I'm Still Waiting

We grew up by the coast in a small fishing town called Hastings. A very nondescript place, never much going on. Thats why every chance we got we would catch the bus and ride out of town to wherever we could. Mr Parker the owner of the bus company used to let us get on for free, on the condition that we cleaned the bus every weekend which without a doubt was more worthwhile for us as we travelled more than we cleaned. Usually we ended up in Brighton.

Thats where we spent most of our summers, either on the beach or with Miss Kudos in her ice cream parlour. We were fifteen at the time when we ended up getting a job at the parlour as we were there so often, that little run down shop became our second home. The three of us would just sit outside the parlour in the evening and watch the birds circle the pier while the sun set in the distance, we talked about everything but the conversation usually ended back on Miss Kudos and what it was like to have grown up in Greece. We would talk until the streetlights lit up, thats when we could see Mr Parker leaning against the bus finishing his cigarette waiting to depart for the last journey back to Hastings that day. We’d say goodbye and that was usually when Miss Kudos would give us an ice-cream cone to take for the journey home and always one for Mr Parker.

For the next two years we had the same routine. Week days we went to school as usual, came home and then caught the bus to Brighton. Mr Parker would be in his usual position leaning against the bus cigarette in one hand, collecting tickets in the other. Always waiting for us even when we came out of school late from an exam. These two years were the most important our parents said, we needed to get good O level results they said. They only weren’t happy as we got back everyday around ten-thirty which wasn’t acceptable as it was ‘not enough time to revise’. I guess I was luckier than you like that Patsy, our parents only ever wanted us to do well but yours only ever wanted you to be better than everyone else.

But you weren’t like that, you weren’t competitive. Well I didn’t think you were. I remember waiting for you outside your small terraced house -much like mine- all I could hear was your mum yelling, “Your ruining your own chances by never being at home always with that Spencer! Patsy-Lee Cooper if you walk out that door ill-” Thats when you appeared, after you had slammed the door shut cutting your mothers words off, taking some paint off the door with it. We would walk down the street as you complained about her and I would just listen, you would always joke not to get on the bad side of Sarah Cooper. I knew she never liked me, she always said we spent too much time together. That was one thing I never understood about your parents, how your mother was so cutting so selfish yet your dad, Chris was the sweetest man to ever walk the earth. Always helping others and always happy. Sometimes I wondered how he could cope, when you definitely couldn’t. My mother was just the same. I guess thats why they got on so well, as for my dad - well I didn’t have one.

Your dad Patsy was like a father to me. That was why we both were always finding new places to go, To get away. Where ever we went we met new people, better people than the ones already in our life. Although neither of us knew at the time that in the next few years these people would come together to help me find you, to search for you. Its the image of your face on one of those wretched missing person posters that will forever be imprinted in my memory. Sometimes I blink and I could swear I still see that faded image of you.

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