XXI
"Where are you, darling?? They are waiting!" his mother shouted from outside. He smirked a little and replied back with the simplest of voice he could utter that very moment: "I am coming, mother. I just need an hour or two," and he spoke words with sarcasm right under it, and his mother grunted and he moved on fast.
"What? An hour? You seem jacking yourself off, do you?" his mother replied with a quite angry and louder voice than usual, and Micael laughed in the latter and wore a smile before his lips had separated to talk once more. "No, mother! What in the actual stance are you thinking?" Micael replied while combing his very hair elegantly and carefully as he wanted to really look good as tantamount as a standing sculpture built with the very best of marble and some heads of virtuosos and without any more palavering towards his mother, he continued on fixing himself.
"See you in France, then," his mother shouted back to his even his mouth had never talked any and he kept on laughing afterwards, and sooner he heard a door spending its very last scene of his mother with a bang, and he scurried.
XXII
Micael's mother had reached the Southampton port, of which the ship of which he had just alighted had decided to anchor. Looking around, she could see a lot of ships anchored tight to the shore and boxes of varying sizes were around and sitting like chauffeurs of a vast number of omnibuses. Some ships were brown while some were different than the conventional.
She also liked the jibs of others which were more attractive than real British lads who she then saw passing by her whereabouts while they were doing their respective tasks for that day. Some were carrying luggage while some were transporting goods into big transport ships to be then sent adrift.
He could also see some dogs walking by with their owners and some kids playing around the corners. It was quite new towards her feelings and the touch of the air unto her skin felt clean and outstanding. She looked at S.S. Mary once more and had bidden her goodbye, and so to Micael, and she continued walking towards the archway. Her bland purple dress had adorned the pathway and down she walked with her delicate heels and umbrella hanging from her left arm and his bag being held by her other hand which lied straight down.
Her husband, Louis, waiting at the very first arch of which they would get through in order to get to the streets of which their omnibuses were waiting. "Where's Micael, Rebecca?" Louis asked with the highest pluck of his lungs as his wife was mere feet away for him, and she never answered but with the absence of one's answer doesn't meant to be no reply at all. As soon as Louis' lungs had fully plucked out and the air which he had breathed was forced to vibrate across the cod medium of the Britain's atmosphere, he saw his son coming out from the ship's entrance stairs.
His eyesight was dull but he knew how his son would look like even with the slightest of colors from his chest as long as he had the scent coming from his son through his nose, however far the distance it may need to traverse, nothing would ever matter and his questions would always be left answered accurately like one's bullseye from afar, and so no question had followed. Micael went down the stairs carefully as he was carrying the brown box he was living with for quite the time of his existence inside Mary (it was the name of the boat; please do bear not with the namesake) as well as his experiences, let it be the haunted or the most intimate of them all.
And he quite missed someone. The talks, especially the ones they had given unto each other with the greatest honesty, the body, the dance, and the elegant dinner they both had for themselves. And Amy.
I wonder where she had been since the day we stopped talking.
He asked himself inside his mind while still minding the gap from both of his feet as the atmosphere felt different. The air he was breathing felt a little bit soothing inside the cavities of his lungs.
It was bouncing like plastic balls being dropped about a foot or two high from his ankles and he could hear it. His mind had never lost on minding the gap of his feet as it felt very new above the soles of his boots and the people around looked very different. While he was walking, he overheard a conversation from two luggage transporter from his side of which he just passed by as they were carrying a load of boxes from a passenger who which raced them first towards the omnibus.
"It is a really hard cheese to swallow, mate. I can't think of any of those guys honking on ye sink," the first buffed guy said to the other, who was skinny and struggling to lift two boxes which looked as heavy as a sack of rice compressed in one, medium-sized box. Hard cheese? That would have killed someone.
He said inside of his mind while stepping his foot unto the other while he was catching up the distance from his mother whose steps were quite elegant to be fast enough, and he shouted towards her: "Mother! Change of plans. I won't be going to France." His mother never bothered to shout back or even turn her head towards his face and smiled. All Micael got was silence but there were British sailors who were just loitering by the pathway, and soon one of them talked. At first, he thought that the lad wasn't talking to him so he continued walking a step farther but the voice had followed his whereabouts, and he stopped.
He then turned his back and looked at the lad who came across unto his whereabouts, and talked once more as the first one just sounded like a murmur: "How's it going? It looks like you came here raw. Where'd you come about?" the guy, who appeared to be a helper in the port, had intelligibly spoken. Micael first looked at the guy from his very elegant shoes to his vest and up to his bald, waxed head, and soon after, he did the reply as the man he was talking to was quite sure waiting: "Nothing, mate. I came from Australia and just arrived here today." "To die? What do you mean? Ye just wanted to be cremated round here?" The guys laughed afterwards and offered his apology for making such quite joke into his accent, and the guy moved on with it and continued carrying luggage towards the ship behind Mary.
He is sure a nice guy.
Micael's thought were aloud from the insides of his head and he continued. He turned himself back once more towards the archway and stepped his way towards the whereabouts of his parents which were waiting for him. The box was not heavy and he did not encounter any mere difficulty at all but the box obstructing his vision on his feet was his dire concern, but he continued nonetheless. He looked at his parent's faces and their mouths were moving gracefully, talking amongst themselves and finding their very comfortable places while Micael had finally decided to the stretch his being towards the French', and his mind thinking about Amy had never been gone into somewhere pitiful.
...