Lost Angeles

by David Louden

“It’s the season of giving so don’t be hogging.” She instructed. I handed her the two-paper joint and she took it in deep. “You on the outs then Doug.” Stated Janie, it wasn’t a question.

  “Perceptive young lady ain’t you!” I replied.

  “The Marley women have a way of doing things, I’ve seen Mum and Tess pull that cold shoulder shit for years.” Her words were little consolation, even if they were frighteningly accurate. “Hang in there Doug, sometimes it’s the short days”…she takes another drag “bitches be crazy in winter.” She finished.

  She handed the cigarette back, I contemplated checking my words but she was being nice. Marley women and emotional connections were short in quantity at the moment so I spoke.

  “Not this time Janie, my ass is caught up in the middle of a regime change.” It felt liberating to share, people should try it more often. “Kel’s got herself a new man.”

  “That’s pretty fuckin’ shitty Doug,” she sympathised “my older sister’s a stupid bitch.”

  She smiled as she said it, I felt my loins stir.

  “I’m not too sure she’d see it that way. I’m not too sure I see it that way either.” I said, all the while trying not to notice how the coastal air had whipped Janie’s nipples up into prominent points of interest.

  I’m not too sure if you’ve ever tried not to notice something but the rule is the second you try you’ve failed. Removing my coat I place it over her shoulders.

  “Oh I’m ok.” she said.

  “Respectfully Janie it’s more for my benefit than yours.” I point towards her chest with my eyes “Those puppies are fierce, damn good job growin’ them things.” I quipped.

  She laughed and when the noise stopped it broke down into a smile, she had Kelly’s smile. The grass was taking affect and an emotional security blanket was placed around me as I sunk into a retrospective fixation. Mentally I began listing all the things that Kelly and Janie had in common, there were plenty. My inebriated head seemingly thought that the younger sister was the emotional equivalent of a do over. I resisted.

  “You know Doug, just because Kelly can’t see what she’s got doesn’t mean it has to go to waste.” She let the last few words linger on her lips before tossing them out into the dark winter night.

  “I’m a little stoned, a little drunk and might be hallucinating from lack of sleep,” said I “but even I know that that, though incredibly tempting, is probably not the best idea.” Christ my will was like iron.

  “You don’t have to do anything, I’ll do all the work.” She rubbed her lips with her index finger as she eye fucked a hole through me.

  It was true that the Marley woman in my life had rationed head shortly after the two year marker. Previously it would have been the way to puncture an ad break in her favourite TV show, then reserved for special occasions and ultimately off the menu all together. Standing before me was a 2.0 who was coming into her prime and willing to give me something a little more rewarding than a DVD for Christmas but I wouldn’t wish that on Janie. Kelly had been a lot like her sister when we first met. She had been happy too – most importantly. Our relationship had been built on laughs. Late night conversations, wine, books, she would roll out her wicked Marlon Brando impression and we would laugh, promising to stay young and in love forever. Eventually life forced her to grow up, I refused and in the end she got her baby to take care of. I was a pissing, shitting, foul mouthed bouncing baby boy who relentlessly made her feel bad for being the one who remembered to pay the bills or grocery shop. The responsible one. Whether I was able to see it I had forced her to become the grown up by default and here was her little sister now volunteering for the same thankless ride.

  Before I could test my resolve the front door opened again and Alan appeared on the step, the cigarette had burnt itself out by this point and I nonchalantly dropped it into the flower bed by the front porch, he signals Janie inside before stepping out. I had to admit, it took a brave man to wear a bright red reindeer woollen sweater outside the security of his own four walls. I never knew Alan had it in him.

  “You taking stock?” Asked Alan, not unkindly.

  I’d already had this conversation but I was happy to go through it again with the provision that Father Marley didn’t offer to blow me.

  “Something along those lines Alan, you havin’ a Merry one?” I replied.

  “I am, thank you. You and Kelly…” he said ponderously “I might be wrong but things don’t appear to be too good.”

  This was one member of the family I didn’t want to make eye contact with at the moment, my sense of reality was slipping from my grasp and though my days as a Marley plus one were numbered there’s something about the sight of a disapproving parent that transforms everyone to an approval seeking nappy pooper.

