February

[Sweder]

I met some old friends on the lonely Falmer road this evening.
First up, no more than a mile in, my old pal Lucifer.
‘Evening. Nasty night for it.’
‘Hello Dark One; yes, it’s a rotter.’
‘Sort of night one might think about turning round at the Texaco’. The voice was barely a whisper rustling in the dark dank hedgerow. I'd been thinking the same treacherous thoughts; no-one would know. It's still a five-miler with a hill finish, and it is a foul night. The lights of the twenty-four hour petrol station winked conspiratorily through the trees.
‘Not me old chum. I’m in this for the long haul.’
‘Please yourself.’
And he was gone, returned to Hades as swiftly and silently as he’d arrived.

Two miles in another far more fearsome acquaintance appeared; my dodgy hamstring. First a lancing streak of pain that ran from my groin to the back of my knee, calming momentarily before setting up camp deep in the back of my thigh.
‘You’ve got to be kidding.’
This had to be psychosomatic, induced by thoughts of an early bath. I decided to shrug it off, to continue my steady lumber up the A27, the i-pod feeding me suitable tunes to keep spirits and pace comfortable. The pain eased to a dull ache, lingering on the edge of perception, careful not to intrude on my thoughts, like a fellow passenger on the London train. I let my mind drift as I hauled up the slope to Falmer, the wind and rain slanting in from behind, neither help nor hindrance. At the pub I thought it best not to stop for a breather; better to keep the blood flowing, get home to a hot shower and a cold compress. I turned, head down into the wind, freezing rain driven into my chilling midriff to mould my yellow Saucony windcheater in a 'VacPac' style. The endless parade of dispassionate vehicles swooshed by, spraying my lycra-clad legs with filthy roadwater laced with oil.

And then the third friend appeared.
She came to me, a memory from long ago, borne on the wings of a song so beautiful the hairs stood up on the back of my neck. I felt light for just a moment, lifted as priceless memories swam up from the depths to fill my mind.

A young man sits on a single bed, a crash helmet discarded on a lone wooden chair. The room is small, a box sash window to his right; it’s evening, summer, the sound of birds on the pre-nest twitter floats through the half-cracked portal on a warm, gentle breeze. The man-child takes out the letter, folded twice in his back jeans pocket. He’s read it several times, and each time the same thing happens; he feels those desperate siblings, anxiety and love, wrestling like baby alligators in his quivering belly. His organs float, weightless in his body, and his head swims like he’s taken a heroic draw on a heady, hedonistic brew. He reads the words, written in careful, generous hand on cheap lined paper, familiar words, stolen from a song, but no less poignant for that. The words wash through him, filling his head and his heart with light, and he sobs softly, his mouth creased in a wry smile, his face the very picture of tortured confusion.

The song ends and I’m back on the A27 with a tight right leg and a face full of ice cold, hammering rain. Thank God I’ll never be seventeen again! And this road, this black, soul-less bloody road; it’s done it again. Dredged emotions out of nowhere and, for a few short minutes, taken me, like Sam Tyler, on a trip across the decades.

I limp-loped up the hill, past the prison, onto the hills of the estate and home, outwardly frozen yet harbouring a warm glow in my chest. Careful stretching suggests the hamstring damage isn’t too bad; a scalding hot shower followed by strapping, ice, Guinness and ibuprofen should do the trick.

What’s that? Oh, the song? Yes, well, I suppose it’s only fair.

Breathe, breathe in the air
Don't be afraid to care
Leave, but don't leave me
Look around and choose your own ground

Long you live and high you fly
And smiles you'll give and tears you'll cry
And all you touch and all you see
Is all your life will ever be

[SIZE="1"]Breathe - Pink Floyd, Dark Side Of The Moon[/SIZE]