They say that I’m the master, of loving and loosing heart.
On Saturday morning, I awake to the sound of my phone beeping. I do not check it. It is mid morning and the sun is out. There are yellow splashes of sunlight falling across my bedroom wall and bookcase. I wait for the feeling of pain or nausea to wash over me, but, it does not happen. I feel like a totally empty milk bottle; light and clear headed. I can hear the sound of traffic. I can feel my chest rise and fall with easy breathing.
When I do finally check my phone it is with heart palpitations. I expect it will be my sweetheart asking what I am doing today and should we do something together? I feel sick at the realization that if it is him, I will have to call him up and tell him what I am set out to tell him at some point today. I turn onto my side and reach out one skinny arm to pick up my phone from my bedside table. I creat a little doona fort so I can read the message from the warmth of my bedding.
It is not my sweetheart. How? How does he do this? Does he smell my soon to be aloneness on the morning wind? Is this a special power of imaginary friends? It must be. There is not one text from him. There are three. All three are like essays, they are so long. I read them with growing . . . nothing. I feel nothing. I consider briefly putting them up on my blog and putting each use of ‘I’ in bigger font and bold. Titling it a Narcisists response to being called a narcsisasst. It is actually ironic to the point of hilarity. By texting so much content in response to a piece of writing in which I allude to him being a narsissast, he responds by writing more texts. They articulate hoe painful it was to read what I had written. How he had wanted to write to me for days but did not want to be misread or over analysed.
I am a writer. Over analysis comes naturally to me. Why do I get this type of attention today of all days? The third text message ends at the word ‘and.’ Rather abrupt. Though maybe he had to rest his fingers after typing so much. He was in the process of relaying a dream he had about us. In the dream he and I were having a drink together and a guy comes up to us and puts his phone next to mine, on the table. ‘and. ’
And what? I think. Does he want me to ask? I do not ask. I simply put my phone down under my pillow and look up out of my window. I watch the pinwheel spin in the breeze, all the colours washing together. I try to dredge up some of that familiar hate I used to have for him. I fail. Hate is not the opposite of love.
Indifference is. I feel indifferent towards this wave of words from him. Shouldn’t he be enjoying the fruits of having a hot live in girlfriend, at this time of a Saturday? Not texting essays to me.
I see Sojo’s bedrrom door is open and knock anyway. ‘come in.’ She says. Her and Tom are sitting on her bed.
‘’Did you guys get sick last night?’’
They shake their heads and I tell them about vomiting out my bedroom window.
‘’Are you alright now?’’ Sojo asks.
‘’Yeah. Just very empty tummied.’’ I reply.
At 1:19pm, he texted me the rest of his dream. In it he tries to convince me that this guy has stolen my phone, which the guy has. I do not believe him. In the dream I totally shrug of his concern and theory. I tell him I must have simply lost my phone or left it at home. It is obvious to me that this is a dream brought on by anxiety. I do not know what to say in response. He says the dream was weird ,’’Like Rauch Painting.’’
I do not know who Rauch is and have no desire to find out. It is decided that I will respond with a simple, OK. But, I will not text this brief and spark of a response until Sunday afternoon. Who texts the least wins!. Yeah because I am a BOSS. He will see how this goes.
I spend the rest of the afternoon finishing the debute novel of the late Virginia Wolf; Melymbrosia. Oh, how time slugs along when you are on the cusp of doing something important. There is never a good time to do such a thing. As it starts to get dark outside, I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at my phone. It sits in my right hand. I look at my tomato red ugg boots on my feet. You had ordered them one Saturday night we spent together, drinking gin and tonics with slices of lime. You were sitting at your computer and I was sitting on your lap. Nobody else existed and we were just wasting time together. It did not feel wasted though. I love these tomato red ugg boots. They one of my favorite things.
I take my phone and call you. It only rings a couple of times.
‘’Hello.’’ You say with so much affection I nearly start to cry straight away. ‘’How are you?’’
‘’Oh. . . I’m alright. I vomited 5 times last night.’’
‘’Oh, are you alright?’’ He asks sounding worried.
