Fiction, Health and wellbeing, Melbourne, Relationship and marriage, Weather, Writing

At the local pool

‘A what?’ I ask.

Brammer,’ she replies. ‘Don’t you think he’s a real brammer?’ My friend, Maggie, is always trying to display her superior language skills.

‘Never heard it before, so I can’t say.’

‘A remarkable, attractive person,’ Maggie says with a smirk.

I can’t argue with her. He is quite dishy. As usual, Maggie’s verbal aplomb is germane. If I didn’t love her so much, she’d be irritating. So intelligent, so pretty, so kind. Got everything going for her.

The boy we’d been staring at, who’d Maggie described as a brammer, must’ve felt the heat from our gaze. He looks in our direction, blushes and dives into the pool.

‘Right,’ says Maggie. ‘Let’s head to the shallow end. That way we’ll be there when he swims down.’

‘What will we do?’

‘Dunno. Just hang out in the water.’

Fueled by a sudden and unusual drive to be daring, I grab Maggie’s hand and say, ‘Alright, let’s go.’


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