Playing Your Piano

Me: Clare Evans; first soprano.

You: Mark Anderson; bass.

Status: best friends – unfortunately.

It was an hour before we were due at the National Choir concert. You had invited me to come round to your house before-hand, and because I’ve had this teensy-tiny-completely-insignificant-but-secretly-life-altering crush on you for about the last two years now, I leapt at the chance.

Two years. Huh, I can’t believe it’s been that long. Time really does fly!

The thing is that I really can’t tell you.

Reason 1. You’re my best friend.

While it stands that I should be able to tell you anything – I know you through and through! You’d completely freak if you found out!

Reason 2. You are waaaaaaaaaa...(etc.)…aaaaaaaaaaaay out of my league!

I’m not bad looking, less skinny than I’d like to be – but I’m no leggy blonde (i.e. your type). Actually I’m the opposite. Pear-shaped and brunette. And my feet are kinda big.

But you Mark. Uhh. How do I put this civilly?

You’re mind meltingly hot! Delicious! Greek God-like!

You have this wonderful olive skin (you once managed to convince me you were Italian… I’m far too gullible sometimes…) and these tremendously deep brown eyes. You’re a black belt (two dan) in Karate. I’m not sure, but I’ve heard the Altos at choir giggling about how you have a six-pack. Your hair’s dark brown (not as dark as your eyes, but getting there!) and you always look like you’re smiling. On top of that you’re smart too.

Sometimes you can be a bit of an arrogant pig …but you’re just a guy, so I’ll let it slide!

I’m really such an idiot to like you.

…Anyway… Yes! Where was I? An hour before the annual spring concert!

Your mum was very kindly giving us and some choir friends a lift to St Andrews Church Hall (this big posh Church in the centre of town, the usual venue of all National Choir concerts) and you were making our tea, in your big happy sunshine yellow kitchen (it’s so cute you can cook!). Your mum, Sally, was about to go and pick up your sister from ballet.

“Alright you two, I’m off to get Susan from dancing. Mark, please don’t burn the food!”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s fine, I got it.” You and I were left standing in the kitchen, alone, over a pan of stir fry, while Sally left to find her keys.

“I’ll be back in about twenty minutes.”

“Cool. The food’ll be ready by then.”

“Right! Cheerio! Be good!” Sally appeared once more to give you a parting kiss on the cheek.

I’ve always liked Sally. She’s so different from my mum. Like chalk and cheese. Sally’s so kind and bouncy and fun. She has this amazing blonde hair, even now in her late forties. She’s like an angel.

My mum is nothing like her. Not that I’m saying my mum’s a devil or anything!! She’s just very stiff around people. And kinda frowny and strict.

As I heard the front door slam and a car engine start up, I turned to face you.

“Soooo… Watcha cookin’ good lookin’?” I asked playfully.

“Thanks and stir fry.”

“I can see that dummy! What type of stir fry?”