Recycled Souls #48

by Lynette Ferreira

After he is done in the bathroom, we sit at the dining room stroke kitchen table, drinking our coffee, and decide we would have to go to the shops first. He is hopelessly too creased and shabby looking.

We take the train to Tara Street Station and then we walk to the shops in O’Connell Street. We walk into the first clothes shop we see. He chooses a tracksuit pants with a matching hoodie as well as a backpack. While he is paying, I hear him ask if he could change in the dressing rooms, and the saleswoman, smiling at him sweetly, agrees.

After a while he comes out and I am waiting for him just inside the exit door.

He walks toward me, smiling widely. “Much better,” he says when he reaches me. We push all the way through the glass doors to the outside and then he stops me by saying, “Wait.”

I turn to him.

“Let’s paint your face.”

“Not a good idea,” I argue.

“You must though. It’s a requirement.”

“Not.” I laugh.

“Your first proper St. Patrick’s Festival and you don’t want to paint your face?” He smiles mischievously.

I look around us at the other people walking past us and many of them have face paint on, not necessarily on their faces. I agree annoyed, “Okay. Fine.”

While we are standing on the pavement in front of the shop, he paints an Irish flag across my cheeks and nose in neat straight orange, white and green lines.

He is leaning close to me, concentration etched on his face.

Impulsively I reach up and kiss him quickly and softly on his lips.

He steps back and smiles puzzled. “And now?”

“Just felt like it.” I shrug.

What are you doing, Elizabeth?

His brow furrows briefly as he takes my hand. “All done. Come you need one more accessory.”

He leads me into a nearby tourist shop and there he buys me a huge green hat with a lot of little tinkling bells hanging from it. Every time I turn my head all the bells make ringing noises and laughingly, he insists I wear it for the whole day.

Everybody we meet is joyful and happy. Strangers stop and talk with us.

At lunchtime we go into the first pub we see. Joshua orders a Guinness, and it is green. I, as always, only order a bottle of water. He offers me a taste of the green Guinness and I take a small sip. He laughs whole-heartedly at the expression on my face. It might be very traditional, but I am sure it is an acquired taste.

That night we stand along the Liffey River with a multitude of other people. He pulls me in front of him and he folds his arms around my shoulders, holding me closely to him. The back of my head rests against his chest and together with all the other people surrounding us, we ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ as we watch the spectacular fireworks display.

When the last firecracker goes dark against the night sky, he walks me back to my apartment.

I am so excited and energized from the events of the day I talk non-stop nonsense, not noticing his quiet melancholy.

Once we stop in front of my front door, he takes my face in both his hands tenderly. His hands are warm on my skin. He leans down and kisses me softly on my forehead.

Quickly I wrap my arms around his waist and hug him to me. “Thank you for a most wonderful day.”

“I'll see you later,” he says.

“You always seem so hasty and abrupt whenever you say goodbye to me. Why?” I look up at him curiously.

After a while he sighs softly. “Elizabeth, if only you knew how much I want to sweep you up in my arms and kiss you good night properly. I would rather have what we have than have you avoid me because I was over eager.”

He smiles wearily as I drop my arms from his waist and take a shocked step away from him. A sudden painful feeling rush through me. I realize I am not being fair toward him. Here I am hugging him, wanting him to kiss me, even kissing him, yet I expect him to always only be my friend. Softly I say, “I’m sorry, Joshua.” I turn away from him and start to walk away from him.

He clears his throat. “Hey, you,” he calls after me.

I turn back to him.

Worriedly he asks, “Are we still friends?”

“Of course, we are. Forever.”

“Then where’s my hug?”

I step closer to him and almost fall into his arms. My words whisper in the fold of his neck, “I really am sorry, but I need you to be my friend.”

“It’s okay.” He wraps his arms around my shoulders and pulls me tightly to his chest. He rests his lips against the crown of my head. “I better get going.”

I pull away from him. “I thought you were leaving me.” I punch his upper arm lightly.

A haunted look crosses his eyes. “It won’t be that easy to get rid of me.” He takes a determined step away from me. “It’s getting late. If I don’t go now, I’ll be walking home.”

I smile up at him. “Good night, Joshua.”

“I had fun today.”

I smile as I walk away from him. “Me too.”

After walking through the access door, I turn back to look at him, through the glass window, and I lift my hand in a wave.

Smiling affectionately, he waves back, then he turns and walks away.

I have taken many photos of the two of us with my phone and once I am in my room, I upload them to my computer. I print them out carefully and decide to start a memory book. We have done so many things together and I want to remember every moment. He has turned out to be my truest, ‘bestest’ friend ever.