I’ve been writing stories since I was a small child. It was an endless urge for me to write what I saw, heard but most of all felt. From the day I started writing stories, it became a way of therapy. Anyways, to keep it short, this was a writing from one of those times that I would observe people and write their stories. This is the story of two friends. Rest, it’s all fiction. Happy reading all.
What on earth is this song he’s humming? There is a gypsy in the street trying to play the accordion. His friend is talking about something. The more he takes a sip of his tea, the more he seems to be talking… He, on the other hand, shakes his right foot violently and looks at the people passing by.
Actually, he knows very well what his friend is talking about. The lives of people on the streets seem more interesting to him. For example, the man passing by is skinny like himself. Maybe he slept at the door of his shop for days, too. Maybe because his mother has had many children and couldn’t feed him well enough. For example, that girl, what thick hair she has. Maybe stress doesn’t affect her. He wonders what it would be like if he were a girl, if he were a woman. When he was little, he used to look at his older sister thinking her dresses were the most beautiful clothes in the house.
PEOPLE IN THE STREETS
Then he looks at people’s faces. However, he had not once looked at the face of his friend who had been sitting in front of him for hours. Maybe that’s why he is lonely. Or is it because he’s not as handsome as that guy over there? Okay, maybe his face is not good, but his eyes are hazel, you know, the kind that turn green in the sun. Gazelle-eyed son of his mother. For example, has that young person been beaten by his father for wandering around the streets like this? No way, he seems like his father’s only child, he might be spoiled, his father must have yelled at him only once at most. What is Joe telling now? He said. Having fun probably. It’s been a long time since the topic has changed, the phone still does not ring. In fact, he feels like a stray dog not knowing what to follow or to whom to turn.
TALKING ABOUT NOTHING
No matter how confused his head is, Joe doesn’t know anything. He’s talking about having fun now. He talks about the girls he met. He’s talking about going out tonight. How strange. Finally he is glad that he can listen to Joe, after all, he is his brother in arms. Joe is planning a wedding, his bachelor party… Joe is a womanizer, a ladies man, he knows what he’s doing… While Joe is talking, the phone rings. Maybe it’s the news he’s been waiting for. The person on the phone starts talking about everything and nothing. He doesn’t listen to him either. How can people not go straight to the point? He keeps saying “OK”, succinct and dull. Now the person is asking a question. Or where did he get this question? “How can I remember, I have to look,” he says. Feels like this person is an absolute loss of time.
He hangs up the phone. Again, he can’t hear what he wants to hear. As if Joe understands this. Joe is making plans for tonight. Ah, that Joe… “We’re going to have a lot of fun tonight, dude.” Yes, the plans are good. He has always been a party animal.
The check comes. “Hmmm hmm..” He was always bad at math anyways. The bill is paid, he takes his coat in his hand, and they go out. He’s a little proud of his manner now, after all, there’s entertainment in the evening. Now it’s time to go back to the shop. Today will be less tiring than other days, he feels .
Hours later he has to cross the same street. It’s like everyone is looking at him now. There, the same gypsy. She says, “Sir, please sir”. “Joe, if you have money, give it to her.” The gypsy looks at his face. “Sir, are you kidding me? There’s no one beside you.” His phone is ringing. His mother is calling. She reminds him of tomorrow’s doctor’s appointment, and tells him to buy bread on the way home in the evening. He picks up the phone and continues walking nervously. He puts his hands in his coat pockets, takes the meds he hasn’t taken for a week and throws them in the nearest trash. He’s humming a song. Joe appears from a narrow street with a tea glass in his hand. Again he doesn’t look at Joe’s face, but smiles inside. His only friend in life, Joe, is now telling something again. After all, Joe has been the only one who talked to him since the day he was born.
Med Times Journalist /Medaction Collaborator
(Rotaract Club of Tarabya, Dist.2420)