Susan's Choice

Memories

Dave still loved her. And there he was, ten years later, standing in the late afternoon drizzle, wearing the sports jacket that she had bought him and staring up the street.

Memories blossomed on every inch of it. Here was where he'd tripped over his clumsy feet and, when she tried to help him up, he had pulled her down, giggling, on top of him.

And were those skidmarks his? Just a few metres ahead he imagined he saw traces of rubber on the curb, the result of his inattentive driving. He smiled at the memory. He had been so distracted trying to work up the courage to kiss her that he'd smacked into the curb. She had laughed and caressed his cheek as her lips met his.

And there, just ahead was the tree — oh my God, how could he have forgotten — where he'd carved their initials! They were still there! DK & SM!

And there she was in his mind's eye, standing at the top of the hill, tapping one foot in mock anger; ordering him to hurry up because she'd been having impure thoughts about him all day and Could Not Stand It A Moment Longer!

And here they were lurching drunkenly together arm in arm on the way home from the pub, laughing at the foibles of everybody else in the whole world.

And here, suddenly, he was standing at the entrance to her house, bordered by an overgrown hedge and the same wrought iron gate. How could it be the same gate? The same lawn? Even the same bald patch that turned yellow in the summer. And how could the house smell like red wine?

Yes, of course. They'd just opened the gate and he'd dropped a bottle of red wine. It had cracked and fizzed, so they sat together on the steps and swapped the bottle back and forth, hurriedly swallowing huge gulps of wine, burping and spewing purple saliva. When the bottle was empty, and it hadn't taken long, she'd jumped to her feet, looked quickly around and pulled her peasant dress over her head. Then, she had grabbed his hand and led him into the little house. They'd developed a special way of holding hands in crowded rooms among strangers. A special way of folding their fingers that signified something only they knew. She used that grip right then, for the last time.

He peered at the house from the safety of the hedge. How could he have been so stupid? How could one thoughtless remark blow things apart? He had phoned a dozen times and she'd refused to answer. He'd written imploring emails that were never acknowledged. He'd phoned again and this time a male voice had answered. He'd stalked the halls at school but she was rarely alone. He'd skulked this very street and stood in this very spot looking at the house and seeing Todd's goddam bicycle leaning on the porch. All night.

That she had taken up with Todd had hurt beyond measure. He had dropped the English class they took together but haunted the entrance to the lecture hall. He saw her coming out but she changed course away from him. Todd approached and stood towering over him. "I think maybe the lady doesn't want to see you any more," he growled. "I think maybe you should leave her alone."

There was no mistaking the threat. Dave backed down.