by Nick Earls
I’ve been clicking LATER for weeks now. It’s starting to get really cranky with me.
Yeah, I’ve got a strategy for that. That’s when I tell myself it’s a cartoon. I think you’ll find that helps. The whole thing gets a lot less stressful then.
Thanks a lot, George. I’m sure I’ll be fine now.
What icons? What shloopy noise? The only difference I noticed was the weasel, coming out to bug me every day and hit me for thirty bucks. Was there no shloopy noise before I took the time off? Surely there was. Surely there was some kind of noise, at least. And was there really any call for an upgrade? Is my day improved at all by a change in tone of the shloopy noise when I move things or open them? Is there some extra whoosh to it now? Some extra spring in my step as a result? How many of my precious megabytes are now devoted to things as purposeless as shlooping?
I’ve got no idea about this stuff. When people say ‘icon’ the first thing that comes into my mind is still the Orthodox Church.
Wendy comes into the kitchen when I’m making coffee.
Hi, she says, and then leaves it to me to say something.
Hi. Just thought I’d make some coffee.
Me too. She goes to fill the jug, gets her mug from the cupboard. She still has her back to me when she starts to crack up laughing. I’m sorry, she says when she turns. Last night was the strangest night I’ve had in my life, I think.
It’d be at least in my top ten too. Do you think it’s stranger than going round to someone’s house for dinner and pissing on the cat?
The hole next door, the shovel, that’s what made it for me. It was those finishing touches that made it special. The jug boils. I shouldn’t say that, should I? Flag’s really not well.
No. He doesn’t sound well.
I thought it was nice that you went round there.
Somehow I think that, even in time, Katie won’t come to feel the same.
No, I mean, going round to tell her . . .
I wasn’t going round to tell her. I was going round to be gutless. Sneak up, leave a card explaining things and a bunch of flowers as some kind of stupid gesture. That was the plan. And I’d put thought into it. It was my best plan. I thought face-to-face would be even more uncomfortable from Katie’s perspective.
Which it would have been.
Which it was. She did get to read the card in the car, remember. We got to do face-to-face. I don’t think she liked it.
No, she told me. I’m sorry if I did anything that contributed to this.
What do you mean?
Well, I might have accidentally contributed to her expectations. I got the impression . . . It doesn’t matter what impression I got. Katie just has to adjust to the idea that you aren’t interested, and that’s what I’ll be working on.
Um, it’s . . .
No. I don’t need to know the details. You’re my friend, she’s my crazy sister. You pissed on her cat, you stepped on her cat – all of it accidental, that stuff happens. Then there’s that business about the bath towels, and I never want to talk about it again either. These are two worlds that were not meant to collide. I realised that last night. And I realised, when I saw Katie with that knife, that there’s a lot I don’t need to know.
I hope she’s all right. How is she today?
Mental. Don’t call her.
Do you really think I was going to call her? You could beg me and I wouldn’t call her. I’m hoping she’s all right from afar.
Well, let’s see what happens to Flag. She presses the plunger, pours her coffee. Is anyone, ever, going to tell her he’s only a cat?
No, obviously. If someone stepped on my dog, I’d feel terrible. You are so not a pet person. I know she pushes it a bit with the Acapulco blanket . . .
Jon, she sent Flag postcards from Mexico. Four of them. She sent us one.
I’m sure she would have handled it differently if she’d known you were counting. Oh god, it was such a charmed life for Flag until last night, wasn’t it? How is she about me today?
Not good. I could lie, but she’s not good. She’s still pretty angry. And not entirely coherent.
What does that mean? What’s she said?
Something about how you seem to have it in for everything she stands for. I don’t know quite what that’s about.
Neither do I. What does she stand for?
She mentioned hair at the same time. But I don’t get the connection. Did something happen to her hair? Did she cry last night?
Yeah, but . . .
Did she get . . . she can get a bit messy about the face, a bit snuffly, when she cries. And when she cries a lot . . .
She cried a lot.
Damn. Poor Katie. And it got in her hair again?
No. There were tissues. It wasn’t a problem. Anyway, you know what it’s like. We’ve both got kids. Fluids’ll never put me off a person again. And you have to respect someone who doesn’t hold back.
Yeah. What a disaster. Have you got the sugar?
Sure.
She taps her single, carefully measured spoonful against the side of the Tupperware container, Hey, George says you’ve got a running buddy.
Yeah.
I thought you told me you ran with a group.
That’s sort of the idea, but it’s supposed to be flexible. This might surprise you, but we don’t have roll call, or anything. No-one does a headcount. It’s just running.
So there are lots of you, then?
Not lots.
So how big would the group be at its biggest?
So far?
No, next year. Yes, so far.
Still mainly the two of us. Me and the running buddy. You know the buddy theory with exercise? How it makes you better at sticking to the routine?
You were sticking to the routine already.
Well, maybe it gives her a routine. She’s a student from up north, a postgrad student, and she used to run with people there. She prefers to run with people.
You poor, powerless man. A young woman comes along and forces herself on you like that . . . Your pants are so on fire.
No-one forced anyone. It’s a series of coincidences. It’s healthy. And people should stop reading things into it.
