Zest Lit Issue 2, October 2013 - Page 201

dreamy look in his face, loose-jawed and eyes wandering off as if he were deep in thought. He did not behave like a soldier at all, other than the chain smoking.

‘I need to drop off some letters at a friend’s house,’ Elie said. ‘Do you want to come with me?’

He nodded, and they stood together at the bus stop; he leaned against the pole, which had the number of the bus at the top on a small sign. She asked him how old he was.

‘Twenty-two.’

He took a hard drag of his cigarette, and she watched his dark cheeks suddenly collapse inward.

Twenty-two? And you’re still in the army?’

‘Well, I had to spend some time in prison. My officer caught me smoking pot.’

Elie smiled. We’ll get along just fine, she thought.

While she dropped off the letters at her friend’s house, the soldier waited outside. The sea appeared between the apartment buildings, glimmering like a wedge of polished sapphire. He wanted to go to his place, they could get high, there was still a little something left. But they’d have to backtrack to Mazeh Street, right off of Allenby where they just were. Elie agreed, she wanted to get high almost as badly as he did, maybe even get some action too. It had been awhile.

He lived in the apartment with his mother and younger sister, neither of whom was home at the moment. The conversation with this boy was minimal as he was extremely reticent and almost morose in mood, but even if he had been a talkative type there wouldn’t be much of a conversation; such a large educational discrepancy existed