Chapter 1

I thought years ago, that God sends that someone your way and you get married and live happily ever after. What did I know, I was only 8 at the time and still able to walk around the house without someone shrieking about me not having any pants on. Much has changed since then, for better, for worse, more for worse actually. Gone are the days when Mamma would say "pray putha, and God will give you anything". He didn't. Even when all I asked for was her happiness. Does that mean she lied to me? Well maybe, I mean there was that time when I was 6 and started getting boners, she said "choo pirilla". So what. Some moms lie about Santa Claus and storks bringing children home, and about how she got that bruise on her face from 'falling down', even though it looks like Daddy's ring. There are things we need to know; some at the right time, and some, never. In the days when hormones spewed out of my glands like lava from an erupting volcano, I know there were times when I'd go off at her. I still shoot myself in the face when I think of those instances. She never deserved any of it.

Sitting on this rooftop watching as the horizon eats the sun and cold ocean thrusts at the shoreline like a copulating animal. Back and forth. Back and forth. One the raging tide, and the other, the delicate pristine sand, but for a moment too short, they are one, like lovers in embrace gazing into each other's eyes. But in a cloud of white froth, it is over. Funny thing about the ocean, it reminds me of me in this aspect. It always keep coming back, again and again, and again, relentlessly. But then again, the shore can't run away; women can. Ah, my cigarettes gone out. That's one thing I hate about the ocean, the breeze. So I light another one and take a look at the note I never gave her. Written on the back of an interview I did when writing my book, I always thought it was quirky to do that. I remember the time I asked her out, the letter before doing so was written on the back of a chemistry practical from back in school. This one stayed there folded and sombre, tainted in tears and the perfume sprayed on it. Funny how you give a person everything they asked for and yet you end up short, abandoned on an empty road in the night as a storm approaches. She just kept driving on. No second chances. No point holding onto this, I set fire to it with my new cigarette, which has also almost gone out! Watched it burn like I did my own life in those past few weeks.

I should stop thinking so much when I'm near the sea. But I can't help it, the song of the sea is like a siren to my mind, singing a sweet tune that calls and lures out my thoughts. Anyway, I can't stay longer, I hear the horn of that old Mini approaching, so I put on my trusty faded pair of Levis, probably the only thing that doesn't leave me, even if I asked it to. I head down the stairs and there she was sitting on the sofa, leaning her head back and smiling. Sure she was smiling, but I hadn't seen this smile before, it was a red smile, that's the only way I could describe it. Red was a colour I could associate with Nicole, her skin was golden. Her colour gave off a sublime warmth, in the same way a shaving light did. Of course she did, she was half French. "Hi". "Hey". I wasn't sure what to do there. I know with V I would always look at her like a blue-eyed boy, watch her as she walked towards me and then hug her tight. But hey, this was just the beginning, and could even be the end. We rubbed cheeks and smacked our lips. I never understood why people did that. The only person who would do it properly was D. She used to hold my face like a gentle lover about to make out, close her eyes and plant two on either cheek. She had a special way of doing things, I hope she's okay in the big world of NGOs out there. But forget that, they are not here, Nicole is and the destination is the Lighthouse and beyond. We got some glances on the way out of the Fort. Everyone knew Nicole. Everyone wanted to date her. I bet they were thinking how I ended up in the car with her. I mean I look just like them in ways with my linen attire. But I am no junkie and never will be. I'm a writer, motherfuckers!

"So Devid, ow was your de?". "It just got better. How was yours?". "Goot, and I av this filling it will get better". Was I supposed to smile for that? I don't know, but I did. And so did she. I don't know who I am these days. I hold onto who I knew I was. I miss V, really do. I wonder if she misses me. Little by little, we're getting lost. But it was no fault of mine. I didn't deserve it; I put up a fight to no avail. I wish th.. "Are you okay Devid? You look like a lost littel boy". I wanted to say, I am one, but then I would have to explain why. "No, it's just been a long week, I'm happy you came. Merci beaucoup. Et vous êtes un bon conducteur, Nicole". "Oh, tsank you, I hope you...". And the conversation went on as we made our way north along the A2 highway on which many of my emotions and thoughts have spilled.

This is my first attempt at a novel. All writing is copyright to Lasantha David and cannot be taken or reproduced under any circumstances.