The Differences Between Them

I am simply an observer. Nothing more, nothing less.
My friend has taken me to see her favourite singer at a place called The Birdcage. I must admit, she's pretty good, but it's hard to fully appreciate music you don't really know, and for some reason or another I find it difficult to just sit down and listen. My head fills with the most random of thoughts. When she starts to sing some sort of love song with her guitar, I observe her and the man on the side of the stage, taking photos. It is obvious that he is a professional photographer and it is his job to take pictures of her, rather than him being a member of the audience, because of the confidence he took the photographs with and how everybody else seemed to ignore him. Well except for me, and maybe even her.
It would so happen that a story unfolded in my head as I observed the two of them, unraveling like a scroll and laying out clearly in front of me. This was their story.
They were childhood friends, next door neighbours to be exact. He was shy and quiet, someone who preferred to play alone with his simplistic toys, in his own little world, with a small smile. Maybe he was even bullied slightly, this would make sense as it is usually the quietest kids and the smartest kids (he might have been smart as well) who get bullied. It was because of this that he was always weary of other people. Then there was her, fearless and unreserved, always looking for more friends to make and people to share with, she had a bright smile. She stood up for him whenever she thought that someone was being nasty, she was proud to be friends with him. But she didn't play with him because she thought that was the right thing to do, it was because she wanted to. Quite often she startled him and was too loud for him. But he loved to have her next to him, humming or singing some strange and random tune.
They grew up like this. Both having different lives and, I determined, rather difficult lives. Him because of school and friends, her because of family. However, they always remained friends despite everything. And when she told him that she wanted to leave school and become a singer, he did not scold her or claim her foolish like others, he supported her, and eventually decided that he was going to drop school as well, and pursue his dream of becoming a photographer. They both faced many trails, but as you know they both made it, otherwise I would not be observing them now....
"Oh look we can buy the CD over there!" My friend exclaims in delight, "Are you going to buy one?". Well, it was only a two pound CD and the music wasn't half bad, "I will" I say.
But there's something different about their relationship, something has changed between them.
Was it love? For some reason I doubt this option. When their eyes meet it does not suggest a relationship to me. Oh I know!
The present day him focuses his camera one her, he is careful and precise. Once he takes the photo, he looks at it, then at her. His eyes are that of love, pride and sadness, of desperate longing. He believes she is too good for him, why should she fall for him? He is nothing. So he sits on the sidelines of her life, never reaching out incase he damages what he has. But he is something. She knows this. As she sings her love songs, she glances at him, but alas he is looking at his camera. She loves him, and this is as clear as day, and yet he never looks at her. She constantly tries to reach out for him, but he is always turned away. Perhaps he doesn't love her.
How this relationship will unfold in the future I have no way of knowing, for I am simply an observer. In fact this might not even be true. But this is what came to mind when I saw a camera man gazing at a singer, and a singer glancing at a cameraman.

We Shine!

She sits next to me, repeatedly drawing hearts on her notebook.
"I'm not sure if you know this, but that notebook is for school work. It's certainly not for your doodling and scribblings." I tell her with an sigh.
Why do I always feel such exasperation with her? How is it we've managed to remain friends all these years? And while you're on that topic, how did we even become friends to start with? It's not like we have anything in common, at all. I look at myself, practical, studious, average. My school uniform is always prim and proper, my hair is clean, smooth and sharply cut short, my thick glasses fit perfectly. She sits there like a child, unable to be still, swinging her legs everywhere, playing drums with her colourful pen. I can't decide whether her uniform expresses freedom or disorganisation. Her hair is always long and messy, she has a constant smile on her face.
"I suppose so.... Hey! Do you know what would be fun?"
Why do all her sentences start this way? What is she going to force me into now? Juggling? Photography? Stilts?
"Singing!" She exclaims. I can't help but bring my hand to my face. As we walk home, she is sing some random, off beat tune, and she can't decide whether she prefers 'la', 'de', 'da' or 'lu'. But despite my annoyance with her, I can't help but smile.
She always so free, always so beautiful. We have known each other since we where small, I have had to take care of her over the years, making sure she has everything she needs, stopping her from doing rash and irresponsible things, organising her whimsy. In return, she introduces me to all that life has to offer, all the joys and spontaneous adventures. Quite honestly, I don't know where I would be without her.
But there is a slight twinge of jealousy in me. For many years I almost wanted to forget all my obligations and responsibilities, join her completely, and walk beside her rather than behind her. I couldn't do it, it would be far too scary, who knows what would happen if there was no sensible one between us. Besides I couldn't do it like her, I would just look awkward and foolish. There's no way I could be as bright a her, have her spirit.
At that moment she turns to me, "Lets go!" She says, and all of a sudden I've forgotten all my reasons not to got....
I grab her hand, she smiles, I smile back, we go.
Suddenly we are running, skipping, dancing, jumping, flying!
Limits are broken,
Dreams Overflow,
Love Consumes,
Space is reachable,
Distance is no longer a problem,
I am free for the first time,
We shine!

