First Love by Adam Lee Parry

 

She lived now for the moments, so few and far between. But, this moment she knew she deserved she’d waited for it so long. She was talking to Anna when he came to the garden and plonked down his backpack, as if it belonged in that particularly space crushing the grass and the dandelions, and himself beside it, pulled out a ciggie, for a moment seemed to decide to take something from his backpack, then exhausted just by the thought of it lay back smoking staring up at the weekend’s ration of sunshine and blue skies. Looking at him, still as an artist’s model, Martha pondered, wondered. Is that him?

Anna was asking her something, something about tomorrow’s Dress Rehearsal.

‘What was that?’

‘Have you told everyone that we can’t use the theatre tomorrow?’

‘Yes, I’ve told everyone twice.’

‘What about Sam?’

‘I texted him three times.’ Martha sighed. ‘No-one knows where he is after last weeks shambles.’ There was a pause, she could almost hear the profanities escalating to Anna’s tongue. She cut her off:

‘Who he?’

‘He who?’

‘Him.’ Martha pointed to the still life half asleep in the parched grass.

‘Oh, him he’s the just in case, The saviour of the no shows’

‘What’s his name.’

‘Joe. He’s actually a professional actor unlike the almighty Sam. Costing us an arm and a leg, but he knows the part backwards. I had to think ahead after last year’s disaster, all the hard-work we all put in and that idiot spoiled everything. Again.’

‘Why did you even give Sam the part?’

‘Well he’s the only handsome hero type in a thirty-mile radius. Sam alone would guarantee a full house.’

‘Come on Anna you still have a soft spot for him.’

‘And? Despite popular culture and stereotyping I might be old and fat, but I still have hormones and I know how to use them.’ On cue Martha laughed at the old joke. ‘Well, we better start soon or that lot will be pissed,’ she pointed to the kitchen where Lady Macbeth and her nurse were doing shots. ‘Go and introduce yourself to Joe.’

Then, suddenly, Martha was alone in the garden  emboldened by the moment. She walked over to him.

‘Hi.’ Slender and tall, her leggings as bright blue as the clearings of the sky above. Tidy curls danced about her forehead and ears. She waited for him to open his eyes and blink at Martha as if is eyes were stung with salt water or chlorine. ‘Hi. She said smiling.

‘Yeah. What a day.’

‘Have you come far?’

‘I cycled here from Cataline.’

‘That’s a long way.’

‘More fun than the bus.’

‘We’ll be starting soon; come in and have a drink and some of Anna’s soup. There’s plenty of soup left.’

‘Don’t bother yourself. I just want to take in this place for a while, let it whisper to me , or sing. Some places I’ve been to play the trombone.’ Martha laughed.

Then for some reason she sat, plonking herself down onto cross-legs as he had done. Did he see the same shapes in the swift clouds as she did? Or did he hear the vibrations as the clouds met and melted into each other? Or that crow ragged and weathered by too many season, croaking out Bohemian Rhapsody?

‘So, what part do you play? He asked.

‘Can’t you tell? Well I’m witch number one.’

‘So, you’ve not many lines?’

‘Thank God. I’m also the Stage Manager.’ They were silent. Anna’s voice could be heard from the kitchen.

‘Macduff put down that vodka. Right everyone. Five minutes. Please.’

‘Oh well it’s time to do some work,’ Joe sighed and stood his hand grasping the air above as if it were Martha lifting him into the moment.

It is him, she thought, how could I have been so wrong about everything?

As Anna dished out her notes from the last rehearsal Martha couldn’t stop looking at the back of Joe’s head. I never thought it possible. Here I am two years from a bus pass and I fall in love  between one blink an another and the world changes around me as if subtle scene shifters transform a stage. No I never thought it possible.

Turn around McBeth just for a moment.

Anna had stopped dishing out misery and threats and en mass the unhappy band of players lurched out to the garden taking the last of the vodka out with them.

With his sobriety and newness in the group Ray found a spot on the grass, apart. Even so Martha thought he looked happy enough.

She grabbed a half bottle of wine from the Porter’s hand, filled a glass and sank a grass. AA’ll understand. Then she went over and sat beside him.

‘You are very good,’ she tells him.’

‘I put it down to my first director, Lynn.  Never be late and always know your lines and every else’s. Got me where I am today.’

‘A garden in Stoney with a lot of pissed folk.’

‘Being where you are is probably the best place to.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘Told me. I just made it up, but it almost sounds true.’

Martha laughed.

‘Anna’s got a room made up for you.’

‘Great. I’m so tired. Maybe get the bus the next time.’

He followed after Anna who was jabbering at the air ahead of her, she was telling Ray something about the boiler, but he wasn’t listening. He listens to harpists on the wind, the singing in the grass  the same song Martha sang accompanied by the chords of the blue unblemished blue of the sky in in her eyes Martha’s  bursting heart that told of true loves and the only ones. Singing he had always her and she his, singing of all those unbelievable and improbable things like that, and of love at first sight.