Gillian has not been in love for a long time. Affection, perhaps, and definitely like but not love, not since the one boy that broke her heart.
It was the summer of 1958 when she met him. A casual glance across a smoke-filled pubic bar ripped her heart from her chest and her sensibilities from her mind. On the juke box the Everly Brothers were playing ‘All I have to do is Dream’ but Gillian knew she’d have to do more than that to have any chance with him.
Dean Harris was home for the summer, convinced that he could become a rock star. He’d played guitar since he was thirteen and now that he’d grown into his looks his skill on the strings combined with his talent at poetry – and thus lyrics – was a perfect springboard into the dream of rock and roll limelight.
He was no stranger to the art of lovemaking, either, and when Gillian pulled him into the pub yard and made love to him among the empty crates and bottles he had no inclination to decline her advances. She played him as skilfully as he teased a melody from the steel strings of his guitar and when her teeth grazed his neck he responded with an intensity surpassing anyone before him. She was impulsive and took everything he offered.
She visits him still. The stone effigy on his tomb had not changed in fifty years and she runs her hand across his cold cheek in the moonlight. Her beautiful youth has remained as unchanged as she, though the corpse beneath her beautiful youth has long since shrivelled and rotted and will never again have a beating heart within its chest.
She loved him too hard, too fast and his death under her lips took away her desire to ever want another.
© Rachel Green 2007