THE GROUP IS DEAD

I’ve learned something about myself the last few days.
She said, ‘I can see how you feel excluded. I know you’ve said it before but I can see it now.’
We were about to leave when the people we knew and had shared a table with said they were staying the night and arranged to meet in the morning for breakfast.
‘No one said anything to us about staying the night,’ I said to her later which is when she said she understood why I might feel excluded.
‘It might be because they know you don’t drink,’ she said.
‘Maybe,’ I said, ‘but I can’t tell how much is me and how much is other people.’
‘You do exclude yourself,’ she said.
‘I know,’ I said. ‘But I don’t feel secure like I used to, something’s changed.’
The group I want to be part of existed for about ten years during which time it met as a whole group and as different combinations of its individual members. Even though I struggled to belong and feel valued, simply by being a member of the group was good for me…
…the group is dead…
…and despite it having ended I’ve still wanted what I got from the group…
…the group is dead…
…I’ve tried to keep the group alive by imagining that I am excluded from it…
…the group is dead…

SHIT OFF HIS SHOES

We drifted apart, stopped calling each other and meeting for drinks. One story I like to tell is it happened because I moved over here, that it was too far for either of us to visit. But I did visit every Friday, maybe I was too drunk one time too many.
I wonder if he said anything about us to anyone or just cleaned the shit off his shoes.

THE FIRST OF MANY

‘I love you,’ I told him once when were stoned on mushrooms and playing with tarot. The cards came alive and would speak to us in those strange voices they have.
We kept them in a box an eye carved on the top of the lid, an elipse.
‘Remember the two circles and laughing til we cried?’
Truth is? I miss what we had, making things together, then I said, ‘I’ve had enough,’ and he said, ‘Okay,’ when I needed him to say, ‘No,’ and help me fight my envy, the urge to destroy what is good in my life.
He wouldn’t have known that, not then and since we don’t talk…
I’d like to apologise, ‘Sorry,’ I’d say taking responsibility instead of blaming him as I’ve done for so long…and he’d be the first of many…

UNNECESSARY DISTURBANCE

He phoned me up and said, ‘Can you give him a lift back after we’ve finished playing?’
I said, ‘I don’t want to have to wait until the end before coming home.’
‘You leaving early?’ he said.
‘Might do.’
‘I’ll have to find someone else then,’ he said and put the phone down.
Once we were friends but not now and I don’t like myself for feeling pissed off the only time he contacts me is to ask a favour…
He’s one of those people maintains a distance from me about which I don't have a problem. But having made that decision I’d like them to respect themselves enough to stick to it and avoid any unnecessary disturbance.

OFF THE STREETS

We turned into Warwick Road from the St. Pauls roundabout.
‘I was parked here once,’ he said, ‘and a girl came up to me and asked if I was looking for some fun and I said, “I’m having fun already.”’
He laughed and looked over at me.
‘They work here,’ I said.
‘It used to be City Road,’ he said.
‘I remember,’ I said. ‘Now they work along here and up Stapleton Road and Fishponds Road a bit further on,’ I said.
He waved at someone who waved back from outside CC Tyres.
‘You know the taxi driver got stabbed down there?’ he said as he drove us down Warwick Road.
‘By the Old Fox?’ I said.
‘He was a friend of mine,’ he said.
‘Oh yeh?’
‘The man who did it stabbed him from behind through the back of the seat all the way into his heart dragged him out onto the road went through his pockets and left him to die.’
A wait at the junction…one…two cars, a van, a bus…
‘He was wearing a tag when he killed him,’ he said, ‘and they caught him using the mobile phone he’d stolen and wearing the man’s baseball cap. I mean,’ he said, ‘he was wearing a tag.’
‘He’s doing twenty-six years,’ I said remembering the photograph in the paper.
‘I know,’ he said, ‘but you got to keep them off the streets.’

DIFFERENT DIRECTIONS

‘Alright?’ he said as we approached from different directions the front entrance to the flats.
‘Hello,’ I said.
‘How are you?’ as I held the door for him and he walked through bent double the hood of his jacket partly concealing his face.
‘Well,’ I said. ‘How about yourself?’
‘Yes,’ he said taking the hood back from his head and looking up at me. ‘Not too bad.’
‘Weather’s a bit changeable,’ I said thinking of the conversation I’d had earlier about how we, the English, use talk of the weather to manage the anxiety of social interaction.
‘Isn’t it?’ he said. He rested his hands on knees as we waited for the lift to come down from six. ‘I’m knackered,’ he said.
‘I’m not surprised,’ I said. ‘Rain and wind this morning, then sun this afternoon.’
We got into the lift and he pressed for his then asked me what floor I wanted.
‘How’s the dogs?’
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘They’re over at the hostel now…’
‘I noticed…’
‘…they gave me a year’s ban having them here so they’re there with Mr and Mrs.’
‘I’ve seen one of them, I don’t know which it is, the lighter one…but I’ve seen him leaning out one of the top windows barking as I pass.’
‘That’s Eric,’ he said. ‘He’s my favourite. I know I shouldn’t have favourites but he was my first so he’s my little boy.’
‘Not so little,’ I said.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ve got three of them now so when I took them all out they can be a handful,’ and he showed me what it might be like waving his arms as if pulled in different directions.

