It was the most simple of questions
but one shrouded in mist
and complications,
like the no 53 bus making its
way down the Stanley Road in
unbearable fog, inching forward,
the tyres considering their way slowly
as the driver peered through the window
screen, his passengers wary of what lays
beyond the squeaky door
and the broad panic
as the mist devours the familiar.
“Can I buy you a drink”, she asks,
the sincerity in her voice catching
me off guard for a moment
but quickly recomposing myself to smile
with affection
and the readiness to be asked
the follow up question,
“I need to ask you for advice”,
I mouthed in my head as I heard
her repeat my words in my head.
We sat down, with uncharacteristic valour
I forwent my tipple of choice
and stuck to a half brewed tea
which drew a certain level of criticism
and abused looks from the barman,
not understanding that this was no time
for foggy reflection,
not a moment
to wallow in the mist and be fearful
of the creature hiding in the swirling cold steam
ready to lay a finger on the ankle and make
me scream with my imagination flowing
like the River Rae as it divides
Moor Green Lane from the Dogpool,
her eyes imploring me not to get lost
in the unexpected.
“I’m gay”, she says after I had swallowed
my first sip of tepid unbranded tea and
she looked at me with young intense eyes
and gauged my reaction…
I simply stared at her, not following
her train of absolute thought and my mind
for a second cranked opened the door
of the 53 bus as it recognised
a familiar swinging
orange light as it bounced
like a misplaced beach ball
being tossed across the shore line,
only to find the air soon deflates
and the swinging orange light was
a grand illusion, the monster outside the bus
hit me with a brick and allowed the ship
to be wrecked upon its
own Cornish coast line.
“And…?” I finally replied with tentative
inquisitive tone,
“…Why does that matter?”
She smiled, a mixture of grace and youthful
beauty blossoming all over her face, the mist
from her perspective lifted, to me I still
couldn’t see beyond the grime
that had been allowed to
settle on the window and the tap tap tap
of the monster lurking in the ever darkening fog.
She lifted her half filled glass towards me,
radiantly smiled and replied,
“It doesn’t, not to me but I wanted to see how
someone of your generation
would react when told something huge,
thank you for not making it difficult.”
We soon parted for the day,
the mist waits for no one in the end,
the anonymity afforded the baffled,
why would it have mattered to me I thought,
I have no issue at all, then as the bus rounded
the corner of the North Park
and I saw two young lads exchange
a look that was alien
to others on the bus,
the fog cleared and I saw
what my friend had meant,
and it still wasn’t my concern,
it shouldn’t be a problem at all.
For S on her the event of her birthday., the bravest of brave women.
Ian D. Hall 2015.