WILL

Thirty hours. Thirty long hours after I had been left alone on the top of Oxford Street saw me sitting nervously, head bowed to my hands, outside the auditorium where the finals of the Young Poet of the Year Award competition were to be held. The nerves that rang loud in my stomach started to remind me of the terror a new groom must feel waiting for the first strains of the wedding march and the first sight of his bride-to-be. My poem was old, my suit new, my confidence borrowed, my soul blue.

Silently I watched the minute hand on my watch traverse the inside of its circle, waiting for the moment it clicked up onto the 12 and I had to face the beginning of the ceremony, the long, involved speeches about the age and tradition of the society that annually handed out this award, the nerves growing in my stomach as Jon stepped up to speak, then Su, then me. And of course, the moment that small hand found its destination there would be Jack, sat so close I can feel every breath that enfolds his body, each flicker of an eyelash, each swallow as he tries to steady his nerves.

�Well, now I�ve bored you all to tears with the wonderful history of our fair society I think it is time to get along with the ceremony, our first poet up on the stand for you today is Jonathen Best, reading �Thunder�� My mind seems to have cut forward in time to the moment when I can actually feel Jack�s presence by my side, can hear the applause of the crowd as Jon gets up to speak. I have no idea who all these people are, I cannot imagine who is really interested in the nerves of 5 teenagers, forced to pit against each other in the pursuit of a cash prize.

�Hi, I�m Jon,� The figure that stood up before us was a world apart from the silent boy we had met in this very room the day before, �I�m from a little town near Edinburgh, and the poem I�m about to read is called Thunder, I wrote it when I was 15, sat listening to a storm rage outside my bedroom window� He smiled, his Scottish accent alien, but warm and reassuring �Thunder� He began. And suddenly I became aware of how soon it was going to be me stood on that stage.

�William Krudski is our next poet, with a poem entitled �Ad-rift�� Su�s poem had passed as if someone had hit the fast-forward button and suddenly I was onstage, facing the dark crowd.

�This is a very special poem to me� I started after a moment, desperately trying to swallow the lump in my throat. The nerves in my stomach seemed to rattle so loudly I was surprised they didn�t drown out the sound of my voice, so meagre within the space of the room.  �I wrote it for an English assignment last year, after our teacher told us that true poetry is not formed out of a long slog at a piece of paper, but a momentary rush of emotion, channelled through the pen� I knew my intro off by heart, I�d had over 24 hours alone to create it, even so I had to take a deep breath before going on, �I attend Rawley Boys School in America, and owe the success of my poem to the person that allowed that one rush of emotion �my roommate Scout Calhoun�

Perhaps it was only in my mind that a hush fell on the audience, but it was not my imagination that created the wide smile on Jack�s face, sat perhaps only three paces away from me beside my empty chair.

It had seemed fitting that I should dedicate this recital to Scout, he was, after all, the person who had set all of this in motion, for without him the emotion within the poem would never have been strong enough to propel it through to the finals of this competition. In the end however Scout had not been the only one who I�d wished it to be dedicated to, but I was secure in the knowledge that my second person of choice would know who he was, and how I felt, the moment I began.

�Adrift, by William Krudski� Closing my eyes I could still feel the Jack�s presence, sat before me on the bed, even though I could not catch his eye.

�I lay listening to the sea-sounds of your breathing,� I seemed to be functioning on three different levels, the first level was how I was then; stood in an auditorium, speaking to a crowd of strangers who knew more about me than my closest friends, the second level however was still stood in Jack�s hotel room, reciting a poem I never wanted anyone but my English teacher to read. These two are obvious, the third however is not quite where you would have expected it to be: sat alone and silent in the middle of the New Rawley night channeling my emotion through my pen as I put my feelings down on paper. Instead it rested against Jack�s chest, eyes closed, listening to the warmth of his breathing against the top of my head, savoring the sound of his soul.

�The ebb and flow of air through perfect lips, Washing against my cheek. The current of your eyes, So powerful I cannot help but be swept away. By you, Only you.� There were perhaps two people in the entire room that noticed my mistake, the first will have been the man sat in the wings of the stage, the man who had questioned me about the poem�s title in the interview room and remembered that I had said that a single line was the key to the entire thing. The second person will have been Jack, the one figure in the room I could not and would not take my eyes from as I spoke, only now having the confidence to keep his eye contact as I bared him my soul once again.

