(Untitled)

[__jack]

May 1994

Jack loves to take the kids out so close to the end of the year, when they're so excitable. The girls have formed primped little perfumed groups, paying little attention to the colourful please touch! displays depicting the insides of active volcanoes and layers of the planet. The boys, looking disturbingly like young men at fourteen,

Comments

[depper]

"Yeah," Johnny says. "I'd like that." He reaches into his back pocket for the black felt pen that is always there because you never know when you'll need to write something, or what you'll need to write on. He uncaps it with his mouth, the worn grooves fitting familiarly to his teeth, his lips cushioning around it; reaches for the hand he's so recently shaken. Takes it again, cradles beneath it as he slides it to him, drawing it farther from its protective sleeves, exposing the wrist.

Quick glance up: Jack is looking at his wrist, Johnny's fingers on it. Jack glances up himself: their gazes meet; and then their smiles, Johnny's careful teeth showing around the pen cap, waggling slightly with his tongue.

Two of Johnny's fingertips slide down to the heel of Jack's palm as he glances down again, pushes lightly on the palm to flex the wrist up. Writes down the number he's memorized, adds a bold 9 in quotation marks below it. Aims the pen back into the cap, re-pockets it. "That's my room number," he explains, his thumb hovering over it without touching down.

Releases Jack, takes a step backwards. Flash of smile, and it holds on his face. Raises his hand as he starts to turn, "See you tonight, man."

Glances up through the skylight as he goes: not a trace or stray beam of sun. And Johnny smiles, shone upon in London.

[__jack]