Script scene 1, creative class, 2008. Powered by Blogger.

Saturday 9 August 2008

The morning of August 9th 2008

I remember it must have been January time because it was snowing, and the lights were still hanging from the bridge. I was sat there alone on a seat on the left hand side of the top deck. It was quieter than usual because I was late. The windows appeared completely frosted, haunted by condensation. The bus had stopped and I'd heard a rhythm of footsteps make their way up the stairs. There had appeared a tall, friendly looking man in a bobble hat and snow boots. He held his child in his arms, a sweet boy of three or four, and strode across to the front seat on the right side. I remembered as a child I would choose that very same spot. In my hands would be an imaginary wheel, to my left a rack that kept the change. They sat together. I heard their laughter and saw their smiling faces from the mirror above. Their matching hats, his father's unshaven face. The windows were covered and the man began to draw in the condensation on the window. He drew a picture of himself, each stroke of his finger revealing a small part of the hustle and bustle of the busy city we were nearing. His arm was drawn out and attached to the hand at the end of this arm was another, miniature version of himself. The boy wrapped his arms around the man and kissed him on the cheek. "Watch me Daddy!" Baby-faced and serious, he copied his Father's marks. "Look what I'm drawing Daddy". The sound of his tiny voice was pure and untainted. I never took my eyes from the window, but just sat there curiously watching. Daddy helped, realising the boy's intentions and they joked and giggled together, he only added with the boy's specific permission. For a few minutes, sat there in that seat, my disappointment left me and my delicate body laced with love. I felt a huge lump forming deep in my throat. It took five minutes or so before their bodies unveiled the masterpiece. Together they had drawn a little girl beside them. A small girl with bunches in her hair and ribbons, wearing what I imagined to be just the prettiest dress. 'Noushka', the boy had said as he joined their hands together. The man's hand ran through the boy's fluffy hair before he pressed the bell, and they departed at the gates beside the river. I listened to the patter of their feet down the stairs and as they reached the bottom I pulled my body up to get off a few stops early, to catch one last glimpse of the love that I had been missing. But my body stuck like glue to the seat. I realised I'd always be missing something; something I could not describe, but so longed to be part of. Disappointment snapped at my body the way ice does against bare skin. I felt my eyes well and tears run down my face, as their little girl wept with me and slowly began to fade. I sat there and I prayed.