Present
2020 by Freya McNeill
I sat in the darkness. The arch’s stone was cool against my back, reaching through my thin baggy shirt. Shivering, I adjusted my binder and closed my eyes, fantasising about the warm hoodies stacked away in my cupboard. Someone walked past me and then stopped, I curled my hand around my beer bottle like the last soldier holding onto his battalion banner. “You look like a tramp,” a voice said, scoffing. I reluctantly opened my eyes then blinked, adjusting my blurred vision to a girl who had long black braids with purple tips - it took me a moment to recognise her. “I think that’s doing tramps a disservice, some - ” I held up a warning finger to her, feeling that familiar sensation in my throat before letting out a massive burp. Pausing for a few seconds, I reached for the glass bottle again welcoming the cold liquid to slip down my throat. “Disgusting.” I shrugged and rubbed my hands together. “Well you’re the one who dated me,” I pulled myself up, pouting with chapped lips. “Shall we keep that past tense?” She adjusted her medical mask to re-cover her nose.
“I promise, I’m not going to infect you,” I laughed, putting an honorary hand over my face. She rolled her eyes but I could have sworn that she smiled underneath it. I remembered her sparkling eyes when we danced under this spot, my hands on her waist as I tried to lead her but kept treading on her toes. I always was the perfect gentleman. “Trust me?” She looked at me as if she saw our shared memories in Méliès’s distorted crackly film. “Vivanne, we’re not in England, get over here milady,” I said in my terrible English accent, a name that only her mother called her rolled off my tongue like it did a year ago. She laughed, shaking her head. “You’ve got me in your spiffing logic guv’nor,” she responded, up for the game, “two metres.” Viv gave me a pointed look but stepped forward all the same. I slid over a beer, she picked it up with her hoodie sleeves and nearly downed it in one. “Woah, easy there tiger.” I said, “Last time I gave you a beer you took one dainty sip and spat it out.” She shrugged, finishing it off. “Alex you know me, the epitome of grace.” She winked, looking down at her scuffed boots. We sat there in silence with the
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