  “She doesn’t want to trouble you guys with it, but yeah…it’s not gonna last.” I stated.

  “Anything to do with Rick?” He inquired. It was nice to see that I wasn’t as paranoid as the marijuana was currently making me.

  “Exactly!” I popped.

  “I know my daughters well enough to know that when they start harping on about a boy it spells trouble. Who is he?” Alan asked.

  “A book dealer from the Upper Malone.” I confessed.

  “And you’re happy to let him swoop in and steal her from you?” Christ this guy is actually on my side.

  “She’s not mine to steal, I love her Alan I do but the lady ain’t happy and I’m incapable of correcting that.”

  He nodded “Ok, sad but ok. You’ve been good to her Doug, regardless of whatever shit is goin’ on between you two I remember when she needed you…one last question then I’ll stop probing.”

  Emotionally I was a little drained from everything that had taken place during the twenty hours of Jesus’ birthday we had already had, bracing myself for whatever was coming from the head of the clan I nodded in acceptance.

  “You going to share that weed or do I have to tell on you?”

  Parked up on the gravelled driveway leading from the main road up to the large white washed home of the Marley family I rolled two more and passed one to the Father in-law I’d never have and never appreciated. Sparking up he turns the car engine on and the CD player springs into life with the Grant Lee Buffalo album I had lent him a few years prior. With the windows in his top of the range Audi firmly in place we slowly baked ourselves and chatted over why my hatred of golf was wrong, what made a good antihero and why Paul McCartney should just fuck off. Kelly tapped disapprovingly on the drivers’ side after an hour, she glared disapprovingly at me, like I had peer pressured her poor Father into getting wasted with me. We drove back to Belfast and our two bedroom cell on Stranmillis the way we drove to Bangor, in silence.

  It really hadn’t always been like this, it may have felt that way every time we got into a fighting match but at least that was emotion. It had been silent and passive and it had been forever. Two strangers dared to share a bed but not brave enough to make physical contact with one another. It hadn’t always been like this.

  It was actually semi remarkable that we made it out of the first month. Having opted for the Italian restaurant on Botanic Avenue for our first date we ate too much spaghetti and meatballs, washing it down with far too much wine and talked. We were part of the furniture that night as Kelly spoke of her dreams.

  “Jest all you want Morgan but you’ll see!” She said waving her wine in my face “One of these days I’ll have my own book boutique and bearded polo neck wearing intellectuals will be waxing lyrical in it and I’ll…”

  “Be needin’ rescuing again Marley!” I pitched in.

  “Hell no, I’ll be chasing them off with a yard brush. Not that kind of establishment. Hookers and drug addicts sure, as long as they like to read but those people…”

  Eventually, looking to get home to their significant others, the waiting staff had little choice but to politely tell us to fuck off. She’d link my arm; I’d catch her looking at me out of t
he corner of her eye as we walked to the Hatfield House for some very late-night off sales. I walked her home, on the way it started to rain and the streets would get slippery. Kelly stepped out of her heels and danced the rest of the way to her house in Ulsterville Gardens bare foot. She’d spend most of the walk home trying to convince me to join in but that wasn’t a look I felt I could pull off. Figuring I’d look like a homosexual Gene Kelly – the footwear stayed on.

  Kelly shared with four other girls at that time. The kitchen was coming down with pretty and delicate underwear that hung drying from any work surface possible. I’d never seen a house with some many panties and so little radiator space. I felt for Kelly having to share with such messy housemates. A few months later when we combined resources and put down our deposit – first and last month, for the apartment on Stranmillis I would learn that Kelly was the panty queen. The two bottles of wine would last less than two episodes of Black Books which she was obsessed with. Soon I was lying on the couch braiding her hair. I’m not entirely sure how this happened; it had probably come out of a “sure that’s easy” conversation. She’d hate it; I couldn’t blame her it looked pretty terrible.

  “How is it you made me look pre-op?” She would joke.

