when you met me

bitter

Bitter

Mr. Dudley was finally being dragged out of his flat. He spat on the concrete as he watched the movers take away his things. His son stood beside him, trying to convince him of something. “Why are you here?” Mr. Dudley finally spat out. Dud frowned, “Dad, you’re being kicked out of your flat.” He said, wondering if his Dad was losing it.

“I bloody well know that!” Mr. Dudley snapped, “Ain’t you said what you wanted to say? We weren’t supposed to see each other again.” Dud struggled to find the words, or capture the feeling, that made him need to take care of his Dad, no matter what. Family was family, he couldn’t leave him on the street. “I’m being a good son.” Dud said through his teeth.

His Dad scoffed, then laughed, then started a coughing fit. When he recovered, all he said was, “How the hell did I get such a weak son, eh? You want to piss off, at least commit to it.” He spat again and walked back into his flat of almost 30 years to take it all in once more.

Dud scratched his head of hair and tried not to let the words of a broken man get to him. He looked across the road and spotted Mara’s parents. He decided not to make it too awkward by avoiding them. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Turner.” He said politely as he cornered the moving truck and faced them. Mrs. Turner’s wiring red hair was the same, her eyes dark and darting. Mr. Turner looked professional as ever, even in his casual wear.

“Dud, look at you!” Mrs. Turner said after a pause, giving him a small but tight hug. “You’re a man!” She laughed and Mr. Turner smiled at Dud and shook his hand. “It’s good to see you.” The elephant in the room, of course, was Mara. Dud waited for it. It didn’t come. Instead, a small girl appeared from between them, with a little shove. She had a face full of freckles and orange fuzzy hair in a bun on the top of her hair. She grinned cheekily and disappeared again with her stuffed giraffe.

Realization dawned over Dud, and he cleared his throat uneasily. The Turners looked between one another. “That’s Claire,” Mrs. Turner said slowly, “We’re looking after her, umm…” she stumbled, thinking of how to explain that she’d replaced yet another child to keep her marriage alive. “No, I get it.” Dud nodded, glancing at the girl again, “I get it.”

He started to back away. From the Turners, from his Father, from the whole damn street. He paused and said one last thing to Mara’s parents. “Mara is doing alright, in case you were wondering.” He said, and as he gave them both one last chance to say something, he wasn’t so sure they were wondering. The silence gave them away, and all Dud could do was leave.

He met with Mara at their spot on the bridge early the next morning. In the dawns light, she was beautiful. Her hair was slightly curly and short and framed her features, and Dud was starting to get used to the fringe and the red tips. She half sat on the railing, facing the river, and wrote in her book.

Dud hadn’t the heart to tell her about her parents. He kept it to himself, pretending that she didn’t really want to know, that it would benefit her more in the long run… that she had more important things to do.

Mara tapped a tune on the metal railing, then wrote in her book. She glanced at Dud and smiled, happy to sit with him in quiet company. “You look very pretty today.” He managed to say, in his awkward way. Mara smiled to herself. No matter how much he seemed to have changed, Dud was still the awkward dork who loved his best friend unconditionally. “Thanks.” Mara replied.

Resting her book on her knee to write, she used her free hand to rest on top of Dud’s. She stroked her thumb over Dud’s hand and Dud watched her with the same intrigue as ever, the intrigue of someone who could never quite know it all.

And he never told her about her parents.