02;
I walk back home. It’s warm outside but darker than it should be for june. Taking off my coat I hop off the kerb and cross the road. I find the door in the line of small terraces - red, shiny. Lumbering my work bag up 2 storeys I open the door, there’s a note on the side board.
I’ve taken the last of my stuff - hope you don’t mind. You were out. Take care Sam x.
“Fuck” I think to myself as I fall into the sofa. I close my eyes, heavy and tired. And slowly fall into repetitive breathing. Conscious - I open them. It’s then I realise. The room is empty, bare, the boxes that had piled up to the ceiling are now gone, and I was most definitely alone, now. No more clutter of him, nothing to remind me that I had once lived here in a lovely flat, in a lovely neighbourhood, with perfectly decent and ‘normal’ neighbours.
Rising up off the sofa, I turn my thoughts to the fridge. Walking past the bin, I dump the note left for me, and grab a bottle of cold water. Even the fridge has been disinfected of him, those silly pro-biotic drinks are now gone, those strange exotic fruits he used to buy, before letting them rot in the fridge - gone. Shaking my head, and trying hardest to forget about him, I pull myself up and head back to the sofa. Turning on the TV I flip channels mercilessly and without reason. Everything is visual to me now. I cannot take in their words. I stare at the mouth of one curly haired and constantly bemused comedian and try to understand him, but all I can think of is that stupid note.
Gulping the water I walk over to the large sash window, and open it fully. I look out and down the 3 storeys to the floor below. I contemplate the pavement below me - how far? How quick? How painful? But the cold breeze forces me back into reality. The door to the basement flat is decorated with white balloons and a string of plastic lanterns hangs over the open window. They’re having a party. I can hear them, the couple - newly engaged, and their successful friends. I imagine them sipping chardonnay and eating delicate canapés. Happy.
“Brian! - don’t show them that album!” a female voice bellows merrily.
“Darling, I can and I will!” Brian retorts with a loud guffaw. Moments later a howl of laughter rings out. My stomach flips and I suddenly feel sick. Jealous.
I adjust my eyes to the rooftops of the long terrace opposite. I can faintly hear music. It’s the verve. I can’t stand songs like this. Slow and painfully introspective. Obviously - Richard, the drugs aren’t working, because you’re a massive tool! I take one last look at the party beneath me, there are two girls smoking out the door, they are whispering something secretive. Suddenly they look up and see me peering down, I smile and pull the window to.
At no point did I ever see myself as lonely. I had been in a relationship with one man since I was a teenager, and towards the end I was constantly lonely. When he abruptly decided to take off to another life - without me, I was barely shocked. I didn’t feel it anymore. There was no catharsis, no connection. But now as I lay slumped in the old sofa we had bought together - from Ikea, as students, I am hauntingly lonely.
My thoughts turn to my phone. It’s been on silent all day. I pull it from the bottom of my bag. No messages. Not even one from my service provider. Tragic. Answering machine - one message! Oh okay, so someone is thinking of me.
Hi Sam it’s Matt just wondering if you’re coming out for that celebratory drink now you’re single- Followed by a swift Wait, did you move out or…Oh shit!
- then the slow monotonous tone. Delete.
“Well that’s like a kick in the face“, I mumble as I force the sticky door on the freezer open, and clumsily reach around the darkness for a cardboard meal of some description. Since the bulb went 3 months ago, hunting and gathering dinner is like a sadistic game of culinary Russian roulette -
Goulash again. “Fuck Goulash. Fuck Matt“.
Goulash again. Fuck Goulash. Fuck Matt.