Two Friends Meet

This short story is a little over 300 words long, and is more or less true…

Two friends meet

We were waiting for the concert to begin. It was an open-air recital of music performed by an ensemble of violinist, cellist, flautist and pianist. A faint savour of cooking permeated the air from the nearby tavernas. Swifts swooped and shrilled their thin song, accompanied by the obsessive rattle of cicadas.

Although it was past the advertised starting time, half the seats were still empty and there was no sign of the performers. We laughed, quietly; late starts seemed to be a feature of Greek performances. “People watching” is a very Greek thing to do, so, like the other eighty or so people making up the audience, we looked around.

There was a woman in a green dress sitting in the row in front of us. Her skin resembled a peach that had dried just a little, losing moisture until fine wrinkles had appeared. The wrinkles spoke of smiles, laughter, and love, and the set of her eyes and mouth confirmed them.

Her hair, unambiguously grey without hint of white, was short, straight, and beautifully cut. She sat upright, making the most of her height, projecting confidence. She was on her own but seemed completely untroubled by this. Nevertheless, had my Greek been adequate to sustain a conversation I would have greeted her; there was a warmth about her that invited friendship.

As the remainder of the audience straggled in, the woman looked around. She glanced to her right and her eyes widened. Her face glowed with delight. She reached out with both arms to embrace a woman who was threading her way between the seats. The two women hugged, exchanged greetings and sat down side by side.

They didn’t chatter; occasionally one would make a comment to the other, who would nod, or say something brief in reply. They just sat, relaxed, companionable, enjoying the occasion together, plainly friends of many years standing.

Shortly afterwards the musicians entered, and chased away the sounds of swifts and cicadas with the music of Smetana.

 

Friday Fictioneers – The First Time

Every week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (thank you, Rochelle!) hosts a flash fiction challenge, to write a complete story, based on a photoprompt, with a beginning, middle and end, in 100 words or less. Post it on your blog, and include the Photoprompt and Inlinkz (the blue frog) on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

PHOTO PROMPT © Jan Wayne Fields

The First Time

Gerald marvelled at how strong Peter’s legs were, how supple, how beautiful, as he followed him up the steep path.

At the top, he gazed over the plain and exclaimed, “Great view!”

“Even better wi’ a beer. Get t’ bottles out, lad.”

Gerald smiled at him. Trust Peter to be thinking of beer!

They sat down, side by side, almost touching, and opened the bottles. Yeasty bubbles tickled Gerald’s nose as he drank. The warm sun caressed his skin.

His hand crept onto Peter’s. Peter looked earnestly at him. Suddenly, their hearts sang.

For the first time, they kissed.

In the moment

The pack on my back was heavy; the weekend shopping included tins of soup, oranges, meat and red wine. The air was cold, freezing, and it was snowing very lightly. As I walked up the hill towards the mill, a car passed me.
At the mill entrance, it paused, not quite stopping but moving very slowly. Another car came up quickly behind it. It edged closer – and closer. The driver of the first car presumably noticed him and went a little faster; the driver of the second car matched him for speed, and stayed tight on his tail. I felt his impatience.
The two cars vanished round the corner. I trudged on up the hill and I thought, “That’s what dying is going to be like. So many interesting things happening, and I shall never see how they conclude.”
The wind stung my face; the snowflakes danced; beauty was all around. I remembered the affection of the friend to whom I had been talking a few minutes earlier. I had beef and wine in my backpack, and Daphne was waiting at home.
Life is good.
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