And she’s butt ugly, right?
Look . . .
She stirs her coffee and laughs at me.
Too easy. She shakes her head. Way too easy. And I’ll take that as a ‘No, she’s not butt ugly,’ shall I?
We just go running. She’s got a runner’s body, I suppose.
Whatever. Having someone to run with is nice. And, let’s face it, it wasn’t going to be one of us. She pauses, and I’m bracing myself for some more reassurance that it’s okay that I’m not with Katie. How are you going, really?
I’m fine. Really. And I’m going. Things are moving along all right. Don’t think I’m stalled, or anything. I’ve got Lily for a start, and we’re okay. And I know it seems odd to start running with someone and then see them suddenly practically every day, but that’s how running works, if you think about it. You do it practically every day. So it could be that it’s not as complicated as George might like to think.
He doesn’t mean . . .
I know he doesn’t mean.
It’s just you that we’re thinking about. You know that, don’t you? With all of this interfering . . .
Yeah, I know. And it’s not interfering. But don’t make too much of the running. Please.
Okay. But sometimes you have to tell us what we should make of things. This, the last six months, it’s all been different for us, too. I wish things could be the way they were, but they can’t. So all I can wish, really, is that things work out for the best. That’s what we all want.
I know.
Sylvia’s at the door, holding a handful of files. We’ve got a couple waiting. Just thought I’d let you know.
My shirt wilts as I get out of the car at Ash’s place. From my east-facing window at work I could see nothing but clear sky, but the western storm
clouds have been building most of the afternoon. They’re not here yet though, and the air’s still thick and hot and humid in the world beyond airconditioning. In the distance, a City Cat hums along the river, behind Ash’s house.
Ash comes down the steps, her hair wet and slick. She’s wearing the dress she wore when we had lunch at uni a week and a half ago. She jumps into the car, swings the door shut behind her, and before I’m back in there she’s leaning over to the baby capsule, saying hello to Lily. Reaching to let Lily’s small hand take her finger, and asking her what kind of day she’s had.
Then she flops into the front seat and says, I’ve just been swimming. Thought it’d be a good day for a few laps.
And she smells like a clean, well-chlorinated pool as she sits there, transferring some of the damp in her hair to the headrest, wrapping her arms around herself as the sudden temperature change springs goose bumps up on them. And last night seems like a long and complicated nightmare I could have done without.
I shouldn’t feel that. When I think of last night, I should think more of the distress I’ve caused Katie and the harm I’ve caused Flag, but now that Ash is in the car it all seems to matter less. Or to be less real, or more in the past or another place.
Running buddy. Am I thinking ‘running buddy’? This is not how it’s supposed to be.
So what were you doing round there with flowers in the first place? she says, as she kneels on the floor with the Bean. She gives her fingers to hold again, this time one for each hand, and says, Go on, stand. Stand.
I put her glass of mineral water down beside her and I turn the ceiling fan up a level. There’s a grumble in the distance, thunder somewhere.
Ash lifts Lily so that she stands on her wobbly bow legs and then says, Nah.
I think she said ‘stand’.
I think she said ‘nah’. But nah is good, too. Not everyone gets nah.
Why am I getting a song about a drunken sailor in my head? Ash says, as Lily keeps wobbling. And what was that about the flowers?
It was all to do with a misunderstanding. After we had our usual approximately annual conversation a few weeks ago, she emailed me. I emailed back. Then we had coffee. You know, just coffee. Then suddenly it got out of control. I hadn’t given the slightest flicker of interest – I’m sure I hadn’t – then suddenly she’s got the candles out for dinner and we’ve got this big misunderstanding happening. So I went over there to clear it up. And I thought I’d take some flowers. She wasn’t expecting me, so she didn’t have the front lights on. And her cat rushed out, and I stepped on him. Then there’s the hole, her coming out, the light going on, and you know the rest.
Couldn’t she have misunderstood the flowers, too?
No, there was a card with them.
You were going to give her this on a card, too? A summary of the conversation you were going to have?
No. I was going to leave it on her top step. The flowers and the card.
You were going to just leave them and run off? That’s not very brave.
I never said it was an act of bravery. She’s a very private person. I thought it’d work better that way.
Ash gives me a look that suggests that a certain lack of bravery is still an issue, and that I could have done better. She moves to sit with her legs crossed and steers Lily into a sitting position on her right thigh, in a way that leaves Lily’s pale feet resting on one of her tanned ankles.
There we go. Enough of that standing. She looks back at me, drinks some of her mineral water. I’m sure you had good reasons.
Even her sister backed me up on it today. She said face-to-face would have been a mistake. It was part of the difficulty all the way along. Katie never said much, and then she’d spring things on me. And I wasn’t saying much because I thought there wasn’t much to say. I was just cruising along and then suddenly, bang, she’s got these feelings for me, and she’s probably thinking I’ve got them for her, too. Or at least some kind of feelings.
Why do people do that?
I’ve got no idea. It’s so unfortunate. She’s nice enough but, really, it was never going to happen. But I shouldn’t be talking about it now, should I?
