SFAT: The Journey Home

The final part or the stories  based on the sketches of life first outlined in Scenes from a Tram Stop (Sorry no audio due to travel, will added when I get home.)
The old guy turned his attention to the kids on the bench, 16, 17, also on their way home from school. Laughing, joking, just a little too loud perhaps. They were smoking in the least rebellious way possible. Not a shared ciggie bummed off some passer-by, but an electronic cigarette. He thought of the trouble he got into when he’d first smoked, the hiding he’d taken from his dad who’d smelt it on him as soon as he’d walked through the door . Now there was no smell, and nothing to hide. These kids were taking up a habit designed to help others lose theirs. The world's gone mad he thought to himself as he got on his tram and headed back to his cat. 

A young lad was gentlemanly enough to offer his seat, you didn’t get that all that often anymore, times had changed. Stan used to be too proud to accept the offers but these days his aching body ruled the roost; another sign of changing times. He noticed the kids with the electronic cigarette had followed him on the tram, he didn’t like the look of them. Did he and his friends scared old folk when he was their age? 

He closed the window on the tram, there was a slight breeze and he didn’t want to go and get an ear infection, the last one had lingered for two or three weeks.  He knew he was old, knew he couldn’t take any chances with his health.

He got off the tram and started the slow walk home, when he was younger he tried to race himself home, trying to beat the time he’d done it in the day before, now he was almost the opposite, whereas he used to be able to shave seconds off now he was adding them.  He could hear chatter behind him, young people talk with lots of swearing and lazy pronunciation. He daren’t look back, he read so many things these days about gangs of youths mugging pensioners for drug money, the streets were no longer safe.

‘Hey mister.’ He heard the voices but hoped they were not addressing him. All he could do was to try to quicken his pace a little, easier said than done.

‘Mister, mister.’  He had to look around now, he saw the same gang of kids and he’d seen before, were they following him?. He hadn’t liked the look of them at the tram stop with their spitting and posturing, now he liked them even less. He gripped his stick tighter and continued walking, trying to ignore them, hoping they’d get bored and go away.

‘Mister.’ They’d just about caught up with him now, he felt surrounded, vulnerable, weak. All he could do was hope that if he was attacked someone would come to his aid.  But people didn’t did they, people minded their own business, turned blind eyes, saved their own skins.

The ringleader was right in his face now, one of five kids, 3 boys 2 girls, god the shame of being attacked but these youngsters. When he was young Stan would have had them on toast.

He confronted them.

‘What do you want?’ His voice was strong but his hand was shaking.

‘Mister, you dropped this.’ the lad held out his hand, Stan flinched expecting pain but none came. He looked at the young man’s hand, he had a photo, Stan’s photo, of Stan and his wife on their 20^th anniversary. Stan carried it everywhere to keep Vlasta close to him.

Stan took the photo and mumbled his thanks. He would have been lost without that photo, even more lost than he was now.

‘Can we ask a question?’ It was one of the girl’s turn to talk, being egged on by one of the others. ‘We’re doing a project in school on life under communism we wondered if we could ask you a few questions of what it was like, but only if you have time.’

Time was the only thing Stan had these days.

He invited them into his flat and answered their questions, when they left he couldn’t believe he’d been scared of these nice, polite young people.

SFAT The woman

Monday to THursday this week the stories are based on the sketches of like first outlined in Scenes from a Tram Stop
The woman with the ice cream watched the young loved-up couple getting on the tram,  her eyes misting over, thinking of when she was in their place? Would she ever feel like that again? She’d decided to treat herself to one last ice cream of the summer. Since the divorce that was her outlook, she did things because she wanted, not because it was expected. The tattoo, the anklet, the skirt maybe a bit too short for a woman of her age, she didn’t care, it made her feel sexy, she got admiring glances from lads half her age and after the way he’d tried to destroy her she wanted to feel good about herself.

She enjoyed the sun of her face and the taste of chocolate on her lips but neither could settle the butterflies that were flittering around her stomach. Because she wasn’t here waiting for a tram, today she was waiting for what was getting off the tram. She was early, she was hoping he wasn’t early too, she didn’t really want him to see her eating an ice cream. She fiddled with her skirt one last time and threw the end of the cone in the bin. Just in time, a number 22 was pulling in and David was getting off. God he looked young, was she really doing this? He smiled at her, she felt a little weak at the knees seeing that dimple. Yes she was doing this.

