Sparkle

28 September 2024

Dearest Peter,

Just so you know, I have kept the ring you gave me fifteen years ago. Oh, and I…well, I guess by the end of this letter, I can finally let it out, spill out the very thoughts that have been swirling inside me like a tempest for a decade and a half. Trust me, it will be good.

Oh yes, Peter. I’m still wearing that delicate, fuchsia plum blossom on a thin 18-karat yellow gold band, and in fact, I’ve never taken it off. Right now, as the sun shoots its arrows of light through the windows of The Bijou Café here in Brixton, the tourmalines, rubies, and citrines in this jewel paint the whole dining area in dancing orbs of bold colour. You were right in that I’d always love this little prismic ballet when your trembling hand slipped it onto my finger right before I boarded that train for London. Until this very moment, I would often catch myself dashing to any luminescent beam and letting this present of yours become the source of a rainbow. You truly know that the girl with the crayon box of a wardrobe would love having her own kaleidoscope on her appendages.

However, as right as you were about building countless of outfits upon the wearing of this accessory you left me, there is something about it that you were sorely mistaken on. No, despite us being best mates since we were running around the sands at six years old, you didn’t guess quite correctly why I’d been quiet when you handed me this parting gift. It wasn’t that I wanted to forget you after finding out that like a seed, a love for me had sprung in your heart. Far from it.

That’s partly why I’m writing to you now. Peter, I know you slipped away from my life the day I moved away to the big city, the words that freely flowed between us gone with the wind. Still, the memories of us are as immovable as a rock, and as sure as the river throws itself to the deep blue sea, everything comes back to you.

No, I didn’t forget you when I was zooming across the city on Gale’s Harley Davidson. I must admit that those biceps in his signature worn black leather jacket and the smirk he held as he removed his fire engine red helmet did make my stomach do flips inside me. As the bright lights of Canary Wharf whizzed past us as my arms wrapped around his waist on his bike, I felt a billion butterflies flutter about in my belly, fuelled by excitement.

And yet, just one look at the sparkle from the ring, and I thought of your shy, blissful smile over whatever novel you happened to carry with you when we had our beach picnics. There was no speeding around a concrete jungle; our feet were firmly planted on sable sands, but every time, I felt as if I were floating. On your emerald green blanket chatting with you, it was as if the world eroded away and only the two of us remained on Earth. Of course, I wish back then that I…

No, I didn’t forget you as Abel wined and dined me in the chandelier-topped restaurants of Soho. Why yes, I did find myself drowning in the barrister’s ice blue eyes and the unmistakable light fragrance of Bulgari’s Aqua Pour Homme filling the atmosphere in those tables for two. As pinot grigio bubbled inside of my veins and conversations on the ballerinas we’d just watched jeté across a stage glided their way between us, it seemed I was rocketing through space.

And yet, just one look at the sparkle from the ring, and instantly, in my mind, my platform wedges were once again clacking on the wood floors of The Beach Hut Café, where we’d tuck into a platter of fish and chips after school and take in the salty marine air. All the Beluga caviar and the thinly shaved white truffles drown in the memory of your deep hazel eyes gleaming as you spoke of your first article published in the local newspaper. Across a banquette from you, it was as if all of time evaporated like sea water forming the billowiest of clouds. Of course, I wish back then that I…

No, I didn’t forget you as Neil placed a bouquet of plump red roses on my desk in the newsroom everyday for six months. I most certainly was out amongst the stars as in between advert breaks, he recounted to me his experiences hailing a jeepney in Manila, dancing at White House parties, and bathing on the shores of Ipanema as a foreign correspondent for the BBC. Whilst the two of us kept rock-solid faces in front of the camera before the whole country, behind the scenes, I was walking on clouds at his lilting laughter.

I still didn’t forget you as Neil and I jetted to Sydney for New Years Day 2022. Champagne from our sumptuous hotel buffet dinner bubbling inside of us, the two of us crept to the front of the crowd gathered in front of the harbour to watch the annual fireworks show light up the midnight. Little did I know that the colleague I’d been seeing, who’d headlined both the news bulletin I’d fronted and my bed, had planned a little surprise. An hour before the clock struck twelve, a pop awoke me from the reverie of being in my beloved’s arms. Without a word, Neil pointed up, and there it was: a banner with the question “Bronwen Langford, will you marry me ?” draped across the Sydney Harbour Bridge, bright red fireworks exploding amidst the dark sky. My only reply was to leap into his arms and give him a long, passionate kiss.

And yet, just one look at the sparkle from the ring, and I’m beaming as I see yet another Galaxy bar you’d laid on my classroom desk as a present once more. During the lunch breaks, we’d dash faster than a Concorde to our favourite bench by the football pitch and talk incessantly. Oh, and how could I not remember you writing “Bronwen, please go to the spring formal with me” on the blackboard before I came in. Sitting right next to you in school, it was as if I were suddenly weightless and we chuckled and told an entire library’s worth of stories. Of course, I wish back then that I…

Peter, the day you gave me this ring all those years ago, you thought that you’d caused our friendship to implode, as if the twenty years we’d known each other could be destroyed as easily as Kīlauea erupts. You misinterpreted my quiet stare into your large, hazel peepers as a sign that your love confession has chipped away at the marble monolith that is my ease in your presence, so you walked away. Oh, you had no idea that the way we were close like roots embedded in Earth never dulled in my eyes; in fact, it has always been you that has sparkled in my heart.

But I wish back then that I’d have listened to that tiny voice in my head, small as a sparkle, that begged me to tell you how I felt, that whispered your name in the wind. In the two decades we’ve been best mates, you’ve known that all I wanted was to leave our seaside hamlet, a desire as immovable as a boulder. How was I to know, though, that the gleam of glass and steel would be nothing compared to how you shine?

I wish too that the day I saw you in the middle of a packed St. Pancras hall, I approached you, let the seismic power of those three certain words carve out a possible life shared with you. Goodness, you looked so handsome in that t-shirt, the seafoam green reminding me of those afternoons by the coast where time itself could have drowned in the Channel. Without even thinking, I found my feet gliding across the station's floor to follow you. However, just as I was a stone's throw away from tapping you on the shoulder, a buzz reverberated in my ear and punched out the air from my lungs. Neil had messaged me to tell me our train to Brussels was about to board. I quickly tapped out a reply that I was coming and let you go, observed my chance of declaring all I held for you disappear in the twinkling of an eye.

Of course, now, it’s too late. This letter, the whirlwind of affections contained in my heart --- all of it shall only remain whispered to the stars sprawling over London, the same ones that illuminate the shores we once shared laughs on. I saw your photo in The Guardian's announcements page today. You and Chantal look so dazzling, the bands on your fingers glistening even from the black and white image. I hope that you two will be happy, that the bliss between you two makes your hearts float to the heavens for the rest of your lives. It’s the least I could wish for, really.

Oh, and another thing: If ever you decide to look at the sparkling night sky and think of me, don’t hesitate to call. I’m still here, waiting for your company to come back to me like a ring .

Always with a glimmer of hope,

Bronwen