Jamie saw The Guy in the library. He noticed how his jeans clung to him. His beige jumper must have been bought by his mother.
Jamie watched The Guy’s muscles flex and unflex as turned pages in his book. Then, he got up and went, leaving Jamie bereft.
Jamie was homosexual, he admitted this to himself, but in dangerous times he couldn’t tell a soul.
Later, in his bed-sitting room, Jamie stared dejectedly at the nicotine-stained ceiling. What was it about The Guy? He looked like hundreds of people you saw every day.
In a restless sleep he dreamed he and The Guy were a couple. They went to the cinema, walked in the park, cooked meals at home. Jamie’s miserable life was over: he loved someone and was loved in return.
Jamie visited the library each evening, so did The Guy, but Jamie was too shy to speak.
One evening, The Guy said softly, ‘Hello.’ Jamie raised his eyes to see a warm, radiant smile. His mouth drained, blood rushed to his ears.
‘My name’s Keith,’ The Guy said. ‘What’s yours?’
Jamie blushed like a thirteen-year-old girl.
Keith’s beatific smile did not falter. ‘I’ve seen you looking at me.’ He took Jamie’s hands in his. Jamie’s body shook. His dreams were about to be fulfilled. His sad life was over.
Keith beamed, ‘I used to be homosexual too, but I’m cured now. There’s a church I go to. You should come too. I could take you if you like.’
Words: Richard Rooney
Illustration: A.I.
Flash Fiction 250
Flash Fiction 250 