including Flanders, which is the setting of the famous poem "In Flanders Fields,"
~~~
~ Travelling De Wint
We walk down the narrow streets to my house and I show him a shortcut through Witham. I stop a few times to pull up my socks.
"Seriously, just tie your laces properly. This is getting annoying."
"No," I say stubbornly. I tug up the sock and I fold the lip over.
"Next time you do that i'm just going to pick you up and carry you home," he smirks.
I blush. "You can try."
"Wouldn't be too hard," he says, flexing.
"I'm too heavy."
"I highly doubt that."
"I am."
"Sure."
We cross the road and he takes a yoyo out of his pocket. It's then I spot Moxie at the end of the road, where my road intersects.
"Stupid cat. Moxie!" I call softly. She lifts her head from the ground and eyes me beadily. Then she lowers her body and squats, watching me with unblinking eyes and swishes her tail edgily.
"Is that your cat?"
"Unfortunately."
"Go get her."
"I can't. I'm allergic."
"Moxie! Here puss," murmurs Andy, approaching her. Immediately she skips to him, rubbing her face and cheeks on his legs and purring. He grins at me and I roll my eyes. He fondles her ears and scratches her chin. "She's cute. This is your best friend, huh?"
"What?"
"When I asked you who your best friend was, that time in the park. You said it was your cat."
"Oh, yeah," I say, remembering. I shrug. He joins me again and we cross onto my road. Then I lean down to tug up my sock.
"Hell no," he says, scooping me up and throwing me over his back. I grab my bag in alarm and I shriek, hitting his back.
"Put me down! Andy! Put me down, please!"
"Who's your best friend?"
"What? This isn't time for games! All my books are dropping out of my bag!" I yell, watching as my assessments are scattered on the road. He laughs and spins around with me on his back.
"Tell me!"
"You are, okay?" I say, albeit a little ashamed.
He doesn't act surprised and puts me down. I expect him to laugh or look embarrassed. Instead he helps me to pick up my books and papers and then he walks with me to the path.
He looks me in the eyes. "Ask me my question."
"Any question?"
"Any question."
"Who's your best friend?"
"You. Who do you love?"
"No one. And you?"
"You," he says, and I am amazed at how easily he says it, without fear of embarrassment or rejection. I am so amazed that I stand there speechless. He gives me a lopsided smile. "I love you, Taylor."
"You're lying," I say slowly, backing off. When he doesn't say anything or try to stop me I stand still. "You shouldn't lie to me about things like this. Why are you doing this? Is this a joke?"
"It isn't a joke..."
"Don't fuck about, Andy. Is this a joke?"
"Why do you automatically assume that anyway who shows you affection is trying to take the piss out of you?"
"Because it's what you people do!" I say in annoyance. "Everyone! All you care about is making yourself look good in front of your mates, you don't care about anyone but yourselves!"
"I care about you, Taylor! Don't you care about me?"
"Yes!" I say, although it sounds more like a question.
"Well there you have it, then. We're two friends that care a lot about each other. Friends," he says, sighing the last word.
"Friends," I repeat. I consider walking home. I consider walking with him. I consider walking without him.
Then I consider walking with him again. Reaching down to tug up my sock I lock eyes with him and when I stand again he lifts a hand to my chin. Then he pulls me closer, leans inwards and our lips meet.
~~~
