Pietà

Sep 21, 2006 01:24

I was in Shoreditch, doing watercolours in a caff and waiting for my interview when Dmitri finally arrived on the back of a moped. The first thing he said was, Anna, this man says he knows you, and just as I was about to laugh I recognised Tom.

TOM.

We were at St Martins together, briefly. He was one of the people who didn't speak to me until I actually made something good - then he hung around all the time. Now, apparently, he paints pure landscapes and fishes for crayfish in the Thames.

"..."

Dmitri puts three sugars in his tea. When we are together I find lost things in the garden, trodden deep into the lawn. I bump into old friends in unfamiliar parts of London, outside churches, sometimes. I dream that he is hurt, that my father carries him all the way from the top of the garden, lays him head-down on the steps because he is too heavy and he can't carry him anymore.

I told Tom that I was gainfully employed and spent most of my spare time eating fry-ups with foreign students. He smirked and said, same as always then? Ugh. What I love about Dmitri is how he tries so hard to be friends with everyone.
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