We Sat on the Sidewalk
Hot, sticky July sun beat heavily down onto my pale skin. America was a painful contrast to my hometown in dark, dreary Britain, but the move was necessary. I had found a bungalow on the west coast in California, and had settled down with difficulty.
Now I must highlight this – I never kept fit. Never really had the need. My freakish metabolism and love for all things Italian had fuelled my slim body. My stomach wasn't flat but I had a gap between my thighs, and overall I was relatively happy with my shape.
However, scathing comments from my angry ex-boyfriend had left me ridiculously insecure about my shape, and had left me afraid to go out in public for a few months. I had bared the humid heat two months after my move for a well-needed dose of fresh air and a jog, but I had covered myself in a jacket and leggings.
Bad move.
The sweat was beading down my back and I had barely run half a mile. My throat began to itch but unfortunately I had left my water bottle at home. Taking a quick hit on my inhaler as my chest began to tighten, I kept up the pace on the bubbling tarmac.
A small, crawling figure caught my eye up on the pavement ahead. Dark-haired, pale-skinned. The figure heaved and gasped on the pavement, and I was less than thirty feet away. Curiosity got the better of me and I quenched the warning bells that shot up my throat as I quickly approached the person.
'Are you okay?' I asked.
Ten feet now, and the figure clutched his – or her – chest as they writhed above the ground. Loud attempts at inhaling air filled the empty street, and as I neared ever-closer my caramel eyes met with icy blue depths.
The boy – no, man; he was no boy, that was for sure – whimpered and squeaked a little, tears pooling in his eyes.
'What's wrong?!' I asked louder.
The man clutched desperately at his throat and made the motion of an inhaler in front of his mouth.
Asthma attack.
I quickly grabbed my inhaler from my pocket and slipped it into his stubble surrounded mouth. Red, wet lips clutched at the end as he pushed on the top and took large, faltered breath as he tried to regain his composure. His face was flushed red from what I assumed was the cruel heat.
'Thanks,' he managed to whisper out. 'Sorry.'
I felt my face burning uncomfortably and managed to stutter out, 'You're welcome.' I couldn't look him in the eye for fear of blushing furiously again.
'I'm Ian,' he spoke after a short minute of silence.
'Emily,' I replied shyly.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw him struggle for words. 'I was running…' He spoke awkwardly. 'Forgot my inhaler.'
'A necessary thing for someone with asthma, I bet.'
Excellent. Way to point out the annoyingly obvious.
'You're British?' he stated, but it came out as a question.
'Yup,' I confirmed. 'Just moved here a couple months ago. It's too hot here, I don't know how you can stand it!'
'Once you've grown used to the American summers it's easy to forget how cold it is in other places. We're all just used to it, I guess,' he shot me a big grin and I couldn't prevent one from slipping onto my face. 'But you're bound to be hot in what you're wearing, why not shorts and a t-shirt?' he asked.
I could feel my face fill with shame as I self-consciously tugged down on my jacket. Shame filled my face as I could still remember the hateful words that he said to me.
It was the truth, that niggling voice in the back of my head sneered.
As if sensing the mood, Ian quickly changed the subject – something I was extremely glad about.
And there we sat on the sidewalk until the sun began to set and the air chilled.