The Birdcage

In the Birdcage, I encountered something beautiful.

The Birdcage was a cafe...... or maybe a shop........ or maybe even a concert hall. I haven't decided yet. Maybe it was all three.

Imaging this. You are walking through a streets with hardly any lights and it is night. Everything is uninteresting and I am bored. You don't look back, but you don't look forward either, you look at your well used converses on your feet, to ensure that you don't trip over any obstacles or rubbish that life may have put in your way. Now and then you may look to the side, just out of whimsy, and there you see a distant city. It is glowing from the streetlights, and for a moment you are a little taken a back. But then you frown, how stupid, that light is completely out of your reach; and besides, if you were to get close it would be an ordinary street lamp. So you continue.

If you haven't noticed already, this is a metaphor of my life.

That is, until I passed the Birdcage one night.

I'm not to sure what made me look at it. A call of fate maybe? If I believed in that stupidity.

When I entered I was actually rather curious. What was it? It had a counter which served cakes, tea and minted water (I'm not too sure I like that... mint in water) in one corner. Clothes hung from walls and ceilings, looking like they were for sale, but you weren't really meant to buy them. A small staging area was at one end of the room, with instruments lined up and a microphone ready for action. Surrounding the stage was loads of vintage sofas and arm chairs, old ones that mis-matched.

The people were of a variety of ages and there were probably an equal amount of males and females. Did anybody really have anything in common, I wondered.

I suppose it was that all of them were smiling.

They were all a family. I could see it all. Everybody referred to each other by there first name, they asked about personal stuff such as children and parents, they all sent each other christmas cards.... no I bet they all met up for Christmas and had a party, maybe even a secret Santa, and even though they were all so different, everybody had gotten the perfect gift, they all laughed and sang, maybe sometimes they would sing karaoke, what did it matter you couldn't sing? Every man, dog and his beast accepted you here because........ well because.

They were all a family.

A family that I suddenly want to be a part of.

That was it, there was no turning back. The sun had risen on my dark street. Everything and everyone was beautiful and curious, something I wanted to be a part of, something I needed to be a part of. Several emotions suddenly switch on, loneliness, happiness, sadness.... love. A want, to be accepted into their paradise. Oh I hope they accept me, I look down at my clothes, how dull they are! Nobody would accept me here....

No, they would accept me. I'm sure of that.

So what I did was this, I brought a cake, poured myself some minted water (and hated it), sat down and did something outrageous.

I talked.

A Snowy Day

Even as an adult I am always caught by the sheer magic of snow.

As a child, it used to fascinate me. I would stare for hours at each tiny little snowdrop; how every one was made out of thousands of shimmering crystals. They fell casually to the ground, some of them lingering in the air, as though rather enjoying flight. I would then gaze at the pure white blanket that lay on the ground. If I got up early enough, I would be able to see it's untouched , innocent state, otherwise it would be imprinted with the footsteps of life. Whether that be a busy worker, a playful dog or a curious child.