�You are my watery death and my steadfast saviour. My rock, I cling to beneath the circling vulterous seagulls, With their diamond jewelry and overstated wallets, Above the depths of my years.� It was startling, I thought as I neared the end of my poem, how positive the poem had become when I omitted a single line. I finished the poem with a smile, rather than a tear, �My present, holding me safe.�

I was only dimly aware of the applause that heralded the end of my poem, eyes too focused on a single figure sat on the front row, a smile on his face as he raised his hands to applaud. It took me a moment, but finally I pulled my gaze from his momentarily as I made my way towards him, back down the steps, to take my place again at his side.

JACK

I couldn�t take my eyes from Will�s as he sat, settling himself into his chair and his hand into mine where it lay upturned on the armrest between us.

�That was brilliant,� I whispered, leaning a little too close than was necessary.

�That was how I feel� His whispered response grazed over my lips, sending a thrill rushing through my body, halted only by the sound of the announcers voice onstage.

�Our penultimate poet is Mr Jack McPhee, here with his poem �Today�� Forced to move away I slipped my hand from his, moving up to the stage to take the place he had just vacated.

WILL

       

�So I guess this is goodbye then� His gentle voice snaps me out of my rememberings.

We are stood in the center of his hotel room, arms interlocked around each other�s waists, faces back so we can look into the eyes of the other.

�I wish it wasn�t,� Our eyes hold for a few more seconds, before I lean forward to rest my cheek against the warm, clean smell of his chest. �Thank you� I say on a sigh

�For what?� His head dips to allow his lips to brush the top of my head �For messing up your life?�

�Yeah�

A moment of quiet, before he hides his discomfort with a laugh.

�I�m beginning to feel like the quantum leap guy, jump in, mess everything up, jump out�

�The quantum leap guy didn�t work like that,� I point out with a smile, without looking up �he jumped in, sorted everything out and jumped out�

Another laugh, �So perhaps I�m not him then�

�No, I think you pretty much described yourself perfectly�

�What do you mean? I�ve meant nothing but trouble for you�

�You�ve meant everything to me� I speak quickly, inhaling his scent, warm and comforting against my face. It is a few moments before I draw back, realizing he has not yet replied. I look into his eyes, twinkling with the force of his smile, and the beginnings of tears.

�You know, you really are good with the one liners, too good perhaps�

�Someone has to shut you up� There�s a smile on my lips as I speak, and a laugh on his as he replies.

�I think I can think of better ways��

And our lips meet once again.

JACK

�Guys,� A call and a crash and Su careers through the door �Guys, come on you�re going to miss your�� She stops suddenly as she spots us and clamps her hand over her eyes. �Okay, I take it I�m interrupting something��

We laugh, not bothering to move apart,

�You could say that� Will is the one to reply, leaning over to kiss me once again, the significance of the public act is not lost on me.

�Okay�You know, I think I preferred you two more when you were both in the closet� This time our laughs were muffled by each others mouths. Will is the one to break away,

�It was only ever me that was in the closet�

�Yeah well, same difference, at least it meant you weren�t in front of me!� Silence for a moment, as we continue our initial activities �Okay, you guys, don�t think I can�t hear you! Do you think its possible for me to have a small conversation with you without the tonsil tennis?�

We laugh and break apart, still unwilling to move from our embrace. I meet Will�s eye

�Now that was definitely an American phrase��

�I have to agree with you there� He replies

�Okay, you got me, I watch far too many American sitcoms, so shoot me. Have you two finished yet?�

�Finished what?� I lean in to kiss him once again

�You know what� Her presence unheeded we continue for a few seconds before I move away.

�Okay, we�ve stopped, what did you want Su? But make it quick, we�re making up for a lot of lost time here, and we don�t have long� I couldn�t help noticing a flash of sadness cross Wills sky blue eyes.

�That�s what I came to talk about, Sophie says you better be downstairs in ten minutes, your plane leaves at five�

�We know� We say together and smile.

�Right, good, my work here is done. I�ll see you both downstairs� She turns to leave, theatrically backing out of the room, her hand still clamped firmly across her face �Oh and congratulations Will,� She calls as she leaves �you deserved it��

�Thanks�� His reply is cut short by my lips, gently repossessing his.