HOME

It’s sterile. Putting feet up is not an option, nor is making a cup of tea for oneself. ‘I’m going to make a cup of tea,’ I said once, ‘anyone else want one?’
‘I’ll do it,’ she said getting up from the white puffed up sofa matching the white pile carpet.
‘It’s alright,’ I said, ‘I can do it.’
‘I insist,’ she said not through clenched teeth because she’s too polite for that but in a way that made it clear the insistence was not to be challenged further.
The cup of tea she brought me wasn’t the cup I’d’ve made which would have the bag left in to brew stronger as I drank.
Back at the flat I said, ‘Now I can have the cup of tea I’ve wanted all weekend.’
The D said, ‘I hope no one ever says that after getting home from visiting me.’
We’d left their house at six thirty, now it was one in the morning. Why so long? We’d spent four hours waiting by the side of the road playing I-spy, listening to the radio, texting friends, writing a piece a word each, being frightened, and wondering how much longer we’d have to wait for help to arrive.
‘You feel safer with the hazards on or off?’ I said to the D.
‘On,’ she said. ‘At least we can be seen.’
The car had started wobbling out of my control on the M3 above Southampton but had corrected itself quickly before, on the A34 north of Winchester, it had wobbled again but this time with a grinding noise coming from the rear forcing me to pull over into a convenient lay-by and phone for assistance. Two hours later some arrived then two hours after that the truck to take us home.
When I said goodnight to the D who wanted to phone a friend she said, ‘Thanks for getting us home.’

UNDER NEWSPAPERS

There was a sound clanging beneath our universe calling for mum. We laughed at a picture appearing above us. It followed after when we approached discretely, with caution considering circumstances beyond our control. Suddenly, quite amazingly, and despite previous knowledge of events we expected, success jumped forth and multiplied.
However and unfortunately although, we nevertheless sought hard evidence to which we would be bound respectably and in glorious technicolour. Cars swept away the remaining fears we conceived yesterday whilst claims against us were demanded by lawyers defending rights eroded earlier.
We wept.
But through tunnels prepared tomorrow, anticipating rain, wind, and fallow mud beneath us, we crawled desperately expanding possibilities awaiting trial. Tribulation loved misery beautifully completely and imaginatively.
Once, when taking stock, I said, ‘She loves carrot and me but hates beetroot.’
‘Is that right?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘They redden as embarrassment descends happily upon her, ripening without cause or care. Oh, magnificent worktop, how formica suits you, flattering curves, edges and depressions. She told me I could save money from hibernating under newspapers.’

ONE THING

‘I’m glad you came,’ she said.
Barely able to stand my legs full with memories of her I said, 'Okay.'
We looked down from the top of the glass house where I lived most of the time.
‘Who’s that?’ she said pointing at the figure below.
I cleared my throat, 'That's her.'
We kneeled down, our fingers touching as they hovered like damson flies over a pond.
‘You were good once,’ she said and showed me the photograph of the young boy I used to be.
‘I wouldn’t change anything,’ I said. ‘Because if you change one thing…’

DISREGARDING

On my way home waiting to cross the junction bottom of St. Michael’s Hill and Park Row when he e-mailed me after a weekend party at his place came to mind.
‘Sorry how she behaved, if I’d heard what she said to you I’d have said something about it,’ he wrote.
‘Thanks,’ I wrote back, ‘It was okay. She was drunk and sounded like she needed to get it off her chest and I thought she was channelling her mother.’
He didn’t reply then or written since. Predictably I took offence but once I got that out the way embarrassed because a reply is bothered but no reply is disregarding.

THE WAY THINGS WERE

On his back looking up from the worn brown carpet in the room we used to shoot and get stoned they were blue: his lips, the tips of his fingers, the ends of his toes.
‘What happened?’ I said.
‘OD'd,’ she said.
They got into the house infiltrated our space with their shit when one of the women worked the streets, dealt a little, brought some friends round and they moved in.
By the time we left the wreck that remained of the house we’d made our home any romance I’d had about the way we’d been living was dead.
The landlord said, ‘Thank you,’ when I gave him the key. ‘To be honest,’ he said, ‘I’m glad to see you go…no offence…’
I wasn’t offended, surprised we’d lasted so long the way things were.

A NICE EVENING

He’s not been around awhile at least I’ve not seen him but he got in a few floors below mine as the lift went down. I was a bit annoyed it stopped but quite pleased to see him.
‘Alright?’ he said looking out from the hood of his jacket.
‘Hello,’ I said. ‘How’re you?’
‘Got a touch of the flu,’ he said, bent double, hands on his knees.
‘Is it swine flu?’
‘I haven’t got the temperature,’ he said. ‘So I don’t think so, well they said I didn’t.’
‘No?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But it’s not the thing.’
‘Oh?’
‘No,’ he said, ‘the thing is I can handle the flu but it’s my thigh’s the thing that’s getting me.’
‘What about it?’
‘It’s blue and it hurts,’ he said.
‘You had it checked out?’
‘I’m going on Monday,’ he said. ‘It’ll be alright til then if I stay indoors and keep warm.’
‘Okay,’ I said.
As I held the front doors as we left the building he kept talking, walking as if stomach cramps. I listened, concerned, this young man always friendly, a user, vulnerable, in pain, things to say, asking after me and whoever else is waiting for the lift and shares the ride...
‘I’ll be alright,’ he said.
‘You take care of yourself,’ I said.
‘I will,’ he said. ‘Have a nice evening.’

He thought about the joy he'd brought into the world, the televised lives keeping him company.

THE WRITER

The writer sat at the desk in front of the window through which he looked out over the east side of the western city he’d made his home.

RELIEF

All the people I've known throughout the years who, during this time, have decided not to be my friend are wonderful, talented, good people. The reason for their decision to terminate a friendship with me is because I am a despicable person. I am glad I have come to accept this. I'm just disappointed it's taken so long despite the wife telling me years ago I was fundamentally unlikeable. Perhaps I should listen to her more often? Perhaps not...