We all Most of us want romance, and drama. For our stories to build and build, all stitched with spice and fire. We want epic climaxes. We think of our lives in terms of the trailers for the films based on them. The big moments, the screaming and firing a gun in the rain, the last desperate sprint, the slow, quiet collision of two cars, the explosion we walk away from without looking. I never thought about this until Laika brought it up one day, and we discussed the kind of songs that we would use to score the trailers for the films of our lives. I can’t actually remember what I picked. Laika picked this Radiohead song. ‘Originally it was going to be on the soundtrack for Romeo + Juliet,’ she said. ‘But they went with Talk Show Host instead. The way it builds . . . perfect for my trailer. Then when that fuzz bass finally comes in at the end . . . it’s like the darkest, most self-hating orgasm ever.’ All the clips come together, the screaming and the rain and the explosions, the cutting getting ever faster, and then it ends on one shot, the money shot maybe, or a quiet one, staring out of the window, a single tear falling down a cheek. I decided to put it near the beginning of the CD, because why not. Because I’m not always thuddingly literal. Because it wasn’t as important a memory as I’m making it out to be here. Because because because because because . . .
. . . because of the wonderful things she does.
Hahaha.
HA. HA.
But seriously, it’s such a sick song, it really is.
POSSIBLE FUTURE 2
I still have the echo, but I’ve managed to push it to the very back of my head, and it stays there, mostly. Dreams are weird, still, but at least nothing has changed when I wake up.
The last few conversations with Lee and Laika kind of helped. And they kind of didn’t. It was still confusing being with them, because they made the echoes loud again, and that helped with the decision to not see them any more. That wasn’t the kind of decision I’ve ever been good at making, so it was good in that respect.
‘It’s just too confusing,’ said Laika. ‘I still have memories that I know aren’t mine. I deactivated my Facebook, my Twitter, all that stuff . . . need to keep quiet, or whatever.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Lee.
‘We just can’t know how much of it was real,’ said Laika. ‘I don’t know if we can ever know. Nobody wants to admit who had the feeling first, even if we could work it out. I still think we made it together. And that is beautiful. But it was kind of . . . ’
‘Too beautiful to last, or whatever?’ asked Lee. ‘I know that’s cheesy. But it kind of was.’
Thing about Bristol is, it’s a small city. Hard to avoid people, especially when you’ve spent most of your time moving in the same circles (well, when we weren’t spending time in our own exclusive circle . . . can three people make a circle? Whatever). And my suspicion is still that Lee and Laika will get back together. I still think it was one of them who had the feeling. Probably Laika. She spent way too much time telling Lee he was talking shit to not be in love with him somehow. But fuck it. Doesn’t matter.
What it means, ultimately, is that one of us has to be strong and move away. Or be weak and run away. Whatever. Whether it’s strong or weak is irrelevant. It’s correct, is what it is.
So I’m writing this (I do write, still, although I fucked the play off once Laika told me she’d already finished it, and I make myself not write poetry even though sometimes I really want to, which might be unhealthy or whatever, but again, fuck it) while I queue for the bus. Well. One of two buses. I have two tickets. And both buses are leaving at the same time.
This is not a random occurrence. I made sure this was going to be happening.
One bus is going home. Back to the country, where Mum and Dad are. Where all my brothers and sisters are. Or are not. The other is going to a random city.
Gotta go somewhere, innit.
But where?
Ooh, exciting.
Let’s fly.
‘There was so much waiting for us,’ said Lee, some other time, ‘when we were younger. We were –’
IF THIS IS THE FUTURE, TURN TO PAGE 1
Stuff Page 8