Member-only story
Fiction | Love
A Thunderbolt from Nowhere
Part 1: Meeting my neighbour’s son for the first time
The summer of 1978 in my hometown, Bela Bela, in the South African bushveld, was a scorcher. The air shimmered like a mirage for most of December. The dirt roads in front of our house sizzled your bare feet if you crossed them.
I was relaxing on the veranda, breathing in the intoxicating scent of Mom’s red roses in the front yard. The evening air was dusty, competing with the pungent scent of warm roses.
I was 17 and relaxing in Dad’s rocking chair on the veranda, reading a Heinrich Konsalik book, when I saw our neighbour’s son, James, for the first time. He glided in from the cafe in black rugby shorts and a tight, white T-shirt that hugged every part of his well-defined torso. I couldn’t help but gawk at his blond curly locks, turquoise colored piercing eyes and broad chiselled chin.
He casually glided over to the fence and said, “Hi, I’m James. Glad to meet you, Matthew. Mom told me lots about you.”
His rich baritone and kind smiling eyes mesmerised me. I nearly fainted from shock. I was dumbstruck and couldn’t breathe, nor could I say a word. I stared into his eyes, willing myself to say something.
