A City Street by Ruth Brandt
Down below someone has left their car parked nose to the kerb, arse sticking out into the traffic, and someone opposite is opening their curtains, and someone’s just turned into the shade of the street corner, and …
*****“What the actual?”
*****I look over my shoulder at Hari.
*****“Morning,” I say. “I’m up.” I hold up my cup of PG Tips to prove it.
*****“You,” Hari says, “are ill.”
*****“Sure,” I say because strictly speaking I am ill, pretty drattedly badly ill if you want to know but…
*****“You,” he says, “should be in bed.”
*****“Later,” I say. “Have you seen this?”
*****He joins me as I continue to gaze out over roof tops and chimneys. Scan the office tower blocks on the horizon. The maroon car that slowed as it turned into our street. The white capped runner. A man with a buggy, a woman trailing a good metre behind. Quiet time. Contemplation time. All those patches of gardens.
*****Hari turns to me.
*****“Seen what?” he asks.
*****“Everything. There are thousands of people out there.”
*****“We’re in a city.”
*****“Doing things.”
*****His eyes narrow. He’s checking me out. Looking for some sign of something or other. I have to admit, it’s unusual for me to be up before him, or let’s face it, up at all.
*****“It’s what happens,” he says. “People do things.”
*****I slurp my tea. It doesn’t taste quite right, hasn’t for a while. Maybe a year now.
*****“Did you notice the car?” I ask.
*****“Which one?”
*****“That one by the kerb.”
*****“Parked by a moron.”
*****“Parked by someone in a hurry. Or someone with a headache who was pleased to get home.” I lean against the wall, just helping me to see a little further I tell myself. “Or maybe they were bringing a cat back from the vet. Or how about a pet snake in a bag?”
*****Hari places hand on my shoulders, gentle pressure. A little more and he’d be guiding me back to our room, to our bed to rest out the next few days and weeks. Months? Me being here at the window is not a stable situation.
*****“Five minutes,” I say.
*****The pressure drops. His hand drops. He shrugs. This is too much for him. I am too much for him. A pigeon flies past.
*****“See that tree? The one directly down there. The plane tree?”
*****“Hmm.”
*****“See how the leaves change colour in the wind. Green grey to silver grey. See it?”
*****“Yes.”
*****“Watch,” I say. “Please. Just for a minute.”
*****“Fine,” Hari says.
*****We stand, watching the wall behind the tree skitter and pulse in the leaves’ shadows, imagining their tinkle and late spring scent. Imagine parking at an angle, jogging, pushing a buggy. And I refuse to count seconds, refuse to measure time. Just Hari and me, watching a city street forever.
Ruth Brandt is a writer and creative writing tutor. Her prize-winning short story collection No One has any Intention of Building a Wall is published by Fly on the Wall Press. Her short stories and flash fiction have been widely published and nominated for awards. She lives in Surrey, England with her husband and has two delightful sons.
Bluesky: @ruthabrandt.bsky.social – Instagram & Threads: @RuthABrandt – Facebook: Ruth Brandt
Photo by Maryna Nikolaieva on Unsplash
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Amazing how you’ve built a street and relationship with so few words.
Gorgeous. I love the unspoken tie to the bed, the badly parked car, the sense that things are not as they should be, slightly askew.
It’s what’s not said that makes this story so powerful.