Lost For Words
Coffee Break Tale
Isn’t she just the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen? As beautiful as… as…” “An angel?” “I’ve never seen an angel,” Jamie said wistfully. “You’ve seen pictures, surely?” “Not that many, and most of those look as if they’re men. And if you mean the carved one on the roof, I don’t think it’s beautiful at all. Looks like it’s got a bad smell under its nose, that one. My Mary doesn’t.”
Jamie’s friend was getting tired of the conversation. Since he’d met this girl, Jamie seemed to have lost all the go that had made him a good companion. Half the time, he didn’t even want to come to the pub or, if he did, he spent most of the time either gazing into space or his pint. Still, he’d just have to be patient until his friend had got it out of his system. Or her. “Well, if you like her so much, why don’t you tell her? Or is she supposed to guess that it isn’t just a hangover that makes you look like a sea-sick sheep?”
The old Jamie wouldn’t merely have drawn a breath that shuddered and raised his shoulders around his ears. He’d have laughed or punched him. Probably both.
“It’s all right for you,” Jamie said morosely. “You just love ’em and leave ’em. One minute, you’re declaring undying love, the next you’re saying the exact same thing to another girl. ‘There’s never been anyone like them since the world began, they’re divine, you’ll love them for ever.’ I don’t know how you get away with it.”
“My charm and good looks, I suppose. Fancy another drink?”
Jamie shook his head. “No. Think I’ll go home.”
“For goodness sake! Away and tell her you feel like this. How do you know she’s not telling her girlfriends ‘Oh, he’s gorgeous, but he won’t even look at me?’”
“You think?” Jamie said, a flush of hope appearing on his cheeks. “I don’t know, do I? But she could.” Jamie started to get to his feet, then sat back down again. “I don’t know what to say. You’re the one with the way of the words.”
His friend thumped the table in exasperation. “You want me to come and hold your hand? Or maybe speak your lines for you as if you were a puppet? How do you think she’d take that?” he asked.
“No, of course not,” Jamie said with a flash of his old spirit. “I just want you to give me some idea of what to say. Here…” He took a pencil from his pocket and pushed a notebook across the table. “Write it down. That’s what you do, isn’t it? I’ll get another round in, and you write me something that’ll win Mary’s heart for me.”
“It’s not my words she wants to hear, you big daftie, it’s yours.”
But Jamie was away to the bar and didn’t hear him above the noise of the fiddler.
He picked up the pencil. There was something about the feel of that slender stick in his fingers that usually started things in his brain. Now, though, his muse seemed to have deserted him. Mary McPherson didn’t do it for him. Beside, she was Jamie’s love. Perhaps if he thought of one of the lassies he fancied himself? But his mind refused to come up with anything.
“You haven’t written anything!” Jamie accused him when he came back with two brimming pints.
“Waiting for you,” he lied. “It’s your girl. You’ve got to help.” He took a large pull at the brown, nutty liquid. “Right. Let’s make a start. What do you think she’s like? And don’t say an angel.”
“No, not an angel,” Jamie said softly. “She’s just a lassie, small and sweet.”
The girl at the bar brought the food that had been ordered to the table next to them. The smell of succulent lamb garnished with mint made him hungry. He glanced over. Small and sweet, Jamie’d said.
“Oh, my love is like a green, green pea…?”
Jamie snorted. “For pity’s sake, Rabbie Burns! She’s like a rose – a red one – or… or a beautiful melody.”
“You know, Jamie, I think you might be onto something there…”