A Brave night by the river

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
without any editing or planning, just a few moments I wanted to write down through a very hard time

Submitted: February 26, 2008

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Submitted: February 26, 2008



It’s funny how sometimes the saddest occasions can also be remarkable fun, or perhaps show you just how much enjoyment a group of people can have if there determined to on someone else’s behalf.
If you’re thinking that I’m crazy right now then read on, I’ll elaborate. If you don’t care then don’t; I understand, after all there isn’t enough time in this world for everything.
We decided to go to the pub to watch the football match and have a few drinks, despite being underage we were confident that we’d be served based on past experience so there was really no need for the nervous smiles the twitching hands and the constant looks for reassurance on that front. We hadn’t said anything out loud but we all knew the truth was that we were going to visit a memorial wall together, it may seem strange but the mere suggestion of the pub being situated within walking distance from the memorial wall of a friend we had recently lost was enough for us to know are real purpose for the evening.
 We couldn’t face it sober so drinks were plentiful during the match, at half time someone tentatively suggested us beginning our walk,
 ‘No, Man, we won’t have enough time yeah?’ was the response from all, but were playing for time we were avoiding the cold stone, pictures and flowers.
The Thames is supposedly one of the cleanest rivers in Europe, it meanders through the city of London undeniably beautiful especially at night with the city lights glinting on its light waves. The river taunted us that night, its beauty a cruel reminder of the friend it had taken from us; we stared at the river before we glanced at the wall.
The wall is red stone, just a wall guarding the river side laminated pictures covered it, messages in black marker pen adorned its top and the pavement below, but the beautiful flowers were the most obvious sign of sadness. We stood and stared, tears were shed, private moments were had and the river glinted through the railings.
Words were spoken in gentle voices or sobs; it was so much easier to come here during the day with other sobbing people to be seen to. A shout from behind us called for a group hug, we threw our cigarettes to the ground and joined the hug which quickly became a minute silence, perhaps due to the amount of drink we had consumed it was decided the boys would pull there trousers down as a true mark of respect.
The silence didn’t last long but the hug continued, tears rolled freely down our faces there paths distorted by the wind. As a mark of respect, a last goodbye; one of the boys tripped and did cartwheels. Its things like that adults would find vulgar and disrespectful but I often think that teenagers and children have the right idea; we all knew JB would have appreciated it.
Preparing to walk back to the nearest pub and raise a glass in honour of our friend we turned and began walking, we passed a man and his girlfriend, they were laughing about the ‘yobs’ that hung around dignified places like this. The boys snapped, a bottle was thrown and 5 angry teenage boys who had just lost one of there best friend ran after the swiftly retreating couple.
There was calming down to do…best at the pub.
We went to every bar that night and demanded everyone have a drink for JB, people were encouraging and kind. They appreciated our sadness and all agreed to have another drink. The rest of that night passed in a happy blur of drunken incidents, the kind you can only have when you’re seventeen.
We’ve kind of kept our feelings quiet since then, the magic of that night was broken, we could talk about anything mainly about our sadness which for once we just let pour out.
The next day we went to see national treasure two and at one point a man jumps into the Thames, I felt both the boys on either side of me shudder.

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