The Faces of Love

by Gary Martin

It's memories of the absurd, little things that last. Dangerous memories. Walking through the park to the little footbridge I remembered the time Julie and I had packed an elaborate picnic lunch and taken a rowboat out on the artificial lake, determined to catch one of the goldfish when we thought none of the park attendants would see us. We were nearly under the footbridge when she fell in the water reaching for one of the fish, and I fell in reaching for her. A whole army of kids had appeared as if by magic on the little bridge, pointing at us and laughing. The attendant hadn't thought it so funny. At the time, I guess we didn't either. I knew I'd never look at that bridge again without thinking of Julieand there would be countless other landmarks I couldn't remove from my lifelittle things that we had given some special meaning to in our time together. It would be the same for her, except it would probably be worse.

I was leaning on the rail and watching the black water reflect the lamp post, but seeing much more, when I heard her coming. The heels beat a steady rhythm on the walk; heels that could only be Julie's, quick and sure, but light. The trees seemed to give out an echo of the tapping sound, so much more real in its immediacy than the faint waves of music drifting down from the roller skating rink. Almost frightened, I wished there were people around, that it were daytime, knowing still that it would probably be easier because there weren't and it wasn't. I was unpleasantly aware of the sweat on my palms, and knew it had a right to be there. I didn't turn; literally couldn't take my eyes off the water.

Standing behind me, Julie put a hand, holding an unlit cigarette, on the railing, and assumed a Cockney accent. "Got a match, ducks?"

She accepted the light, and looked up at me. I don't know what she saw, but her smile slipped a little. She held onto it. "Nice gentlemen like you shouldn't be all by themselves. Come on up to my flat, lovey; it won't cost yer much."

I grinned. How easy it would be just to let things go on in the same casual, aimless way. And how impossible.

"Did your father warn you against proper young ladies meeting gentlemen in the park at this hour?"

She shook her head. "I don't think he believes you're a gentleman. Anyhow, he went to bed two hours ago. Arthritis and modest circumstances don't prevent Daddy quoting that 'healthy, wealthy and wise' business to me-just about twice a day. Mother never gave him any rest; he's probably making up for it now."

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