Looking for Another Girl

Looking for Another Girl

He never knew that a fire could be so bright; turning away from it his eyes came to rest on her, frozen for just a second against the star covered sky. Her face glowed, her hair shone, his heart beat faster, he never knew a heart could be so fast. Then just as suddenly it was gone, as she lay her head in the other boys lap, laughing as her friends tumbled around drunk on the grass. He raised the bottle to his lips and stared bleary eyed across the rows of tents – thousands silhouetted by the gas lamps, like small hills stretching all the way to the main stage miles in the distance. Miles in the past. As he too let himself fall back down on the grass, the mix of cheap vodka and even cheaper lemonade spilling beside him, he slipped back to the first time he ever saw her. The music was deafening, hundreds of bodies surging forwards with every chord, other young men and women hoisted above the crowd by their friends, riding a sea of hands all the way to the front. Suddenly he couldn’t see his friends – lost in an orgy of euphoria and excitement, dancing and jumping like nothing else on earth mattered. Then there she was. Just like him – flying in ecstasy through the crowd- propelled half consciously, half by the sheer pandemonium surrounding them. And for just seconds their eyes met – her beautiful deep brown eyes, set so perfectly, surrounded by her soft white skin and framed by the jet black hair that so nearly reached her shoulders. And then they were pushed together – as if Gods hand – via six hundred mud-caked revellers –had put them there. Squashed so tight they could barely breathe and as the final drum solo crashed through the air, they fought their way out, staggering laughing out the other side of the crowd, into each others arms. A smile, an introduction, a lame excuse that all their friends would probably end up at the beer tent so they should head that way. And so it was that they sat, just the two of them, for four hours, caked in mud and sweat, clutching plastic glasses of frothy head and never looking more beautiful. All the while pretending they couldn’t hear their phones as they shared stories, jokes, laughter and kiss after passionate kiss – all the way to his tent where they lay naked and entwined until the sunset turned to darkness. And as they clambered out the entrance together to the cheer of his friends, and those who had gathered to drink and sing away the August night, he took her hand in his, and held it gently but like he would never let go.

And if you were watching the jubilant scenes taking place around them this could have been the same night. The same drunken revelry filled the air, the same cheers and shouts of joy and excitement echoed for miles around, the same group of friends – having been close as brothers since the age of thirteen – sung the same songs as they hoisted their mate off the ground. But as he joined in – supported under the arms on either side and singing A New England like his life depended on it – he knew things were not the same, nor would they ever be. For after that summer came life – university, work, relationships, hundreds of miles of distance and three hundred and sixty five days of reality. And as he watched her fall asleep in the arms of the boy she now loved he knew that it would forever remain a memory. A beautiful perfect memory. And in two more days so would this.