you and me – POSTCARD #40
#40 was sent in by the writer and editor, Chloe Caldwell, who I adore and admire in equal parts of infinity plus one, so you can imagine I was a little nervous about this one being up to standard. It ended up a pleasure to write though, it came in one clean sitting and reminded me why I’m loving this project so much. Thank you, Chloe.
She has a perfect body.
But it’s not just the supple curves and grace of her limbs. She holds it in an aloof way, as if it isn’t even part of her. When she comes about the room, she’s wearing a bright orange kaftan.
I pull my black cardigan closed over my breasts even though it’s warm.
Have you been in London long?
I ask everyone. No one’s ever from London, but she surprises me with a laugh.
I sure bloody didn’t swim over from Jamaica, Love.
My face and throat redden and I know she’s laughing with me but I still try to stammer out an apology.
I knew what you meant, Pet. Just having fun with the fresh colonial meat!
I blush even harder. My broad accent’s a constant source of mirth for the English.
She said later my blush was the reason she moved in. No one with a bad heart ever blushed like that. But she did have one condition. A road trip.
She’s adamant we drive nowhere in particular. Out of the sickly heat of the city and into the breeze of nameless towns.
She shouts as we pass a quarry that’s gleaming from the sun. She’s out and skidding down the dune, unwrapping her yellow sarong as she whoops, naked and waving a stick in the air.
I follow her after locking the car and pause a few steps beside as my feet sink into the same sand she stands on.
Take off your clothes.
My hands shake as I undress and stand beside her finally exposed.
I wait for her to say something. Someone always says something. But she doesn’t. She closes her eyes and lifts her face to the morning sun with a smile.
After a while I do too.