bored. I picked up my keys from the coffee table and played with them for a few
minutes before grabbing my coat and heading for the
door. As I approached, the doorbell rang. I opened it instantly. Sean was standing there.
“Hi,” he said and then he noticed I was holding my coat. “You’re going out. I’m sorry, I should have phoned.”
I was really happy to see him. I smiled and told him that I was on my way to see him. He brightened and came in. I made coffee and he sat at the counter. He was uncomfortable and apologised for his distance. I told him it was OK, that I understood.
“I did phone a few times but when —”
“I know,” I interrupted and put his coffee down in front of him, trying not to spill it, but my hand was shaking slightly. I sat opposite him and continued. “I just needed some time. It was selfish —”
“No, that’s not true!”
But I was determined to make things right. “You lost him too …”
I wanted to continue and apologise, but he took my hand and squeezed it.
“I was afraid I’d lost both of you,” he said.
“Me too,” I stammered.
Neither of us mentioned the mistaken kiss. It was too complicated, too embarrassing, too sad and too pathetic. Neither of us spoke about our guilt, but it was impossible to ignore it as it was painted into every facial expression.
If I hadn’t gone back inside for the lighter. If I hadn’t leaned down to kiss him. If he hadn’t told me I was beautiful. If I hadn’t dawdled, too embarrassed to move. Our lips met and John had died.
Sitting together was strange, unfamiliar. All that had gone before was dead and buried with John. We had to find a new way to communicate. I was no longer Sean’s best friend’s girlfriend. I was just me and of course we had a bond, the kind that is built up over time. We’d shared so much throughout college and now our adult lives, but I’m not sure either of us knew if it was enough to hold on to. We would have to start again with one another, a new playing field. Our comfy and safe flirtation was now behind us, our link now missing.
I made tea and we sat in silence.
“I was drunk,” he said after a long time.
Oh God, he’s talking about it.
“We all were,” I said after a time.
“I shouldn’t have kept you,” he mumbled.
“I can’t talk about it.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“It’s not your fault. It’s mine.”
He was welling up. I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t bear to see him broken. I wanted to hug him but couldn’t.
What would John think?
“I heard a good joke the other day,” I said hopefully. He wiped his tears and looked at me strangely. “Yeah?” he said.
“Yeah,” I agreed, hoping I’d get it right.
“Go on then,” he encouraged.
“A young girl is lying in her bed in the Rotunda hospital. The old nun comes up to her and asks her for the name of
her newborn baby’s father. The girl says she doesn’t know his name. The nun is puzzled and asks her why not and the girl says, ‘Listen, sister, if you ate a can of beans would you know which one made you fart?”
Sean laughed. I smiled. It was funnier when Declan told it.
“Who told you that?” he asked.
“A kid from my class — you’d like him. He reminds me of. .” I didn’t finish.
He smiled.
He looked tired. Black circles ringed his brown eyes making them unusually dull. His skin looked dry and sore, hidden under three days of stubble. He’d lost weight, so much so that his clothes looked big on him. He scratched at his new growth absentmindedly.
“Do you want to go and visit him?” he asked. “I can’t,” I said. “Not yet.”
Over our fourth cup of coffee the void was closing. We managed to find our neutral ground. We spoke about a movie coming out and the actor who had been caught
with his dick in a prostitute’s mouth. Somehow this led to a conversation about a nasty case of crabs he’d picked
up a few years ago.
“I thought my dick would fall off,” he
minutes before grabbing my coat and heading for the
door. As I approached, the doorbell rang. I opened it instantly. Sean was standing there.
“Hi,” he said and then he noticed I was holding my coat. “You’re going out. I’m sorry, I should have phoned.”
I was really happy to see him. I smiled and told him that I was on my way to see him. He brightened and came in. I made coffee and he sat at the counter. He was uncomfortable and apologised for his distance. I told him it was OK, that I understood.
“I did phone a few times but when —”
“I know,” I interrupted and put his coffee down in front of him, trying not to spill it, but my hand was shaking slightly. I sat opposite him and continued. “I just needed some time. It was selfish —”
“No, that’s not true!”
But I was determined to make things right. “You lost him too …”
I wanted to continue and apologise, but he took my hand and squeezed it.
“I was afraid I’d lost both of you,” he said.
“Me too,” I stammered.
Neither of us mentioned the mistaken kiss. It was too complicated, too embarrassing, too sad and too pathetic. Neither of us spoke about our guilt, but it was impossible to ignore it as it was painted into every facial expression.
If I hadn’t gone back inside for the lighter. If I hadn’t leaned down to kiss him. If he hadn’t told me I was beautiful. If I hadn’t dawdled, too embarrassed to move. Our lips met and John had died.
Sitting together was strange, unfamiliar. All that had gone before was dead and buried with John. We had to find a new way to communicate. I was no longer Sean’s best friend’s girlfriend. I was just me and of course we had a bond, the kind that is built up over time. We’d shared so much throughout college and now our adult lives, but I’m not sure either of us knew if it was enough to hold on to. We would have to start again with one another, a new playing field. Our comfy and safe flirtation was now behind us, our link now missing.
I made tea and we sat in silence.
“I was drunk,” he said after a long time.
Oh God, he’s talking about it.
“We all were,” I said after a time.
“I shouldn’t have kept you,” he mumbled.
“I can’t talk about it.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“It’s not your fault. It’s mine.”
He was welling up. I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t bear to see him broken. I wanted to hug him but couldn’t.
What would John think?
“I heard a good joke the other day,” I said hopefully. He wiped his tears and looked at me strangely. “Yeah?” he said.
“Yeah,” I agreed, hoping I’d get it right.
“Go on then,” he encouraged.
“A young girl is lying in her bed in the Rotunda hospital. The old nun comes up to her and asks her for the name of
her newborn baby’s father. The girl says she doesn’t know his name. The nun is puzzled and asks her why not and the girl says, ‘Listen, sister, if you ate a can of beans would you know which one made you fart?”
Sean laughed. I smiled. It was funnier when Declan told it.
“Who told you that?” he asked.
“A kid from my class — you’d like him. He reminds me of. .” I didn’t finish.
He smiled.
He looked tired. Black circles ringed his brown eyes making them unusually dull. His skin looked dry and sore, hidden under three days of stubble. He’d lost weight, so much so that his clothes looked big on him. He scratched at his new growth absentmindedly.
“Do you want to go and visit him?” he asked. “I can’t,” I said. “Not yet.”
Over our fourth cup of coffee the void was closing. We managed to find our neutral ground. We spoke about a movie coming out and the actor who had been caught
with his dick in a prostitute’s mouth. Somehow this led to a conversation about a nasty case of crabs he’d picked
up a few years ago.
“I thought my dick would fall off,” he
Similar Books