She’d met David at her Salsa class, Salsa class at her age? Was she mad? She’d been paired with David as the only two without partners. She’d blushed when she first danced with him and when he’d put his hand on her hip she’d felt a shiver of excitement. No man apart from her ex had touched her like that for at least 17 years and she couldn’t remember the last time her ex had touched her like that either. She liked David, and they got on well but she was sure that he had his eyes on some of the other women in the class.  So when after lesson 3 David had asked if she’d like to meet for a coffee it was a complete surprise. Nevertheless she’d said yes before he’d finished his question. He’d laughed, she’d blushed, they’d arranged a time and a place and that time and place had arrived.

‘Shall we go in here?’ David pointed to the coffee shop next to the tram stop.

Bara’s heart sunk a little, it really was a coffee, she could do with some Dutch courage right now, a swift G and T or at the very least half a litre of wine. But she had to behave so nodded and let David open the door for her.

David was lovely, he was a listener, he asked questions and then let her speak, nodding, and uhuhing, at all the right times. She tried not to give away too much of the pain as she told her story. When he spoke he was modest, witty, interesting and charming.

‘Well I don’t know about you, but I fancy a glass of wine.’ He smiled a naughty little smile like they were fifteen and having a craft underage drink.

‘Oh finally’ she said, her face breaking into a laugh.

‘Let’s go’ David helped her into her coat and then linked arms with her as they headed for the pub.

As she walked she thought of that teenage couple getting on the tram, the hope and expectation, a journey into the unknown. Amazingly she knew exactly how they felt. In the pub they ordered the wine and sat next to each other. After only about 4 sips he turned to look at her; he brushed hair gently from her face, his eyes held hers, words unspoken swam between them. Their faces were as close as possible without actually touching. Her body ached in anticipation.

Their lips touched, gently at first, a warmth sread from her lips through her body like melted chocolate, then she felt his fingers on her cheek and his tongue touch hers and it felt like it was her who was melting.

SFAT The Teens

For the next four days the stories are based on the sketches of like first outlined in Scenes from a Tram Stop
The boy and girl were springing, springing on to the tram that the woman and pram had just got off. Not quite holding hands, not quite a couple but very close. Going home from school, laughing, joking, smiling like only 15 year-old soon-to-be couples could. Maybe they were discovering the thrills of falling in love for the first time, maybe it was their second, whatever it was, they were still young enough for everything to be fresh, new, adventurous. Something special for them to savour.  

But Hugo was nervous, he didn’t know what the next move was. He knew what he wanted the outcome to be; he spent almost every waking hour dreaming about kissing Sara for every day for the last 3 weeks, since they were first sat next to each other in history class. But he didn’t know how to get to that outcome. The problem was he’d never kissed a girl before. He knew she’d kissed a boy, she’d told him about the boy from the summer camp and the boy from her middle school. He thought he knew how to kiss, after all he’d practiced on his pillow at home while his brother was cleaning his teeth, but what he didn’t know was how to create the moment - how to go from friends to boyfriend and girlfriend. There were so many questions, could he just lunge in and kiss her? Should he ask her? Was there a magic word? Which way did boys tilt their heads and which way did girls? Was there a rule? And then there were the doubts, what if she didn’t feel the same way? He thought she did but he didn’t know. What if his kissing technique was terrible, would she laugh at him and tell all the girls in school? 

They stood on the tram laughing and joking, he loved this penultimate part of the journey, when the others had gone their separate ways at Namesti Miru and he was left alone with Sara. Today was the day, but he’d told himself that both yesterday and the day before and neither had been. But today, well he felt something special in the air. He had 7 tram stops to make his move. But he didn’t have to.

As soon as they were away from the prying eyes of the friends they’d left behind on the tram stop, Sara went on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his lips.

‘Wow!’ That was all he could think of saying.

‘Well I couldn’t wait for you to make the move forever, could I?’ She said with a smile that made him want to kiss her again immediately.

SFAT The Mum

For the next four days the stories are based on the sketches of like first outlined in Scenes from a Tram Stop
The old man watched the young lad help the woman off the tram with her pushchair. She had a smiling face but tired eyes. The boy was not much younger than the mother, his hair gelled forward, all going in 'one direction'. He smiled at the woman as he put the wheels of the pram on the pavement, ‘a beautiful baby, takes after her mother.’  With that he was gone but those 7 words put the spring in the step of woman who thought her spring had sprung some months before.

Hanka smiled as she pushed the pram up the hill.

‘Did you hear that Lucka, you take after your beautiful mother,’ Lucka gurgled back at her mother, responding to the changing tone of her mother’s voice. The words of the wannabe boy band member had replaced the cloud with a hint of sunshine, replaced the frown with a smile, made her feel young again.
‘I should have got his number’ she said to the baby, ‘he had a pretty smile didn't he? Oh gosh what would your father say if he could hear me now?’ She continued to babble to the baby while still smiling at the compliment, she didn’t get too many these days.

