that sea in Spain (spain/england, pg)
that sea in Spain | spain/england | pg | 465 words
“I knew you’d like it.” Antonio smiles, kicking his heels together and looking out the windows.
By the way he looks out at the sea, it is obvious that Antonio is far. It alarms him in the most subtle of ways, so that it seeps into his consciousness. The sun shoots through the canopy of tree leaves and the sounds of tourists and dancers and the vibrations of guitar strings grow to a sweet humming. And by the way Arthur is looking far out into the sea too, he is closer to home than ever.
In some sort of odd fashion, Antonio is skipping rocks into the waves. “It’s not going to go anywhere, for God’s sake. The waves.” It is almost like he knows already, and for what reason.
“It’s brilliant, actually.” He smiles with that rudimentary charm, while Arthur gives a flighty glance and smirk; political relations are much more tamed to what they used to be, he remembers.
“I don’t see how. It’s a good go though.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Antonio skips another rock, and their eyes lose it among the crests before it sinks below their feet.
--
The next time he is by that sea in Spain, Arthur finds himself skipping stones into the waves. It isn’t nice like the last time. The sounds are familiar, but not to here. It wasn’t supposed to rain today either. But, it is. It wasn’t supposed to rain today. “You’ll catch a cold sitting there like that.” Antonio waltzes over, a grace that keeps him from slipping on the wet rocks, their smooth surfaces.
“It’d just be a cold, you prat.” He tosses another one in, not looking up at Antonio who takes a seat by his side.
“Still, I wouldn’t want to have to nurse you back to health, mi amigo. Come inside, there’s a café just over there.” And only out of courtesy, does Arthur follow his lead. They take a pair of seats by the window to hear the rain come down, and Antonio orders two cups of coffee. He’s learned Arthur likes his coffee black, no cream, no sugar.
“This is quite all right.”
“I knew you’d like it.” Antonio smiles, kicking his heels together and looking out the windows.
“Did you? You hardly know me.”
“I know you. I really do.”
--
Antonio calls Arthur and tells him there’s no rain, maybe a visit? “I’m busy, Antonio. Busy, work, you understand?”
“I do. It’s fine, another time?” Arthur is sitting by a lake, finding a rock, smooth and perfect for skipping. He doesn’t go to work that day.
“Of course. When was I ever not welcome?”
“Or I?” He tucks the phone between his cheek and his shoulder, busying his hands with some charcoal and some paper. “Is it raining over there?”
“No. And that sounds good.”
“Doesn’t it? I thought it would.”
“I knew you’d like it.” Antonio smiles, kicking his heels together and looking out the windows.
By the way he looks out at the sea, it is obvious that Antonio is far. It alarms him in the most subtle of ways, so that it seeps into his consciousness. The sun shoots through the canopy of tree leaves and the sounds of tourists and dancers and the vibrations of guitar strings grow to a sweet humming. And by the way Arthur is looking far out into the sea too, he is closer to home than ever.
In some sort of odd fashion, Antonio is skipping rocks into the waves. “It’s not going to go anywhere, for God’s sake. The waves.” It is almost like he knows already, and for what reason.
“It’s brilliant, actually.” He smiles with that rudimentary charm, while Arthur gives a flighty glance and smirk; political relations are much more tamed to what they used to be, he remembers.
“I don’t see how. It’s a good go though.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Antonio skips another rock, and their eyes lose it among the crests before it sinks below their feet.
--
The next time he is by that sea in Spain, Arthur finds himself skipping stones into the waves. It isn’t nice like the last time. The sounds are familiar, but not to here. It wasn’t supposed to rain today either. But, it is. It wasn’t supposed to rain today. “You’ll catch a cold sitting there like that.” Antonio waltzes over, a grace that keeps him from slipping on the wet rocks, their smooth surfaces.
“It’d just be a cold, you prat.” He tosses another one in, not looking up at Antonio who takes a seat by his side.
“Still, I wouldn’t want to have to nurse you back to health, mi amigo. Come inside, there’s a café just over there.” And only out of courtesy, does Arthur follow his lead. They take a pair of seats by the window to hear the rain come down, and Antonio orders two cups of coffee. He’s learned Arthur likes his coffee black, no cream, no sugar.
“This is quite all right.”
“I knew you’d like it.” Antonio smiles, kicking his heels together and looking out the windows.
“Did you? You hardly know me.”
“I know you. I really do.”
--
Antonio calls Arthur and tells him there’s no rain, maybe a visit? “I’m busy, Antonio. Busy, work, you understand?”
“I do. It’s fine, another time?” Arthur is sitting by a lake, finding a rock, smooth and perfect for skipping. He doesn’t go to work that day.
“Of course. When was I ever not welcome?”
“Or I?” He tucks the phone between his cheek and his shoulder, busying his hands with some charcoal and some paper. “Is it raining over there?”
“No. And that sounds good.”
“Doesn’t it? I thought it would.”