Mozart and I get the same bus home from work. He gets on first and I'm not sure whether he wants me to sit next to him or not. I sit down and he looks up at me and smiles in the same way he does when I give him empty plates to wash up. It's raining outside. The journey has the musical accompaniment of tires sloshing through puddles, windscreen wipers screeching away the endless amount of rain blinding the driver. The bus engine is rumbling like a hungry stomach. Mozart is looking at his hands, thinking about playing the violin or something else in Polish. I look at his hands as well. They are rugged. I think of violinists as having dainty hands but Mozart's are pink like a cartoon pig, swollen by having them submerged in water for eight hours a day. I see Mozart looking at me in the corner of my eye. I am still looking at his hands. I look up at him and realise that he has been looking at me looking at his hands. I start to blush, but Mozart doesn’t seem to mind.
'Is the work tough on your hands?' I ask.
'It's okay.'
We get to Mozart's stop and I stand up to let him get off. He whispers 'thanks' as he passes me and then repeats himself to the bus driver as he hops off the bus and starts walking in the rain. I sit next to the window and close my eyes until it is time for me to get off.
I look up Poland on the Internet. It is a big country. Bigger than Germany, or maybe about the same size. It’s definitely bigger than England. I wonder where Mozart used to live and if he ever wants to go back someday. This town is small and uneventful and I can't imagine it is much more exciting than living anywhere in Poland. It’s not like living in London or Paris. Still, I like it here. Nothing changes because it doesn’t need to. At least it seems that way to me.
I look at pictures of Warsaw. I find a skyline picture showing the high-rise buildings. There is one building in the middle of the picture that is mirroring everything in the opposite direction. It reminds me of the view I get from the motorway when I go up to Leeds to visiting my cousins. I think I would like to go to Warsaw but only if Mozart could go with me as my guide. I think about going to the airport and getting on a plane with Mozart. Pulling luggage on wheels, making sure we have our tickets and passports. We're sitting down in the plane and it's about to take off. I'm sitting by the window. Mozart buys a drink from the trolley going past.
I fall asleep looking forward to going to work tomorrow, like when I used to look forward to going to school on a Wednesday because we had PE on a Wednesday. We got to get out of the classroom for at least an hour for PE, but I won't be getting out of the restaurant tomorrow. I'll be walking the same Scaletrix figure 8, into the same kitchen and Mozart will look up at me and nod without saying anything.
I am at my cousins and we are in Leeds going round the shops but everyone around us is speaking a different language. I see the back of my Gran walking into Boots and I call out for her. She doesn’t hear me so I start running after her. I can see my self running after her from an outside perspective and my cousins are standing behind me, rolling their eyes and clucking their tongues, saying, 'it's your own fault if you get lost.' I then fall down a step and wake up with a jolt.
I've missed my bus and have to phone work to let my boss know I'll be late. He sounds pissed off, but then he always sounds pissed off, in that way that quiet, bald, middle aged men who never smile do.
I brush my teeth furiously and look up at my face a couple of times to see the face of an Olympic sprinter, completely in the zone. I laugh, brush my tongue and gag for a second. I leave the bath water for my Mum and run out the front door with a piece of toast between my teeth and my arms still climbing into my coat.
'Is the work tough on your hands?' I ask.
'It's okay.'
We get to Mozart's stop and I stand up to let him get off. He whispers 'thanks' as he passes me and then repeats himself to the bus driver as he hops off the bus and starts walking in the rain. I sit next to the window and close my eyes until it is time for me to get off.
I look up Poland on the Internet. It is a big country. Bigger than Germany, or maybe about the same size. It’s definitely bigger than England. I wonder where Mozart used to live and if he ever wants to go back someday. This town is small and uneventful and I can't imagine it is much more exciting than living anywhere in Poland. It’s not like living in London or Paris. Still, I like it here. Nothing changes because it doesn’t need to. At least it seems that way to me.
I look at pictures of Warsaw. I find a skyline picture showing the high-rise buildings. There is one building in the middle of the picture that is mirroring everything in the opposite direction. It reminds me of the view I get from the motorway when I go up to Leeds to visiting my cousins. I think I would like to go to Warsaw but only if Mozart could go with me as my guide. I think about going to the airport and getting on a plane with Mozart. Pulling luggage on wheels, making sure we have our tickets and passports. We're sitting down in the plane and it's about to take off. I'm sitting by the window. Mozart buys a drink from the trolley going past.
I fall asleep looking forward to going to work tomorrow, like when I used to look forward to going to school on a Wednesday because we had PE on a Wednesday. We got to get out of the classroom for at least an hour for PE, but I won't be getting out of the restaurant tomorrow. I'll be walking the same Scaletrix figure 8, into the same kitchen and Mozart will look up at me and nod without saying anything.
I am at my cousins and we are in Leeds going round the shops but everyone around us is speaking a different language. I see the back of my Gran walking into Boots and I call out for her. She doesn’t hear me so I start running after her. I can see my self running after her from an outside perspective and my cousins are standing behind me, rolling their eyes and clucking their tongues, saying, 'it's your own fault if you get lost.' I then fall down a step and wake up with a jolt.
I've missed my bus and have to phone work to let my boss know I'll be late. He sounds pissed off, but then he always sounds pissed off, in that way that quiet, bald, middle aged men who never smile do.
I brush my teeth furiously and look up at my face a couple of times to see the face of an Olympic sprinter, completely in the zone. I laugh, brush my tongue and gag for a second. I leave the bath water for my Mum and run out the front door with a piece of toast between my teeth and my arms still climbing into my coat.
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