[Fiction] 20 Years Since That Day

Read the second-place entry for our week of January 12, 2025 prompt, The Untold Story, chosen by guest judge Eleanor Anstruther

20 Years Since That Day
by

Nadya Powell

You’re sitting under the tree, with hair tucked behind ear, smiling into his smile. The sun shines onto your black crown reflecting grey; only true black hair shines grey under the sun.

You’re telling him how we first met, in Sri Lanka, in the town of Kandy. A moment of sweetness in the pouring rain. Our teenage bellies naked and pierced left lonely by crop tops and low-rise jeans. Both our wrists tattooed with treble clefs like Mel in All Saints and countless other music wannabees; Never Ever was the song that Noughties summer.

He is still, listening to the sounds of your words, staring with wonder at your shining black/grey hair. You laugh and twist your knees from under you, straighten and lie back into the grass. He follows your lead and soon two faces are eyelashes brushing and lips meeting.

You and I made a pact that Noughties summer; to no show at College, say fuck you to parents and bury deep the trauma wrapped tight around our hearts. We slept on trains and buses, moved from village to city, for months and then years. Sharing and laughing on countless fields of grass with scatters of trees, where our only anchor was the voices and smells of a mixology of cultures.

You sit up and, heavy with memories, a tear traces down your cheek. He understands, has seen these tears before and strokes your black/grey hair, brushes your cheek, leans towards you to create a silhouetted diamond between forehead and nose.

I am that memory filled tear on your cheek.

I remember the white sand of Khao Lak bay on Boxing Day, a place so opposite Europe’s dark mood we laughed onto the sand, toes and knees grainy with particles, hair tangled with sweat and sun. We sang out loud Merry Christmas wishes thinking of our distant and dull families in their Christmas Tree faded living rooms.

We felt joy at the vastness of the Thai beach, the wideness of the horizon; we’d never seen a sea so deep in tide. We wondered at the breadth of the wave rolling towards us, scanning east to west, powerful and free with its proud white crown. And then came fear, as the men shouted run, even as they turned towards the sea to save their boats full of dead fishes.

A terror born from a powerful violence deep within the earth; tens of thousands of stories untold.

And so I watch you and he from the in between life and death place where I’m held. I watch because my untold story will not let me go.

I love you. I love you in a way you never knew, I never shared, I planned to share that day.

I love you like swans’ mate, dolphins play, trees endure, oceans swell, and stars dance.

I love you.

There; it is told. Can you hear our stories as they brush past your true black hair?

A Note From Our Guest Judge,

Eleanor Anstruther

Deeply moving. A great example of sparse story-telling. The emotion is in the spaces between the lines. The writer makes effective choice of words and scenes, just enough to conjure what we need to see and hear; to understand what is happening. The success of this piece is that in few words we are on that beach on Boxing Day, we know what's coming; writing trauma such as this so simply is the most impactful way to get across what is impossible to truly find the words for. The writer uses space to let us fill in what they cannot. Believable and harrowing, engaged and connecting. Very good.

About Nadya Powell

Nadya is the Founding Partner of culture change business Utopia, founded with the belief that everyone deserves to thrive at work. She is also co-founder of Allies Coming out for Trans, Christmas So White and the Great British Diversity Experiment. She previously worked in Digital, shaping how we use the Internet today. Her incessant curiosity about people and their lives is leading her to write stories, explore stand up, swim oceans and sing songs.

This piece was written in response to the prompt The Untold Story.