I would see her; those hazel eyes I'd grown to love as the affair took hold, sparkling as the mist descended, airbrushing the browns, golds and greens from the park. And that smile, that smile that just spoke more loudly than any cliches I'd crapped from my mouth that summer just gone.

I held her hand one, final time that afternoon, and something in me (well, something in me always did) wanted to make some hollow gesture that, in the circumstances, I couldn't hope to come through with. And so I just said, "Mary, would you reconsider?".

But I knew the answer before the meet-up began, if the truth be told. And, of course, typical of her and so classy, she sipped the remainder of her coffee, winked in that, "You'll-be-OK-but-I-may-mean-something-else" way she has, picked up her cherry-red handbag, slung it over her winter-grey coat, turned and left.

I sat and watched the afternoon give way to the evening, of course I did. What's a man to do? And so I had another coffee and watched the browns, golds and greens disappear into grey, then night, and swirled my milk, and stared into my swirling cup. And then I called some friends.

But some, well some, it seems, I lost along the way, and all the rest were either too lost in love, or too lost in locating that body, from the robbery. Glad I never had a part of that.

And so I traced those steps I took when I met her that first time. And everything came rolling back like a meet-up with an old school friend, but in black and white. The fairground, the lights, the shopping trip, the circus we hated, the shopping trips I hated (but actually, secretly loved), the mid-life crisis coffee that morning, by the harbour, the tears. Oh...

Tomorrow, I'll delete her number, but for tonight, while I sleep, I'll keep it. Call me a fool - call a vulture a dove. But, well, a night's a long time when you're tragically in love.

The End