PHOEBE
1
There were thirty seconds to go.
I was sitting by the Archibald Fountain in Hyde Park. The boy would say hello in thirty seconds. I had been thinking about J.D. and how much I loved him, and how proud of him I was. I shed a tear for him as I sat there by the fountain in the same spot I was sitting when I first met him. I was wearing my red Holden Caulfield cap, on backwards the way I like it. It is the uniform of the resistance. I was also wearing my favourite red sneakers and the same clothes I wore when J.D. came up and said hello to me that first time. By my side was my skateboard.
There were ten seconds to go.
There were many men I’ve loved, and still do. Vincent and Jackson and Van and Woody and Jerome, and many many more, but there were none that I loved as much as I loved J.D.
Time was up.
As I sat there by the side of the fountain, looking towards St. Mary’s Cathedral, I heard a young boy’s voice ask me,
‘Holden Caulfield?’
I turned and looked at the boy. He looked about fifteen years old, the same age as me. He was slightly shorter than J.D. was, maybe five-six, and he was slightly plump, but not overly so. He wore a black T-shirt over a pair of baggy, knee-length, black-denim shorts, and a pair of black DCs on his feet. A pair of dark sunnies covered his eyes and on his head he wore a bright-red, Holden Caulfield cap, on backwards of course, all cool like. Hanging from his right hand was his skateboard. Printed on his T-shirt was, Bring Me the Horizon. I smiled and replied,
‘Why yes, Holden Caulfield.’
THE END
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