A Street Party Named Desire

-- A STREET PARTY NAMED 'DESIRE' --

A Short by Leyland Perree

Deakin was there. I didn't like him much. He was stood tending his barbecue on the street's edge - as were several other of my neighbours, all waiting for the evening's climactic fireworks to begin.

Teri was standing nearby staring up at the darkling sky, hands frozen around her drink of choice; a simple vodka orange. It was one of the many things about her I found fascinating. That and a trillion others, and tonight only was my opportunity to tell her how I felt. The way I had felt since the day I had walked with her from school, two decades earlier. The way I had watched her with few other boys.

Deakin flipped his burgers not wanting them to burn. Not that it mattered tonight. He was proud man - ramrod stiff and prematurely grey. He always liked to advertise his good fortunes, but share very little of them. He had married twice, divorced once.

Mrs Deakin - Valerie - was good natured, but equally proud. She liked to talk, but today she was huddled with her sisters of the Neighbourhood Watch, dabbing at their tears.

Teri wasn't crying. She just stared at the sky in that same detached way. The first few pinpricks of stars winked up there through the purpling shroud. No-one made to talk to her - or to me - but comforted amongst themselves, awaiting the inevitable.

Deakin was talking heatedly with Mart, the postman. It almost amused me to see that Mart and Deakin still bickered over a year-old grievance about land boundaries. Deakin claimed that Mart's sprawling clematis encroached on his land. Mart claimed that Deakin was 'a stuck up bafoon' and suggested he should 'stick his boundaries where the sun failed to shine'.

Deakin pushed Mart. Mart dealt Deakin a half-hearted blow. Mrs Deakin wailed and had to be comforted by her sisters.

Teri, distracted from her vigil, glanced down for a moment. I caught her eye.

I was wrong. Tears glittered there in the reflected dusk.

***

She held my hand as the first of the rockets arced into view. I elected to say nothing - whatever words of comfort the most ingenious literary minds could conjur would pale pathetically against those shining comet-tails. Instead, I watched content as they traced bright streamers through the night.

They were falling, but to me they seemed to float across the rooftops of the town, while beneath them Deakin and Mart fought on, as immersed in their personal war as we were immersed in this larger one.

And as the rockets fell upon the town, I felt no regret for my unextraordinary life - only contentment, for I already held in my hand my life's desire.

For me, at least, that was enough.

END