The Wheeling Dipping Seagull by Brian Doswell (red scrolls of magic .txt) 📕

The spotty youth at the cash desk gives me too much change but I reckon he is just paying for the side show and exit the shop as quickly as I can.

I’m carrying the hot pizza box towards my car when I spot a dirty silver grey Mercedes parked three in front of my Clio. How come I didn’t see it when I arrived? It has to be the same car; how many Mercedes are there in town, covered in seagull splat?

The pizza box is beginning to burn my hand but I’m determined to see if it is David who is sitting the car so I walk along the road and knock on the window. The window glass is a bit steamy but as it rolls down I see a face I barely recognise. It is David but he’s covered in some kind of goo.

He says my name in a kind, questioning way as though he didn’t expect it to be me. I nod, “David I’m so glad I found you. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

The window is now fully open and I lean forward, that same old maternal feeling is urging me to wipe the cheese strings from his chin. I reach towards him and my steaming hot, freshly cooked, anchovy and extra tomato pizza slides out of its box through the open window and into his lap.


+++++

The knock on the window scares me but I have my answer ready, “Honestly officer I’m just eating pizza. I have no idea who these young ladies are. I’m leaving right now.”

I look through the misted glass and realise it’s a female shape. I quickly rehearse a slightly different answer but as I roll the window down I see its Sylvie. She is smiling and I’m happy. I’ve no idea how we missed each other and I was prepared for her to be mad with me but she seems glad to see me. I start to say how pleased I am that we have found each other again when she tips a steaming hot pizza into my lap.


ooooo

“Oh my God!” is not the most constructive thing to say when your world turns upside down but I can’t think of anything better.

David is scrabbling at the red-hot tomato paste that is soaking into his trousers and clearly not about to listen to my apology. A gust of wind is tugging at the last shreds of my dress and I realise that my minimal lace panties are on show to the public – again. I panic and dash round to the passenger side of his car, wrench the door open and slide into the passenger seat in one fluid movement.

I’m in mid apology before I realise that warm chunks of pineapple are oozing up between my thighs.


+++++

“I’m sorry;”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.”

The look on Sylvie’s face is amazing as she realises she is sitting on, or should that be in, my pizza. It comes to mind that I can’t imagine a better topping and I can’t stop myself from laughing, and she laughs too. I can see that she wants to help scrape up the anchovy and tomato resting in my lap but her hands stop short of the exact location. The heat in my lap is fading and I know I’ll survive.

“Is your car locked?” I ask. She nods.

“OK, so we leave it there and go to my place, we both need a bath.”

Sylvie nods again.

I start the car and ease out into the traffic. Sylvie says nothing but her hand touches my arm and slowly slides down onto my thigh, her delicately manicured fingertips burrow into tomato paste.

There’s not a sign of a seagull anywhere.
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Publication Date: 03-16-2010

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