by James Eddy
made it seem like she was floating over the ground. It might've been because she was always on her toes or maybe it was just the slight flaring at the bottom of the jeans she wore. I don't know and I guess it doesn't really matter.
All I did was watch her step over the debris, picking up each thing delicately and occasionally glancing in my direction. She was trying not to wake me. Eventually, I'd find out this sort of kindness was typical of her.
I soon realised I couldn't go on deceiving her though, so I slowly opened my eyes fully and yawned.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” she asked.
“No it’s all right,” I said looking at her, “I think it was just time to wake up.”
I didn’t know how, but she'd cleared away almost all the mess. I realise now that I must've been watching a lot longer than I realised.
She asked if I'd like some breakfast. I couldn’t even begin to deny it. My stomach was growling so loudly it might even have been the reason she asked. I sat up on the sofa and only a few seconds later I was sitting at a table, breathing in fully the homely smell that woke me.
The first of the croissant and butter melted into oblivion in my mouth and my mind became clear enough to realise that Dan wasn't there. In the following three months I found out that wasn't unusual. The sun would barely rise each day before he was off, out and about, taking the kind of beautiful photos that had made his name. Thinking about it now, I figure he kind of knew that time was running out. After all, he'd known for most of his life that things can often be that way.
To begin with Rebecca and me would share breakfast and talk. Usually, it was just about my atrocious taste in women or the fact that I was a 'resting' actor and failing songwriter. She seemed to find it fun and easy to laugh at me. I didn't really mind and it didn't last too long anyway. The more the weeks went by, the more conversations drifted into other areas.
Usually, I tried to make conversations about her. That's how I found out she was a writer, although she never gave much away about what she actually wrote. I understood, although it did seem a little strange. I never saw her pick up a pen or sit at a typewriter or anything; not even in the quiet, fragile moments after she'd talked to her mum on the phone.
I think something was holding her back and I hate to say that it might have been Dan. Not deliberately obviously, but he couldn't help casting a long shadow. Back then it hardly made a difference though. There wasn’t much time to think about those things. The days went by too fast and the nights were even faster. I was happy to immerse myself in an unreal world of streets and sirens, barely there skirts and broken eyes and glasses. Along with the sweet sound of laughter and music that seeped into the night through the walls and cracks in the pavement.
Being in a group of Dan's friends was simply chaos. Drinks flowed far too freely, even for people already drunk on their own strangeness. I still can't say those night's weren’t a damn good time though.
Dan was always at the centre of it all too. With his camera always in hand, he'd tell us tales about every picture from every day. Each photograph, developed or not, always had a story. The one I remember best was from when he'd seen and photographed a teenage boy fast asleep at the foot of a tree. From that image, he came up with this ridiculous story to explain the look of contentment on the boy's face as he lay in the early morning sun. Dan always said that if he could come up with those stories then anyone could. I still reckon he should've given himself a lot more credit.
There was something chemically right about that mix of people. And it meant that coming up with ideas was more like setting fires just to see what would happen. The fact those ideas rarely led anywhere wasn't really the point. It was more about being brave enough to throw those thoughts out into the night. Brave enough to be fun and clever and dumb all at the same time.
It was a beautiful and exciting time but now I feel sad thinking about it. That world was dying and reality and responsibility were taking over. They all knew it and the cracks were starting to show. Dan was an exception but the majority of those guys had to settle down. Whatever they'd dreamt of being was never their destiny. Those wild, strange, and imaginative people would have to exist in the more simple forms the world would offer them.
That's when I found out there are a couple of ways people in that situation can react. They either accept it, or they fight it, even though failure is almost inevitable. And it was in these two different ways that Rebecca’s friends, Carla and Chris responded to the change.
Carla was ready. Settling down was something she'd already prepared for and everyone seemed to know it. There was only one exception and, unfortunately for her, it was her boyfriend Chris.
I always figured that Chris saw himself as a truly rebellious spirit, but I never knew what he thought he was rebelling against. I figured he had his reasons although he never shared them with me. Whatever they were though, they had nothing to do with his impending fatherhood. This I can say with complete certainty, because Carla hadn't told him she was pregnant.
Funnily enough, her not telling him always made me think she understood him a lot better than he understood himself. But then I guess no-one can know everything about another person; because it turned out that Chris was cheating on her.
He’d been seeing this dark-haired, sort of groupie girl for a couple of months. I remember seeing her out and about with our group once or twice. She wasn’t particularly memorable, just empty, pretty and graceless. I just don't get it, I suppose, but even thinking about it now, I never would've put her and Chris together. Still, these things tend to get found out and it was Dan who told me all about it.
It was in a photograph that he'd discovered the secret. By his own admission the photo itself wasn’t his best work. He explained how he'd been sitting on a park bench, thinking about the composition from the height and direction of where he was. Apparently, he wasn't happy but decided it'd do. Then all he did was wait. An old man walked by, bent over by age, and in one click the camera captured a look of intense joy on his face. His eye line in the photo showing the cause of his happiness. Running towards him was his grandson, with the same look of happiness and love on his face.
What Dan hadn't noticed when he'd taken the picture was the background. Trees had framed the central image but they'd also provided the background to another meeting. A man and a woman were engaged in a passionate kiss. One of them was unmistakably Chris; even from a distance, his imposing bulk couldn't be confused with anyone else. What was equally unmistakable was that the woman he was kissing wasn't Carla.
It has to be said the intensity of Dan’s anger about this surprised me. If anything I'd have said he was much closer to Chris than Carla. Still, his disgust at Chris’ behaviour was unmistakable. For him, there was no way to justify treating the mother of your child so terribly. And not knowing was no excuse either.
“I told him Carla was pregnant,” he said to me, “No sugar coating, just a swift kick to the head to get it back in the game… And all he says is ‘That’s the last thing I need’. The guys a fucking joke… You can’t. You shouldn’t do that… I can’t be around that. I can’t be dealing with this kind of shit, you know… I need to get out of here Scotty.”
I really didn't think he was serious. And even if he was, I figured he’d at least want Rebecca with him. I saw how important she was to him. She was the only person I ever saw him look to for approval. And yet, he left the following morning and he left on his own.
My assumption was probably stupid. For as long as I’d known him, Daniel Liman had been moving between places; coming and going for a few months at a time. Disappearing and reappearing again when it was least expected. Tying him down for any length of time had always been about as easy as nailing jelly to a wall.
Except this time, there was something different about the way he went. A month went by without a hint of when he'd be back. Letters arrived. They were cold and detached but quick to state that he was fine, without giving any address to reply to.
That's why I couldn’t tell him that Chris had come to his senses. That his words had been enough to make Chris commit himself to Carla and the ultrasound picture he kept in the pocket nearest his heart.
Another month went by without any sign of Dan returning. Life went on. He owned the house so there wasn't any rent to pay but I still thought I should get a job to back up Rebecca’s wages. The job wasn’t great. A bit of bar work, four nights a week. I was just glad it kept me drinking enough to hide all my unwanted feelings.
Rebecca was much more dignified than I was. By then, I knew Dan hadn't told her the real reason why he left. Turns out, he thought it was wrong to reveal the details to anyone who would've been upset by what Chris had done. I always wondered if the idea of hiding the truth from them every day had been what made him leave. I guess it doesn't matter much now. The important thing was that, instead of truth, Dan gave Rebecca vagueness and then he'd left her with silence.
For her, things had changed and not just because he'd left. That was something she was used to. The difference was actually within her. It wasn’t totally obvious to begin with but as the third month without Dan came and went, I saw the evidence for myself.
It might sound like nothing, but on her 23rd