‘’Yes, I did not even eat meat or dairy. I only had one glass of white wine.’’
‘’Was it old left overs>?’’ He asks.
‘’No, Soo and her boyfriend cooked.’’
‘’Did you eat later then them?’’
‘’No, we all ate together.’’ I say. ‘Hey , are you happy with me?’’
He takes a breath and lets it out. ’’Oh so we are having one of those talks.’’
‘’I feel like we are not looking in the same direction. Ever. We don’t communicate. I never even asked you about your Saturday night playing settlers of Katan.’’
‘’No, you didn’t.’’ He says in agreement. ‘’Can you remember how long it was after that that I spoke to you?’’
I thought back to that evening. I was leaving to go back to my house because I think that game is lame. One of friends was already there as I shrugged into my leather jacket and put my backpack on my back. I had been playing the part perfectly of a little punk bitch.
‘’No.’’ I say.
‘’I was really pissed at you. You were so rude.’’
‘I know.’’ I say. ‘And on Monday night when we were waiting for the cinema to open at novo.’’ I explain.’’ I was talking to you about Virginia Wolfg’s suicide note and you were not listening. You were looking at your phone.’’
That works the other way too, you know.’’ He says.
‘’In fact it works the other even more.’’
‘’I was about to say that I’m not blaming. I am explaining.’’
‘’So should I just say it then? Your breaking up with me?’’
I stare at my ugg boots. I have one hoisted up and resting on my heater.
‘’I’m letting you go so you can meet someone who thinks the tempreture of your hands is perfect.’’ I sob.
‘’Would it make you feel better if we agreed instead?’’
‘’Oh, it’s not about making me feel better.’’ I say sniffing up snot and tears.
‘’I’m so proud of you. You are being the better person here.’’
‘’Really. Can you please promise me that you wont hide everything that reminds youy of me. Or throw it away? I want to keep that stuff.’’
‘’Even the 5,6,7,8S T shirt that you bought for you but does not fit you?’’
‘’Fuck you.’’ He says softly. ‘’But, of course.’’
‘’I have been wearing it bed all week.’’ I say. There is a pause.
‘’I never want to have sex.’’ I burst out. ‘’ And I have been saying it is because of my kidney disease. It may be better when I get a transplant. But, who knows when that will happen. It could be years. You deserve to be with someone who wants to have sex with you.’’
‘’Jess, of course I like to fuck you and yes I would like to fuck more. But. . . Jess, I love you.’’
I cry and give a gulp before answering. ‘’I love you, too. . . But, . . . it’s not enough.’’
‘’I just want to come over and hold you.’’ He says. ‘’Do you want me to come over?’’
I do. I really really do. ‘’If. . . if I see your face. . . ‘’ I do not finish the sentence I just cry.
‘’I’m still going to care about you and be your friend.’’ He says.
‘’Oh, I am so relieved to hear you say that.’’ I say with fresh tears falling down my cheeks. ‘’Where are you?’’
He says a name of someone I have only met once but heard about. I never really paid much attention when it came to his friends.
‘’His girlfriend is in Perth and has been cheating on him.’’
‘’Oh that’s terrible.’’ I say.
‘’I don’t want to hang up on you.’’ He says.
‘’I don’t want to hang up on you.’’ I say. ‘’But, we probably should.’’
‘’Well, we are still going to see Veruca Salt?’’
‘’Yes. I will see you there.’’ I say.
‘’This wont hit me till about two weeks later. You know me.’’ He says. ‘’You will probably be all tra la la la, by that time.’’
I smile and wipe my eyes with my free hand. ‘’I’m not so sure about that.’’
‘’I’m going to say good bye now.’’
‘’I’m going to say see ya, instead.’’I say.
