The Summer of '93

Keeping busy

It was the start of May, my favourite month. A letter was waiting for me when I got up. It was Ali, he had written to me. Bless his little kilted legs! It was a really lovely letter and I wrote one back a few days later. The letter was a 'bluey'. A bluey was a free Army airmail letter that was available for writing on. I picked up some when I was at the post office. I had promised to write to him.

I did ring Ali's home as I did feel bad about not going to visit him. His Dad answered the telephone.

"Hello, can I speak to Ali please?"

"Ali, you mean Ali McGregor?" he asked.

"Yes, that's right", I said, a bit embarrassed, "We met in Edinburgh when I was working up there."

"Oh!" He replied. "So are you his girlfriend?"

I didn't want to go into the ins and out of it, it was complicated and it was easier to just say "Yes, that's right." But in my heart of hearts I was resigned that I knew that I had sadly no future with Dionisis.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" he exclaimed and half laughed, "I feel like I've sold you a watch with no hands!"

With that he left and the next voice I heard on the line was Ali's. What a strange thing for Ali's Father to say.

To take my mind off Dionisis, (even though it wasn't the case, I was trying to put him behind me, (in the shower), no honestly!) I endeavoured to stop moping, make the best of the hand I had been dealt and so I tried to throw my energy and attention elsewhere.

Ali had posted a letter and a photo of him. The photo didn't show him at his best. He had a strained smile and was wearing his number one uniform for his regiment and he was playing his drum. It was waiting for me when I got home. The tale told me of him getting drunk in Berlin, where he was stationed and Ali had fallen asleep in the street. He claimed that two Turks had roughed him up and stolen his passport. He'd also missed his flight home from Berlin. Ali was starting to sound like a lot like a drunken bum and all things considered, the epitome of a significant liability. His writing backed it up. It was dreadful! My interpretation of his handwriting did not bode well. It was thready, and the direction of it was all over the place. It looked like a spider had grabbed a pen and written in a flurry of activity. It wasn't attractive at all. There was aggression and resentment wrapped into it. I could see that invented information replaced truth. If his handwriting was to be relied on he wasn't appropriate dating material at all! His T told me that he was obstinate, determined and very outspoken.

I didn't show the contents of the letter to Mum but I did wave the photo under her nose. She gave it quite a study and said that she admired that he had kept in contact even though I had not headed up when he arrived from Berlin, in an impromptu manner, but still kept in contact. "He looks a nice boy." she said, trying to convince me and divert me of my sadness, that I hadn't the heart to take down from my wall.

I was looking up at the photo I had had blown up of Dionisis' timered photo of us kissing for the first time, as I wrote the letter in bed. I sobbed quietly. It's true that the different dynamics of one's personality are drawn out by different people. Dionisis drew out the cerebral element and Ali drew out my playful side. Dionisis was a calming lifting force and Ali was a risk taking, throw caution to the wind force. The two men were a breed apart from each other. I sipped on a can of cider and gave it my best shot:

I wrote on a bluey letter. 12:00am 7th May '93

Hi, it's me!

How the hell are you? Well I must admit, I was surprised to hear from you so soon! Thanks for the letter and the photos. My Mother was itching to see the photos this morning. She then spurted on about how Scottish you look, and you are just like someone in her office...Mothers!