Hearing Anna

i.vi

"LOOK AT THOSE LIONS!"

    there is something in his eyes and the way they glow as he happens upon each new thing he sees. the tonnes of lion statues reflect darkly in his eyes in conjunction with the grey skies. they don't feel grey now. they don't feel like a product of machines and innovation. they feel pretty and blue.

    but why? physically, the clouds still shroud daylight from being cast onto the dim city of westminster, but something is different as the wind blows elliot's hair all about.

    i shake the thoughts.

    "anna, those lions are massive!"

    i grinned smugly. "no lions in france, eh?"

    he seems underwhelmed by my response, as if he was expecting me to be through-the-roof excited about stone mammals. "of course we have lions, but these are different."

    "how so?" scepticism creeps into my tone, and my eyebrows arch for further expression. the smirk of a bitch who knows how to stand tall and confident, how to push others away.

    "they're dark and visible against the light-deprived sky. i imagine they'll seem to glow during night time because of the streetlights and the moonlight. the lions back home were made of a grey stone and were so... plain."

    his eyes are filled with stars, even though it's hardly two in the afternoon.

    "maybe we can come back later tonight?" i suggest. "y'know, so you can find out if they glow." my words don't sound teasing, the way they often do. if this was lisa, my voice would be monotone, my delivery dry, my thoughts elsewhere.

    "serious?" his eyebrows shoot up. "that wording seems demeaning."

    "absolutely serious."

    "would you still be 'absolutely serious' if i climbed onto the lion and declared something completely preposterous in my mother tongue?"

    "most definitely." it's an underlying dare.

    he swivels his head about, looking for any passersby that might be watching his actions. before taking to the lions, he turns to glance at me, as if to ask if this was a good idea. i simply grin slyly and nod to him.

    unsure but still confident, a strange combination, his walks forward, toward the nearest empty lion. he looks jubilant as he swings his leg over the edge of the pedestal-like structure which one of the landseers is perched on. i watch as he mounts the lion, sits on its back like a mongol on his steed.

    "les français sont venus voler vos lions!" he declares, shaking his fists in the air.

    my lips grow taught in a grin, but before he can turn to see me, i hold my fist up to mouth, hide my laughter.

    as a young girl and her mother pass, i hear the daughter remark, "mummy, is that man napoleon?" her arm outstretched and pointed at none other than elliot thomas. her mother tugged at her child's arm. i bite my lip to refrain from further laughter.

    as i reach into my pocket to get out a stick of gum, i feel a drop of liquid on the bare skin of the back of my hand. it shakes me, and i turn my eyes to the grey sky. little droplets of water fall onto my face.

    "anna beasley!" i jerk my head toward the sound of his voice. i can already see a pattern of drops of water in his hair. "as tu entendu? ces lions sont à moi!"

    i refuse to let him see my grin, but he already looks victorious, as if he's gotten something out of me that no one else has.

    i just shake my head at him teasingly, even though i know he got something out of me: a smile.

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