WILL

�You know Su�s right� I break away after a few moments, my mind having turned over the conversation that just took place.

�What?� His mouth drops to my neck and shoulders �That we were better in the closet?�

�No, that I deserved to win��

�Of course you deserved to� I can feel his voice on my chest, and his lips on the sensitive skin of my neck are doing delicious things to my nervous system.

�No, I mean I really deserved it, I went through hell for that poem�

�You call this hell?� He lifts his face to meet my eyes again, a smile on his lips �If this is hell, I�d love to see heaven� He leans forward to recapture my lips, hands running up to the back of my head to wind their way into my short hair.

�You know what I mean� I break off �Just think, you are kissing the 2002 Young International Poet of the Year�

�And damn proud I am of it� He doesn�t seem to want to waste any time when doing it either as he leans forward again to meet my lips. I break off moments later, mouth already open to make another comment, but he cuts me off.

�Why is it always you that breaks away?� There�s a smile in his eyes.

�Perhaps I�m the only one with control of my libido,� I counter almost immediately

�I have control�� He smiles, about to catch my lips again before thinking better of it �This isn�t your subtle way of hinting that you want me to pin you against the door and start rapidly parting you with your clothing, is it?�

I laugh, �Don�t you dare��

�We don�t have time anyway� He smiles, raising his eyebrows mischievously and I laugh, trying to push him away playfully, but he only holds on tighter.

�And if we did?� I ask, our struggle ceasing.

�You know, I wouldn�t try anything�� We�re more serious now as our lips meet again.

Suddenly a knock on the door snaps us back into the present.

�Time to go boys� A call, and suddenly the mood in the room darkens, my heart does a somersault inside my chest.

�We�re back to where we started�� I say

�I guess this is goodbye then� Him

�I wish it wasn�t� Me. A kiss: long and tender, more passionate and loving than any of the ones that have gone before.

�We can say goodbyes on the plane you know�� Finally we are forced from our embrace, stooping to pick up bags.

�Yeah but not like this� Another kiss the same as the last, this time our bags in hand. Finally we break away and Jack makes a final effort to lighten the mood, my hand reaching for the doorknob as he calls gently, a mischievous note in his voice�

�How about joining the mile high club?�

I can only clip him round the head and join with his laughter as we move out into the hall.

JACK

EPILOGUE

       

�So you had quite a time in sunny old England then�� Jen says from her usual place curled up on my floor, I�ve just finished my tale, through which she has sat perfectly silently.

�You could say that�

�You know, I knew something good was going on when I didn�t get a single phone call,�

I laugh, �Yeah, I had a lot on my mind�

�It seems so� We sit in thoughtful silence for a moment, before she asks, �What�s happening now?�

�Nothing�

�I mean with you and Will�

�That�s what I meant�

�Nothing?� She was dumbstruck �You mean you�re just letting this go?�

�What else could I do? He lives God knows how many miles away�� I could feel my anger rise, not at her, at everything.

�Still, you could try, you did completely turn his whole world upside down�

�Long distance relationships never work�

�But�� I wouldn�t let her speak, cutting her off.

�They never work��

Silence for a moment, in which I stare blankly at the wall in front of me, desperate to fight back the urge to scream or cry- I don�t know which.

The doorbell does nothing to break me out of my resolve.

�Grams must have forgotten her key again,� Jen mumbles as she leaves, the sound of her footsteps muffled against the dark carpet of the hall.

I turn then, glad to be left alone, to face the opposite wall, body curling into a fetal position as my mind casts back, I can almost hear the sound of his voice�

�Jack�?� And then I can.

My head snaps up, tuning to the doorway to find such a familiar figure, swathed in surroundings I never thought I would see him in. Will.

�What, what?� I�ve lost the ability to string sentences together.

There�s smile on his face he drops his bag, holding up a wad of bills and an airline ticket.

�I�m here courtesy of the Young International Poet of the Year Award, we get some privileges us winners, like over $2000�

I laugh, too aware of tears clouding my eyes, too nervous to move towards him in case he is snatched away as quickly as he has appeared.

He smiles, �We have funding��

Then finally he is moving toward me, crossing the doorway and the threshold of my life forever. And as we fold perfectly back into one another�s arms, I�m reminded of a wish, and of a certain good fairy.

The End