The Goodbye Party (521 words)

N.B. lol.... gone ages again without writing a little short like this, been working on the time machine project... as always, this is hot off the press, and hasn't been proofed!! but, feels good to be writting something different again...

on a sad note, this was the last project luke and i discussed before his passing.... but still, no reason for you to not enjoy it :D

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The obviously quaint, introspective retro with a rustic, nostalgic calm, very local local pub was chosen to host tonight's party. Two sisters, ironically dressed the same, had arrived at 2 o'clock, one flirting with the landlord and flashing their family's money. The other re-interior decorated the pub making sure it still had the authentic look, whilst still being the sort of place one could wear an vintage Armani crushed purple velvet smoking jacket. Tonight's occasion, a ghastly sad affair; a fellow pier of the twenty-something, spoilt rich arts scene's father had come across hard times, was cutting his son off from his monthly allowance, our young lad having to find work, and moving south of the river Thames to live. Yes, a "Goodbye Party" was certainly needed. In public, one might say something like, "That's dreadful. But don't worry, we're always here for you." However, the quiet thoughts, the ones that circulate around the room, hushed when overhearing and offended ears may not pry, the thoughts that each of them had within their heads, sounds more like "Can you even get a bus to the south of London?", or "Won't he be the only white person there?"

It had become the must do event on the social calender that week, and by eight the pub was filled. Locals would turn up, avoiding the wife or needing to suppress a days graft to find that their normal seat now was home to a £300 handbag; having a chair was cool, but sitting or even standing near it wasn't. It was about this time that our friend, the one this party was in aid of, arrived. Most people didn't even know who he was, they had heard through a friend of a friend about the party. But, as one girl turn around, she screamed as trotted in her overly high heels towards him. Then came the fleeting up-roar and cheer on before of our departing friend, then back to the gossip and champagne.

Our friend sat their quite glum. Of course, he didn't buy a drink all night, what a faux pas that would have been, but nor did he just wanted to be bought a mohito and be left alone. Who were these friends, that after three years at college, and three years since, didn't have a word on condolence or support amongst the lot of them. Truth is, they themselves didn't know what to say either. Not one of them ever hand a real job, or money issues, had to deal with bills and direct debits. The 'working life' was a world apart from them, but like who he felt at the time. No no, much easier for them to turn their back, to chat about the latest gallery opening, or the what-to-see at next week's St. Martin's graduate fashion show. Within a week he was forgotten; not a call on my mobile, or a post on his facebook wall. Occasional he'd slip back into some one's thoughts, but only as a shadow, the memory hazy, then altered to protect the thinker from the harsh reality that they had it easy.