Imogen had sent out a group text to organise the next burning. She didn't exactly tell them that she was destroying more texts on the barbecue but it was implied.
Morrissey had said he couldn't make it so it was pushed back by an hour. Richard was adamant that he was not going to be surrounded by that much estrogen and no testosterone. They came to the agreement of meeting at three o'clock that Monday afternoon.
Richard was waiting for Celia. She was running late. If there was one thing that Richard was particularly uptight about, it was punctuality. Unfortunately for him it was the one thing that Celia wasn't uptight about.
Her sister had told Richard that Celia was having a bad day and not to rush her. In that case it was lucky she was out of bed.
At 2:50pm Celia opened the door. She gave him a watery smile.
"We don't have to go if you don't want to. We can stay here if you like," Richard said.
"No I have to prove to myself that I can," Celia said.
They walked side by side, not talking for a good few minutes. Richard took her hand. He let it go when her hand remained stiff in his.
"I'm sorry," she said, a tear leaking out of her eye, smudging some of her mascara.
Richard found a clean tissue in his pocket and handed it to her.
Richard hated seeing her cry. He knew there was nothing he could do. He was close to winning the prize for 'boyfriend of the year' until he made her cry. Actually he was pretty awful to her before they started dating her three months ago. It was surprise that she stayed his best friend for so long.
The maturity if a sixteen year old matched the maturity of a three year old. The only difference was that sixteen year olds could make and understand sex jokes.
They stopped and Richard rubbed her arm not wanting to smother her. She hugged him. He rubbed her back and she cried. Richard checked his watch. They were going to be very late.
It's like a awkward first date, Morrissey thought, except the crazy chick is trying to burn Oscar Wilde.
"I read some of the poems. I liked them. I think my favourite is 'My Life Stands a Loaded Gun'. It was different," he said, trying to break the tension.
"That's a good one. I like the Smiths but New Order was a strange. Although I can't believe you like Delphic and Echosmith. I love them," Imogen said.
"They're for when I don't feel like stewing in the juices of my own misery," he said. Imogen gave him a confused look. "I'm joking Immy."
"Good I was just checking."
He smiled and lay back on the table. Imogen fidgeted while standing. Morrissey had a habit of stopping conversations when he felt like it. He seemed perfectly polite the first couple of times they'd spoken. He even got bored texting. He had sent her half finished texts.
Imogen on the other hand would send essay long texts. Morrissey only half read those. It was probably the reason he couldn't get past a third date with a girl. He claimed he hadn't found the right one yet. If he had said that to Immy she would say something along the lines of 'you make your own luck'. Something which he would find absurd. He was sure that the universe was out to get him.
There were arguments for and against both cases. As long as the conversation never came up they would be fine.
"Why are you burning these books?" he asked, finally breaking the silence.
VOUS LISEZ
Killing Keats
Nouvelles"Killing context one text at a time." Imogen Ditcher's main goal for the Summer holidays was to finally put her past behind her and confront her long dead arch nemesis, English poet, John Keats. The only way of doing so: barbecuing every text she st...