When I was nine, Christmas day began with my early awakening and longing gaze at the frosty windows. Time passed and eventually my mother came in. A proud woman, a tired woman. A lady. Her pride was that of someone who was completely paranoid of what someone 'above' might think about her for a passing moment. Her exhaustion was that of someone who's only job was to order others. Of course her pride meant that her daughter always had to be of a certain standard, and her tiredness made her very often irritable and impatient. She did not process the traits of someone who might be considered 'cold', however she was not a warming figure, and she honestly believed that everything she did was for the best. Whether that be for her, or her daughter.
Well this is my knowledge now that I am an adult with an open mind, at the time, my mother was perceived as a nagging dragging voice that always started it's sentences with "A lady must always..."
But despite my annoyance with her, I very much wanted to be a lady; It was something I constantly reminded people. Arguments would always end with 'Well I'm a lady' and I would blush happily when people called me 'Lady Abigail'.

My mother took me down to the living area, where the christmas tree had been set up. Of course, I had had no worries about whether or not Father Christmas would deliver me presents or not. After all, a lady is always good. I was very pleased with my presents, they were entertaining and pretty. My main present was my favourite though. It was a red dress, with ruffles on the bottom, a dark green ribbon and broach on the front. Looking back, I realise that it was a rather simple dress, but from then on I would wear that dress whenever and wherever I could, until it would eventually get too small for me, and I cried for hours. It is hard to say what I loved about it so much, maybe it was the sheer confidence of the red, the grace of the ribbon and broach. It was just so..... lady like.

I wore it to christmas lunch. My face pink with the delight of the dress and of my life. The whole world was beautiful. Or at least, mine was.
I'm sure that there is a time in every child's life, when they suddenly realise that not everybody has the same life as you. It is the first step to the loss of innocence, when you suddenly see the sharp edges of the round world, and you catch that fatal snip of ice within the soft snow.
This happened to me when I managed to slip from the table between the main course and dessert. I ran with the sneaky ease of a child who is naive enough to believe that there will be no fatal consequences for mischief, to outside, where I would be able to survey the snow in all it's wonderful glory.

Expecting to be alone, I skipped and danced in this beautiful blanket. I especially loved the crunching sound as I jumped, tarnishing the spots with hadn't been touched yet. It took a while to realise that someone had be observing me. A boy, my age. He was wearing trousers which cut off at the knee and a shirt. Both were ragged, torn and filthy. He had snow white skin with patches on blue, and a bruise on his shin, his hair was a brown mess, and his eyes monotone and hardened. For a second, he had been wearing a small smile on his thin lips, but after registering that I had noticed him, he gave a apologetic, almost fearful, look before turning away.
For some reason or another, I used to believe that part of being a lady was giving short statements and questions. My first one, out of many, was "Were you spying on me?"
The boy looked up, he didn't make eye contact, in fact he would make eye contact with me for at least six months, and shock his head violently.
"Good, because you shouldn't spy on a lady."
A curt nod.
"I am a lady"
A curt nod.
His lack of knowledge on conversing irritated me at first, but I would eventually get used to it, and even love it. But for now I said "You are freezing."
That got no response.
"I will help."
And with that I ran up and hugged him. Although this might seem like a rather sudden and foolish move now, at the time it was like I had seen an adorable furry animal that needed my help and I hugged it. Nobody would have had a problem with that.
Of course, the boy was so shocked. Once I let him go, he stood frozen still, uttering embarrassed whispers and turning a slight pink at the cheeks. I then smiled what my grandmother called my loving smile, and invited him to have desert with us. How lady like.

But he could not, for he had work to do. I protested, thinking of how cold and tired he must be. But he explained to me in a manner of fact tone that this was his life. Neither christmas nor snow, would excuse him from work, and that was his life. Eventually I got round to helping him, if I remember correctly it was something to do with digging, but mostly I listened as he talked about his life. It had been a life so different from mine, one with hard work and punishments, but he didn't seem bitter about it. Although the thought of anyone having a life where you had to work on christmas terrified me, I realise that it was probably for the best that from that day on, I was less ignorant about the world, and people around me. It didn't matter that my mother called me in fifteen minutes later, furious at my state and who I was with, or that I would nearly always spend my time blocked out from the outside world where that boy lived. Because that day, I had learned empathy. And I met someone who I would have a relationship with for the rest of my life, a relationship with was beautiful and difficult, and started with a snowy day.