Sunset Over Southbank

Sunset Over Southbank

He stood under the London Eye looking at the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben; this is quintessential London he thought, he tried to push everything else out of his head, concentrate only on the prominent landmarks that surrounded his most beloved part of the city. London was ingrained in him, the city had left its cultural mark and right now his mind was occupied with the hustle and bustle that creates the capitals streets. He sat on a bench looking out to the river. He said to himself she’s not going to come. She tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hi” she said.             
“Hey” he replied, “take a seat,” he pointed at the seat but focused on Big Bens clock face, she sat down.
“It was a nightmare getting here, I’m sorry I’m late.”
“I’ve been here for two hours” he replied.
“We only planned to meet half an hour ago”
“I know but I finished early and didn’t know where to go, and I love it here”
“I know you do.”
“So.”
“Yes?”
“How was it?”
“Do you find it odd that all of London’s landmarks are beside the Thames?” 
“Why are you changing the subject?”
“I’m not but I’m curious why they all are.”
“There not, Buckingham Palace, St Paul’s Cathedral, Trafalgar Square, none of them is beside the Thames.”
“Well the most esteemed of them are placed here, the postcard fillers.”
“That’s subjective, anyway stop changing the subject, how was it?” “Shall we walk, it’s a stunning walk along the river isn’t it?”
“Yes it is, let’s walk.”
He stood up as a light breeze blew over him, it was the beginning of the night and the street performers were slowly starting to end their days, the sky was an array of reds, yellows and purple blues. They started to walk, she went to intertwine arms but he resisted letting his collapse to his side.
“How was your day?” he asked her.
“Come on she said, I haven’t seen you in what now?”
“Three and a half months” he quickly said finishing her sentence.
“You know how my day will have been, how are you?”
“I’m good.” “It went well then?”
“No, they said that it was quite severe.”
“Oh sorry to hear that, well at least now we know and we can move on from here.”
“We?”
“Look we’ll come to that, I just want to know what they said.”
“The analyst or the other people?”
“Please don’t be sarcastic, I’m worried.”
“I’m always worried.” “She laughed,” and held his arm, he nervously allowed it this time.
They walked past the National Theater; a man was playing Sidney Joseph Bechet on the clarinet. “I feel like I’m in a Woody Allen film,” he said.
“What did they say?” she asked, refusing to give up.
“Just that I need to see them once a week, and refer to a doctor as well” “
How are you feeling now?”
“Yeah I’m okay right now, it changes though, what did you mean we?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I’m not sure I do”
“It’s quite self explanatory.”
“Well I’m surprised that’s all.”
“So am I.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh come on, this is silly, stop trying to change the subject, what else did they say?”
“That it may affect my personal life, but we knew that already didn’t we?”
“But you’ll be okay?”
“It’s not going to kill me but it’s something I will have to learn to live with.”
They walked in silence for just under a minute, slowly making their way towards the OXO tower, boats made waves crash up against the side of the bank, and couples of all ages sat at the benches watching the city keep moving.
“Do you think if everyone knew what you were thinking they’d think you were mad?” he timidly asked.
“Yes.”
“Really?” 
“Yes I do.”
“You’re just saying that to shut me up.”
“I’m not, I’m serious.”
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you in three months.”
“Three and a half,” she took her turn in finishing his sentence.
“What ever, three and half months. All I’ve thought about is you, and now I’m with you I don’t know what to think about.”
“That’s not crazy.”
“No, but you taking up all of my thoughts doesn’t make me feel sane, why have you changed your mind?”
“Sometimes people need space to gain perspective.”
“What about my mood changes?”
“I want to be there for you.”
“You got so mad last time though.”
“I didn’t mean to, it was a difficult time.”
“Oh so running away from it all helped deal with it did it.”
“There’s no need to be facetious, it was difficult for both of us, and maybe I didn’t handle it well, I’ve just needed time to recharge.”
“And suddenly you think everything is going to be okay?”
She held his arm tightly and placed her head on his shoulder they walked in silence again. He thought to himself the best points of London really are along the river, or maybe it was the river, maybe if you put the least attractive points along the river suddenly there rating as a landmark would soar. 
They popped out from under Black Friars Bridge and he stopped by the Tate Modern. “I can’t make you love me,” she said, removing her head from his shoulder but kept ahold of his hand.
He didn’t respond.
“I think if people knew what we dreamt they might think we were mad as well,” she added.
“What? That doesn’t make sense, a dream is somewhere we can do what we like, it’s the one place I don’t feel crazy.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Mine are obsessive and exhausting.”
“Your dreams are exhausting?” “Sometimes I get confused,” She slowly said and then she paused.  He did not interrupt, he thought about what he should do, he tried to picture where they were stood in every season, like in films when someone is walking in a straight line and the camera pans horizontally and the world goes on around them but they keep walking and while the world is moving the seasons change, he thought it was an aesthetically pleasing method of progressing time in a picture, a stylistic technique that was better than simply writing “One Year Later.” He thought about seasonal changes occurring around them, it wasn’t for the romantic effect but simply to see if he could imagine himself still with her in years to come.
“With dreams and reality,” she finished her sentence. He had forgotten she had been speaking before, “In what sense?” he asked.
“Sometimes I have the same dream, over and over, mostly a lucid dream then it goes through my mind, at random points throughout the day and I become so tired at other times my mind hurts and I forget whether what I was thinking was real or a dream and I’m tired and I want you there.”
“Maybe I’m not the one who’s crazy,” he replied. 
She didn’t laugh, “I thought it was quite intelligent, I thought you’d be impressed.”
“Impressed that we’re both as neurotically disadvantaged as each other?”
“You know what you always said?” She replied, averting from his flippant question.   
“What?”
“That my whole life I have excused failed relationships by saying; we met too young, and I always believed it, but it’s not real, if he’d been right at the time I would have worked around it, we would have worked together, made it work for each other and that’s what I’m trying to do here, that’s what I thought you’d be impressed about.”
He did think it was impressive and he hated the way she used to say they’d met too young, but for some reason he was unwilling to give in.
 