Why? It sounds as though there’s quite a bit of talk going on behind your back. And at least some of it was to do with setting the two of you up, surely. That’s what it sounds like to me.
Maybe. She’s just – and I know this sounds kind of dismissive – but she’s just not my type. We don’t have common ground. I really wish it hadn’t escalated and ended up how it did – she must feel pretty bad now – but we haven’t ever had a conversation that hasn’t been crushingly awkward, for god’s sake. And, you know, where I come from that’s not a good sign.
Were the conversations less awkward before the feelings cropped up?
Yeah, probably. Never easy. Always awkward, but less awkward before.
See, it’s that unnecessary complication business again, she says, and there’s more thunder, closer. You had me worried before. When you called and told me you were out hurting animals and having knives pulled on you. I thought you must have had some dark side.
Yeah, that was it. The call was my other side warning you about the dark side. And the dark side likes to be clear with people on the issue of feelings. If they ignore the cat crushing, they get a horse’s head in their bed.
Well, that’s something to watch out for.
I’m sure you’re quite safe. Shall we order some takeaway before the storm breaks?
I don’t know that I’m up to takeaway. I haven’t been paid yet. I only started work yesterday.
That’s fine. I’ll pay.
You shouldn’t pay for me.
Why not? I started work ten years ago. I’ve been paid several times. And I wasn’t thinking anything wildly extravagant.
As long as I pay next time.
Sure.
No, I mean it.
Fine, mean it as much as you like. Now, let’s have an argument about which takeaway instead. That’d be more worthwhile.
I fetch my folder of takeaway menus without even thinking about it.
Ash laughs. You file these? Oh my god, you’ve got them in plastic. They’re in individual plastic sleeves.
They’re easier to read that way.
I can’t believe you.
What’s wrong with it? They put these things in your mailbox. They make them all A4 size. Do you think that’s by chance? They’re practically inviting you to have a system. I think this is smart.
You do, don’t you? You think it’s damn smart.
Yeah, I do. It may be just a little anally retentive as well, but it’s bloody useful.
And I bet you’ve got particular favourites from each place, haven’t you? Things you just reorder and reorder.
Well, yeah. But it’d be chaos otherwise. There must be two thousand meals in this thing.
But isn’t spontaneity a part of takeaway? Isn’t it spur-of-the-moment? Don’t you just make up your mind on the spot?
No. Not at all. Spontaneity is the enemy of clear thinking. The more shit you have to be spontaneous about, the more you use up the limited thinking power of your brain. There’s far too much emphasis placed on spontaneity. If every decision in life was treated like a new experience – like the first time you confront a Chinese restaurant menu and it seems to go forever – you’d get nothing done.
Okay. Well, give it to me. I’m going to choose, she says, and takes the menu. And it’s going to be very spontaneous.
But no weird bits of animals, all right? No feet, no noses, none of that.
She picks Indian, and orders more than we could ever eat. Enough that we qualify for free home delivery, so we don’t even have to go out to get it. And, without knowing it, she also happens to order things I regularly order.
We drink more mineral water. Ash feeds Lily and I put some laundry on. Elvis trots in from outside, drooping with the heat, and folds himself across my feet in his usual bony-limbed way.
; The storm builds and builds, and it breaks right after dinner gets here.
It comes in like a night coming early, black as an eclipse, and the cicadas go wild. The hot air that has waited all day to turn to something becomes wind, slipping in under the guard of the tree canopies, swirling the loose leaves, rushing them, scraping them along the verandah. And from the west a wall of rain comes at us, with a lumbering sound like a street-sweeping truck, erasing all but the outline of the next hill, collapsing onto the roof. We stand in the kitchen, Ash, Lily and me, wrapped up in this noise and the thrashing rain. Elvis, implacable before in the face of thunder, now stares me down, holds me responsible.
Ash sees the look this time, points to him and shouts at me, Your fault.
And then, fifteen minutes after it began, the storm is gone, marauding elsewhere, east of here, and the rain tails off and stops.
I pour us wine. Ash opens the food containers and acknowledges her rank over-ordering by saying, Hmmm, won’t be going hungry tonight.
No. But it was spontaneous. Very spontaneous. And that’s always good.
We sit out on the verandah in the relative cool. Somewhere not far away, fire alarms are ringing, then there’s the sound of sirens.
You feel bad about the person with the cat, don’t you?
Yeah, I do. It’s not a good situation, even apart from what I did to the cat. It’s not as if I haven’t had my share of unrequited interest in people. I know what it’s like. And it’s bad enough just having it, but it’s worse when it gets public. You feel like such a loser.
It’s difficult, the love business, she says, and lifts a forkful of lamb rogan josh to her mouth.
Fortunately, I don’t think the L word came up in this situation. I headed that one off at the pass.
I meant generally.
Yeah, but when is it the love business? When is something more than just a dumb crush or infatuation? I don’t know where the boundary between love and major enthusiasm lies.
Well, if you’re thinking boundaries, it’s probably not it. I guess you could maybe think of when it gets you physically, so it’s sort of beyond reason. When you feel it in the pit of your stomach and you get . . . what’s the name for it when your heart goes fast?