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The Last Night Of Being Yours…August 9, 2014

January 21, 2016

Thought I would dream of you more than I have done. It only happened on the night I called you. In the dream we were at a Chinease restaurant. The table-top was slightly sticky and you wiped it down with some napkins. I had just opened a fortune cookie and was holding the tiny piece of paper, trying to read the fortune. You were laughing at me and saying how could I not read it? I was such a huge fan of reading. I tried and tried but there was nothing written on the paper. Not a thing. I had no future. I had no fortune. It was all because of me. It was all in my own hands.

 

The night before that was a Friday. SoJo and her boyfriend had made dinner. We sat around the kitchen talking and eating and drinking white wine. I felt healthy eating a vegetarian soft taco shell filled with spinach and sweet potato. Pumpkin seeds were sprinkled all over the top with tomato sauce. I knew I had to call you at the latest by Sunday. I had to give you at least a day or so to get ready to face work on Monday. I did not end up calling you on Friday because I called Meg instead and we spoke for three hours. I sat up in my bed with the heater against my bed frame, my blanket over it so the heat emanated around my legs and kept me toast warm as I laughed in between talking and sipping from my half full wine glass. There was a tiny bug in my wine so I kept trying not to accidentally swallow it. I hoped it died drunk and happy, though.

 

‘’I think I just love him as a friend.’’ I say to Meg.

As I say it I know it is true. Is this what comes from always being friends with guys? Coming across one and feeling actual chemistry is so rare. ‘’He deserves to be with someone who wants to fuck as much as he does.’’ I say.

Conversation turns to the other person. Our mutual friend. My imaginary one.

‘’He contacted me the other day. He wanted me to read something he had written.’’ Meg said.

‘’Oh really? No how are you or anything?’’ I asked. I stretched up my arms and pointed my toes under the blankets, in a languid and delightful stretch. I returned my phone to my ear. ‘’What did you say?’’ I asked.

There was a brief silence. ‘’I didn’t like it. But, I responded nicely because I was unsure what I was meant to say. He really pissed me off. In response to my politeness, he texted back something like. I think your being kinder than you should. Tsk. Tsk..’’

‘’Oh, dear.’’ I said.

‘’I got so pissed because he and I do not have the history that he and you, do. So I decided to be more critical. I went through his work and just edited the fuck out of it. I was so so harsh.’’

‘’Was he grateful?’ I asked.

‘’Yeah.’’

I knew I shouldn’t ask the thing I was about to ask. I knew it was not fair or very nice to put my friend on the spot like this.

‘’Did you read my last piece of writing on my blog?’’ I asked her.

‘’Yeah.’’

‘’Is he a better writer than I am?’’

. . .

‘’When I read his stuff. I do not care. I do not care about the character or what is happening. It is all too convoluted.. When I read your stuff. . . ’’

I held my breath a moment in panic.

‘’Your writing has changed so much lately. I read it and actually find myself thinking, not that I want to sound wanky. But, I think wow, what a good turn of phrase. I feel stuff when I read your writing.’’

I exhale in relief and pride.

‘’Thanks.’’ I say.

‘’How are you feeling about him lately?’’ Meg asks.

I shrug even though I know she cannot see me doing it., over the phone.

‘’Nothing, now.’’

‘’Yeah, you have bigger and more important stuff top worry about.’’

 

It is nearly midnight when we say good night. I get out of my oven warm bed and brave the night air in order to go to the toilet and brush my teeth. The breezeway that leads to the toilet is shiver inducing icy cold. I wonder what you are doing tonight. My –soon- to- be- former- sweetheart. I wonder if the cold will get colder, once I have set you free.

 

Two hours later I awaken with a start. The first thing I become aware of, is pain. Terrible pain.. It swirls around my lower back and stomach. I want to sit up but the air outside my blankets is cold and unpleasant. I whimper a little as I struggle upwards into a sitting position. I struggle into my dressing gown and make my way to the toilet. I think this may fix things. The door to the yard is open and I wander out to look up at the sky. It is a cloudy night and there is no sign of the moon, until the clouds shift and it becomes present. Looking up at it makes me feel a bit more centred. It is then that I start to feel nausea rising up slowly within me.

 

I make my way back into my bed this time keeping on my dressing gown and piling up the pillows behind me. I sit there and wait for it to happen. I know it will. It is just a matter of time. I think of all the wonderful things you and I have have done together. I think of a future without you in it and it saddens me. It is then that it happens. I scramble out of bed and open my bedroom window. The cold air hits me and I lean out and vomit. I hear it hit the dirt below and shudder in relief. My knees are shaking and my shoulders aslo. I pause for a moment before vomiting again. I think this is it. I die now. How can a mere vegetarian dinner have such a consequence? Is my body reacting to the imminent emotional heartache that awaits my near future? I am interrupted by another wave of nausea and vomiting. My window opens out to a tall wooden fence. Jutting out from this fence is a window box of greenery. I have no idea who put it there or why. A few months ago, Celest planted a colourful pinwheel in it. To add some colour. It spins in the breeze. As I vomit I am sure to not vomit anywhere near my beloved pinwheel. It would be so sad to get specks of vomit on it. Once there seems to be nothing left but bile. I spit up as much as I can before simply leaning out the window and shivering. I have some water in a lemonade bottle on my bedside table. I take a swig and swish it around before spitting it out. Is this my body packing it on? My renal doctor always asks about nausea at night. I usually say no.

 

I decide to go and brush my teeth again, before trying to settle down for sleep. It is 4:30am. The house is quiet and dark. I come back from brushing my teeth and remove my dressing gown. I still feel wobbly and shaky. I lay in bed and blow my nose about five times. I simply throw the dirty tissues on the floor. Outside I hear the rain start to fall. The precipitation will help wash all the vomit away.

 

Everything inside me wants to escape. I think, before falling asleep.

 

 

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