She got home just at the same time as her husband,

‘You look nice today.’ He said with a smile as he opened the door for her. For a moment Hanka thought he must be talking to the baby, but that wasn’t how you talked to a child.

‘Me?’

‘Yes you,’ he said smile again. ‘Who else?’

‘Thank you.’ she murmured a bit shocked, Pavel was a great dad but he had been so absorbed by the baby that she felt it was more that a life had been replaced than one created. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d given her a compliment.

After they’d got Lucka off to sleep Pavel came up behind Hanka and put his arms round her, and nuzzled his mouth into her neck.

‘You really do look lovely today, have you done something different?’

‘No,’ she said shivering as he kissed her neck and massaged her shoulders.  She wondered if to tell him about the One Direction fan but decided to just silently thank the stranger and enjoy being the object of her husband’s desires again.

What happened next.

This is part two of Wednesday’s story Temptation.

When Scott came back from his shower I could tell he was in a bad mood, that was no allergy, so something must have happened to piss him off.

‘Who’s Bobby?’ He was trying to act nonchalantly but his voice croaked and gave him away.

How did he know about Bobby? I thought to myself, I purposely kept Bobby away from boyfriends at the beginning because I know how they couldn’t handle me being such great mates with a man. It’s a strange old world. Then I realised he must have been looking at my phone while I was in the shower. I thought I’d put him on the spot.

‘How do you know about Bobby?’

‘I looked at your phone, seems like you two have some unfinished business.’

I have to admit I momentarily admired his honesty, it was exactly the kind of spunk that up until now he’d been missing. I liked Scott a lot, no scrap that I think I loved him, he was kind and generous, but at times he was a bit too nice. I think this was the first time I’d seen a different side to him, Not only had he looked at my phone, and now was being brazen about it. I liked it. But I couldn’t let him know that. I had to be outraged.

‘What the fucking hell are you doing looking at my phone?’ I was going on the attack as a defensive measure. Trying to buy myself time to try to work out what he’d read.

It’s weird the mobile phone has become the last bastion of self, our lives are so public, we tell complete strangers all about our lives on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, everything, people I hardly know comment on pictures of me in my bikini but our phone is like our deepest, darkest secrets, fiercely guarded from prying eyes.

‘I’m waiting.’ I said staring at his naked body. ’ I thought he would wilt, whimper an apology but he surprised me. He gave as good as he got. I have to say it turned me on a little seeing him there with no clothes on fighting his corner.

‘You have no right to touch my phone,’ I yelled at him, enjoying the pantomime, continuing with my faux outrage.

‘And you have no right to tell your boyfriend what I’m like in bed.’

Oh god I remembered now, I’d said he was a 6, that couldn’t have looked good.

‘Put some clothes on.’ I said

‘What?’

‘Put your clothes on.’

Scott stood with his arms folded, his penis dangling, a stern look on his face. I wanted to laugh, it was just so funny but I stopped myself.

‘And why do you always need a bit of Bobby?’

Oh yeah I’d written that too. 
'For fucks sake. Context Scott, context. Put some clothes on and we’ll sort this out.’

We left the house in silence. He’d did mean and moody very well.

‘Look Scott, Bobby’s been my friend since school. We talk about everything and anything, I know it’s a cliché but he really knows me better than I do.’

‘So why haven’t you mentioned him before?’

‘Cos men are stupid,’ I said with a smile. ‘They don’t like me having male friends.’

‘Well, I can see why?’ Scott still wasn’t smiling.

‘No you can’t, look I gave you 6 out of 10 but I promise you that’s the highest I’ve given anyone. It’s just our game. We mark down.’

‘What was Bobby? I bet he was a ten.’

I let that pass, I was enjoying this.

‘And that 'you need a bit of me girl', well he always says that when he wants to talk some sense into me. Bobby likes you, he wanted to give me a good talking to, not to let a good man go. Context Scott.’

I could almost hear Scott’s mind whirring. But he’d reached our destination.

‘He’s no threat to you, Scott you’ll see.’
I rang the doorbell.

A man dressed only in boxers answered the door.

‘Bobby, Goldilocks is here.’ he shouted.

A second similarly attired man came into view, kissed the first man and beamed at us.

‘Finally I get to meet the famous Scotty.’

As we walked back to my place Scott apologised.

‘I’m sorry, I should never have looked at your phone.’

‘That’s okay,’ I paused and smiled my best smile 'oh by the way, who is Rebecca?’