“I can’t make you love me,” She said again, this time grasping his free hand, she was now holding both. 
He didn’t respond. Then he started to speak, but only produced a sigh. This always annoyed her, not just this but the time it took him to chew the smallest of foods, the time it took him to open a letter, his patience aggravated her. He saw how annoyed she was by his reluctance to say the wrong thing. Her unwillingness to slow down did not annoy him as much but there were a few things that did, for example, how she would never sit down if they were on a tube four or less stops, her point being she would only have to stand up again and be further from the door. They stood contemplating each other’s personality traits, it’s interesting to think that what people find endearing is not there comparisons but really their ability to withstand one another’s bad habits.
 

“I really can’t make you love me,” She said for a third time. 
“Stop saying that.”
“Well tell me what to do then.” She said worrying he was slipping away from her.
“I’m not sure there is anything you can do.” He replied, letting go of her hands.
She twisted the end of her sleeves with her hands, simultaneously her pointed right foot began to twitch.
“I wish you could make me love you,” He said.
She held his hands once more knowing she only had one more chance, she leant in.
“Don’t do it”, he said. They stood looking at each other, he wanted her to do it, he knew that but the repercussions were greater than the moment, he wasn’t sure about this, or in fact sure of anything at that moment.
She leant in. “Don’t do it”, he said. She didn’t know where these feelings were coming from; she’d hated him after they had broken up. Now she suddenly couldn’t think of anything else other than being in his arms.
She leant in. “Don’t do it,” he said. He turned to go, she grabbed his hand. He felt it and held tightly, his whole body tensed and his eyes shut, as if to say if I can’t see you, you cant see me. He slowly turned around. She leant in.