J.W Likes J.K
It was not even the dream and what you did in it that haunted me all day. Of course in the dream you were not as you are now. My, how you ballooned in your thirties. No, in my dream it was as if you were still 25, tall, dark and handsome with those glossy black lashes and pretty blue eyes. In the dream you were there and you were handsome and you were close. You were close enough to hold me against your broad chest. I would not have dreamt of you if I had gotten out of bed on waking at 6:30am.
Instead I went to the toilet and sat there with my knickers around my ankles, staring at the giant poster of Michael Jackson that is hanging in the toilet. It was there when I moved in a year and a half ago. I went back to bed because My head was hurting a heavy sharp ache as if someone had bludgeoned me in the back of my head. I lay down and suddenly there you were and I could touch you and feel you. We had killed someone or were thinking about it and it was all very cozy and familiar. The way we walked around my parents farm in the darkness of night. With the stars dotted above our heads and a full moon shining down on us.
When I finally opened my eyes to the present it was 11:30 am. The sun was high and my bedroom was filled with day light. I check my new facebook page and realize that you have liked me. You have liked my attempt at being a proper writer. It is there in my notification, your name and my name connected by one simple L word. Not the L word that used to connect our names together. Back when you would stir in your sleep and hold me and undress me and whisper into my ears, ‘What would I do if I lost you?’
But I am still pleased to see it to see that you still like me. We both know now what you did on losing me.
The day seems long and I spend it missing you for all the good it does to even say such a thing. It is not you I miss. That boy is dead now and something different is in existence now. I still go to the supermarket while missing you and wander the isles not sure of what to buy. I remember how you used to make love to me. The afternoon light streamn through the bedroom window of our Kensington town house that we shared with two of your friends.With your for arms on the mattress and your biceps flexing with the strain as you thrusted with out putting all your weight on me. So very careful not to hurt me. It was at those times that I felt my love for you would crush me, when I had you there above me, a part of you inside.
At the register the American man complains to the check out person how expensive the basil is. ‘ I am going to write a letter!’ he exclaims cheerfully. ‘3:95 for that tiny amount. I mean I am still buying it but, really.’
I grab a Cadbury cream egg and add it to my pile of carelessly collected items; co-co pops, english muffins, salmon and one sweet potato. I walk out of the shopping complez that is Barkly Square and walk up Sydney road in the twilight. I watch my long shadow as I walk. I stop and check my phone. I have a voicemail from my mother. Her voice is not at it’s usual high and excited pitch. It is lower and less chatty. ‘Hello Jess. Just calling to tell you they have moved my appointment back again because they do not know anything yet. So, call me back and we can discuss it.’
I know why I am missing you. It is because back then there was not a lot to worry about. Only each other and what was on T.V that night. And what there was to worry about seems so very silly and youthful in hindsight.
I continue walking to the large intersection as I make my way up brunswick road, I see two small birds trying to cross the busy road on foot. They keep getting as far as they can before getting terrified and scuttling back the way they came to hide under a parked car. I stand and watch in wonder. The tiny little feet skipping lightly on the concrete as they venture forth once again only to be thrawrted by the oncoming truck and bus. Why don’t they simply fly away and up up into the bright sky.
If I could I would.