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My tongue had turned into a sour, dry bundle of flesh stopping any potential conversation or argument.There was a steady flow of tears down my cheeks and the only comfort was the little saltiness as they ran into my mouth.My body was really shaking violently and my teeth started to chatter despite my tongue.I tried to say something but nothing came.Around me the boys were silent and with the torches now directed towards me I felt like a deer fixed in car headlights on the motorway. Transfixed. About to die.I shook my head.Boy#1 leaned in closer, I could smell curry.In the gentlest of tones he said “We really don’t want to hurt you, you wouldn’t want that would you?”Again I shook my head.I felt as if someone was standing on my chest, my mind refused to work - a little frightened thing scuttled cowering into the dark, dark recess in the blackest depths of at the back of my mind and finding a tiny cupboard, crawled inside and shut it’s eyes tight - it was me!I knew my body still shook. We talked music, of course, something she loved in all forms, from the classical music she performed to Dixie-land jazz, early rock-and-roll and modern country. She poured forth her thoughts with a passion as only someone who loves an art form can. She also listened to my thoughts on my favorite music and accepted happily my repeated compliments on her skill with her flute.From there the conversation ranged all over. We talked dance, the theatre, art, even politics. We barely paused for the food and a smiling young waitress finally left a full, and open, bottle of wine for us to refill our glasses from as the night went on. We closed the restaurant and kept talking even as the door locked behind us.The night was warm and we were in no hurry. We had both taken cabs so there were no cars to worry about as we walked the old streets towards my shop/apartment. It took time, but it was well spent. Nan also had a keen appreciation of the Colonial architecture and the history behind the old.
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