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M C HARDWICK
Sandalwood
First Prize Winner, SLQ Short
Story Competition (April 2010)
Anthony screwed up his eyes against the
glaring brightness of the Singapore sun. The dizzying heat
wafted up from the tarmac and enveloped him with its sweaty
blanket. His skin prickled as the pores fought to cope with
the temperature and humidity. Unsteadily he stepped down the
airplane stairs one small hand mistakenly grabbing the hot
metallic rail. He winced, automatically tightening the grip
of his other hand on the teddy bear that had been his
constant companion since leaving home. Only now, for the
first time, did he consider ditching it.
At the bottom of the stairs stood a more
radiant, beguiling goddess, the orchid green cap that tilted
on her jet black hair an ambrosial berry that crowned her
vanilla white smile. His puny legs trembled as his feet
stretched forward to meet each rising step. The rigid soles
of his black leather school shoes bounced off the aluminium
making an embarrassing clatter in spite of the whine from
the engines. He concentrated with all his might trying his
best to be seventeen not seven. On the last step he couldn’t
help himself; as he proudly looked up to engage the
Malaysian beauty with his brightest beam [the one that his
mother had so often stamped with her cheek-pinching
approval] he slipped his footing, scraping his knee as he
fell into her arms. The burning sensation of the graze was
nothing to the boiling redness of his cheeks. For one brief
moment he remained collapsed not wanting to face his
embarrassment and in that second he felt the soft smoothness
of her jacket on his nose and the silky coolness of her
cream blouse on his chin. But what he remembered most was
the delicious smell of her embrace; forever in his memory
the scent that would remind him of her exotic race.
“Hello An-toni,” she sang softly in his
left ear, ignoring the incident to his anguished delight.
“My name is Laila but you can call me Lily.”
Later in the queue at passport control
she crouched down and licked her thumb, pressing it gently
against the raw skin. In that moment, as he stared at the
smooth honey-coloured patella of her stockinged knees,
flashing a glance further up to the dark entrance of her
mustard skirt, he felt a guilty twinge in his stomach that
he nervously protected with his teddy. Her black hair, tied
in a tight, neat bun bobbled in front of him as she sucked
in her breath. ‘Would he wash his knee ever again?’ he
wondered.
“That must hurt An-toni,” she cooed. He
didn’t know whether to nod the truth or bravely shake his
head so that in the end it felt like the rocking movement
Sunil the servant always used with his mother when she
berated him for spending the morning baking bread. He wished
he could say something interesting, change the subject to a
more noteworthy topic but his tongue lay still in his mouth
heeding the warning from his flustered brain. If he said the
wrong thing he might break the magic.
As she stood and straightened her skirt a
pilot in a smart, dark blue uniform acknowledged her and
they began to converse. Anthony, normally in awe of these
daredevils of the sky, found himself hating his rival,
surprised by the strength of this feeling. He smarted at the
man’s tallness, at the wavy locks escaping from his peaked
cap, at the gold braids that bravely glinted in the sunlight
as he confidently shifted his weight and black leather
briefcase while talking in the easy manner that had failed
him. He hated it when Lily ruffled his hair as the pilot
said something about him, mistrusting the adult laughter and
the way one of her delicate ankles twisted and raised her
shiny heel off the marble floor.
But he loved it when she looked at him in
the minibus on the way to the hotel, winking and smiling as
she played with her compact and stroked his hair back into
place. Her eyeliner and lipstick reminded him of one of his
sister’s dolls but he greeted the image with impatient
contempt unimpressed with a childish comparison he quickly
suppressed.
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