Time Jump
Lola checks the contents of her rucksack again. “Orange juice, wine glasses, egg sandwiches and a torch,” she whispers as she visually ticks off the list in her head. A cool bag would have been better as the egg sandwiches have already started to imitate the smell of drains. They never used before a cool bag before. She tucks a Donald Duck beach towel underneath her armpit. Her mum keeps it in a vacuum-sealed bag along with the other emergency towels in case the washing machine breaks down or unexpected visitors turn up.
She should have put more effort into checking the security measures at Meadowbank Stadium but she gave up after Google declined to give her an answer. The last time it was easy as they just climbed over the fence like a couple of child burglars. It wasn’t police sirens that alarmed them but familiar voices shouting out their names in turn. It was the day before Joey was moving to Canada to live with his dad. Mrs Forder thought her son had run away and phoned Lola’s mum who also discovered an empty bed and open bedroom window.
It was his mum that opened the door earlier this evening and Lola felt ten years old again. She almost asked if Joey could come out and play. When Joey grabbed his jacket she said to meet her at exactly eleven o’clock that night. She almost expected Joey to ask his mum for permission.
Lola throws the towel over the fence and watches Donald Duck billow past on the other side. She straightens her rucksack, takes a few steps back and tucks her dress between her legs. Not the smartest move to wear a dress, but she bought it especially for this occasion. It’s in the three colours of a rocket ice lolly and the puff sleeves are a style she would now avoid but the dress is almost identical to the one she wore eighteen years ago. She frightened the girl in the vintage shop when she hugged her in reply to whether the dress fitted.
Ten minutes left to set up. The putrid smell of the sandwiches permeates through the canvas of her rucksack. The eggs were not completely cold when she mixed in dollops of mayonnaise.
She is interrupted by the noise of an enunciated cough behind her. Lola tightens her grip around the metal bars.
“I’ll let you in through the gate,” the security guard says as he spins his keys around his index finger. “Lola.”
How does he know my name? Lola thinks as she follows him, expecting a policeman to be on the other side of the gate ready to recite her rights.
“Joey is already here. Just lock the gate on your way out,” the security guard says as he hands her the padlock.
She screws her eyelids together. A torch light signals back at her. She takes her own torch out of her bag and flicks the on/off switch as if she’s playing an instrument in tune with the beat of drums. After all these years she still remembers the code. From across the football field they perform their song in silence.
This story was inspired by the words eggs, Meadowbank, vintage, suggested by James T Harding on August 19, 2013
where mute memories start talking 