He is gone. I put my phone down and walk out of my bedroom. The hallway is a common congregating place in this share house and at this moment it thus. Sojo comes out of her room and opens up her arms after I simply say. ‘’I did it.’’ I let her hug me and cry into her green jacket. We break apart and I stand in my open doorway which is across from Celeste’s room. She comes out and looks at me with wide eyes. ‘’You look so. . . ‘’ I wait for her to complete the sentence but she simply starts it again. ‘’You look so. . . ‘’
‘’I look like shit. I know.’’ I say, sniffing and laughing a little through my tears. They come into my bedroom and Celeste sits beside me on the bed and Sojo sits on my desk chair. The desk chair and desk were found and kept from a previouse share house.
‘’This is one of the most honest things you have ever done. ‘’ Celest tells me.
‘’I am very proud of you.’’ Sojo tells me. I stare at her beautiful long legs that are in floral pattened leggings. She is wearing her dusty pink ugg boots. Celest is getting ready to go out and when she hugs me goodbuy I always feel like im hugging something extremely delicate. ‘’I want to stay here with you,’’ she says looking worried.
‘’It is fine,’’ I say. ‘’Go, and see your film.’’ She hugs me again and gets up to leave the room.
Sojo remains seated and looks at me thoughtfully. ‘’I’m really looking forward to you being happy and around more.’’ She says which immediately makes me feel a bit better. She looks out my window with interest and then turns to me again. ‘’There is a rat outside your window.’’ She says.
‘’It is probably scrounging around for any remnants of my spewy shame.’’ I say.
We talk a bit longer and then Sojo goes to her own room to do some homework.
‘’I will be here if you need me.’’ She says.
I spend the rest of my Saturday evening watching two terrible American movies that I find on youtube. One about an uptight college freshmen who has promised to save herself for marriage. Oh the ramifications when she is roomed at college with a sex positive blonde who is scared of growing up and graduating. I make one of those packet pastas but burn it. I stand at the stove but not paying attention. I am remembering the time I had a drunken fight with a friend in Coburg one evening and walked home in tears. I ignored my phone and went straight to bed, when I got home. My sweetheart had been trying to call and got so worried when he found out my friend had let me walk home, that he drove to my house to make sure I was safe. My housemate must have let hiom in. He came into my bedroom all out of breath and nearly crying. ‘’I had no idea what to do if you were not here.’’ He had said as he stroked my head and face. ‘’you’re here.’’ I had said still a bit drunk.
‘’Do you want me to stay?’’ He had asked.
So he did.
When I finally looked at my pasta. It was practically all stuck to the pot bottom. I scraped the top layer of pasta that was not black, into a bowl and added some tuna. I left the pot soaking in hot water. I should not cook when distressed.
I take my concoction into my bedroom and eat it as I watch another terrible film which is basically an assault on woman kind everywhere. A bodaciouse and funny women want to be a writer for the magazine she edits. But, nobody want to read advice from a fat women, right? Like what would they have to offer. So the woman pretends to be a skinny woman from Britain, and writes her brilliant column under this guise of ananomity. The more weight she looses the more a handsome guy likes her. I find myself shoving pasta into my mouth and getting angrier and angrier.
When Celeste gets home, I am curled up in my bed watching Broad city on my lap top, which is resting on my desk chair. She knocks and then enters my room. She brings in a small vase with some lavender in it and places it on my windowsill. ‘’Here is that vase I was meaning to give you earlier.’’ She says.
‘’Did you have fun at the film?’’ I ask
‘’Yes, but I thought of you a lot.’’
She leans down and kisses my head. ‘’I will see you tomorrow.’’ She says.
After she leaves, I roll over to the side of my bed that is closest to the wall. I always made you sleep on that side, even though you had to get up before me. That side still smells of you and I push my face into the pillow and breath in deeply.
My phone beeps and it is from you.
Sorry I sucked at stuff. Is what it says.
I start to cry again. It is just so stupid. Is this god’s idea of a joke? Is he laughing at me? I have a feeling he is quite often. Why can’t two people who are really coll and amazing in different ways, work together as a couple? What the hell is all this nonsense? He is cool. I am cool. What the fuck is the problem? And now he is sad and blaming himself. All he did was try and make me happy.
While still half buried in the pillow that smells of him I text through tears.
You sucked at nothing.
It will be more than a week untill I change my bed sheets.