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Love is

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Sitting at the computer in his North London college library during lunch break, Aaron Fletcher typed the words ‘love is’ into the search engine Google. Naively he hoped that with the advent of today’s groundbreaking information technology, he might be offered a simple and straightforward explanation to one of life’s sixty four thousand dollar questions. Love is what, exactly? 

Although streetwise, intelligent and quietly confident, how could the 17-year old student even begin to comprehend that one does not simply surf the internet to acquire such profound knowledge. It is only uniquely learned by boarding the ‘white knuckle ride’ called ‘Love’ with its own extreme loops, centrifugal force and more adrenalin rushes than any theme park attraction. This little jaunt is the real ghost train, which incidentally, stops on route at both Heaven and Hell, so be careful where you disembark. Plainly put, it can thrill or kill you.

Aaron nervously bit his index fingernail and brushed back his dark hair, then his jaw hit the floor after Google returned a staggering eighteen million pages!

Eating was forbidden in the library, so as he discreetly took another bite of the chocolate bar he’d purchased at the canteen vending machine, it dawned on him that the lunch break didn’t provide nearly enough time to begin unravelling this exciting new dilemma. Several return visits to the computer would obviously be necessary. He smiled and thought to himself: “There’s not enough paper in the printer to print off eighteen million sheets”.

Feeling slightly satisfied that he’d at least begun the intellectual journey towards the definition of what love may or may not be, he headed for the college lawn to relax a while in the midday April sun. His Algerian light brown skin always tanned quickly. It was also a perfect place to ponder those three little words his Indian girlfriend of two months, Varuni, had whispered to him the night before: “I love you”. 

Alone on a bench by one of the big oak trees, Aaron stared into the sky and remembered how that morning over breakfast he had reluctantly, sheepishly even, enquired from his mother Annette if maybe she could shed any light on the subject. “Oh, and who might this person in love be?” she asked with a wry smile and that posh English tone she could imitate so well. Then, after a deliberate pause and sip of her freshly poured Darjeeling tea, she referred him to the rather cryptic response given by Prince Charles to the media in 1981 when asked if he and Diana were in love, to which he’d famously replied “yes of course we’re in love……. whatever love is”.

Annette Fletcher was a proud 47-year old, savvy, single mum. She was born and raised in the popular seaside town Brighton and now worked in the marketing department of a top advertising company in London’s exciting Docklands. Very early on, she was a determined lady who made the firm decision that any career ambitions would never stand in the way of her raising her only child Aaron. He was named after his father, a handsome French guy she dated briefly when he worked for a London bank during the third term of Margaret Thatcher’s Government in 1989. 

Unbeknown to both father and son, Annette had upsettingly discovered in her mid 20’s that one of her ovaries was not functioning properly. This might explain why she had been somewhat cavalier about contraception and found herself pregnant after what could only be described as an alcohol induced bedroom fumble following a party. Nevertheless, as far as she was concerned, this child was her miracle baby. She loved him resolutely and unconditionally.

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Started by
Limahl
09/04/2006 10:32:00

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Summary of the story so far

Current page by
Limahl
09/04/2006 10:32:00

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This story was started by singer Limahl formerly of Kajagoogoo. Read about Limahl on his author profile page. No summary yet.


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