  That wouldn’t deter me, she was beautiful regardless of her new look of someone on the gender reassignment list. She’d shake it out pretty easily; as it would turn out not only did I do a downright terrible job aesthetically but also mechanically. She’d put some music on and drag me to my feet, as we danced – close, connected at hand and hip. Black Sabbath came on. It was the second time that night we’d heard the song. As Kelly taught me the basics of a good Waltz I got lost in her eyes. I ended up staying over. Neither of us had intended it but as the sun began to rise we fought the best fight we could against the night ending.

  Kelly avoided me the following day. She was as terrible at that as I was at braiding. When I tracked her down at her English Literature tutorial she seemed a mixture of pleased and worried at seeing me.

  “So what the actual fuck lady?! You jump a man’s bones then leave him twistin’?” I aimed for a jokey annoyance in tone.

  “Fucking hell you’re embarrassing.” Her face reddened.

  “Look if last night was just a thing…” I said mock casually.

  “No, not a thing…” Kelly spoke with a whisper, determined not to let her friends overhear “I don’t do that…you know on the first date. I didn’t want you to think…then I got embarrassed and I don’t regret…shit! First date…that’s poor.”

  “Least you didn’t have to do the walk of shame and if it makes you feel any better Bookfinders can be our first date…which makes last night our second.”

  “Thanks,” she said laughing in relief; her smile was amazing “you’re a sweetheart.”

  “Second date still makes you a big oul slut but you know…” I raised my eyebrows as she punched me on the arm. I couldn’t help but erupt into fits of laughter at myself. Rude I know.

  “Funny. I got a class so kindly piss off so I can think about things that aren’t you.” She stated smiling.

  “Sure thing lady.”

  “Gimme a call later. There’s a movie playing QFT about Goya that I want to see.” Her face had calmed.

  “He’s the lanky one from Streetfighter right?!”

  “You’re cute when you play idiot.” She said smoothly, then she kissed me and I forgot myself.

  The next week would rush in. Blues night at the Empire Music Hall, Champions League at Ryan’s Bar and Grill, dinner out, dinner in and always talking. She knew a lot about literature, loads on art, music and the workings of an internal combustion engine – summers with her dad well spent. She’d spent the night at my house at the end of that week, our first sleepover since that first night. In the morning still basking in the glow of Kelly I’d be woken by cries down the telephone from my mum. My sister had been having the odd relationship problem, odd problem in that it was the same one in her on again off again relationship with a building contractor. She’d had enough one night and went to stay with a friend. Coming back the following day she’d find him in the bath, bottle of scotch broken on the tiles next to the bathmat, submerged, not breathing and cold. This was a month prior to the day of my mum’s call. Since then she was doing ok, giving as good as she got around the dining table, getting on with things, acting like herself again or so we all thought. We found out how wrong we were when Mum called round to take her out shopping. The downstairs neighbours had noticed water coming through their ceiling that morning and when knocking the door didn’t get an answer they phoned the landlord who phoned the ambulance when he found her.

  When I somehow stumbled back into the bedroom after the call I managed to piece together a sentence as I attempted to explain to Kelly what was wrong with my face. She got dressed in what must have been eleven seconds. Dragging my shocked ass out the door she placed me in her car, the same car that would know so many silences in the future, and drove me to the Mater hospital. En route she had the presence of mind to call one of her roommates, Libby, the med student, and asked her what questions to ask. The doctor would explain it was serious; she had lost a lot of blood. This wasn’t a cry for help, she had fucking meant it. She cut deep and down the veins rather than across. She didn’t leave a note; she’d tried to kill herself in the same tub that had taken her old man. I guess she didn’t need a note. When we had heard all the doctors had to say Kelly took my mum home and put her to bed. She would give her two sleeping tablets that the doctor had prescribed to help with her anxious, screaming state. It was above and beyond the call of duty for the girlfriend and after only a week I was anticipating that Kelly probably couldn’t wait to get rid of me from her life.

  “Put that down Doug!” She said strictly when we sat down in my mum’s small living room whilst she slept upstairs. I lowered the bottle of vodka from my lips “It’s not gonna help you and it won’t help your mum.”

  She was right. She was usually right; she could always see the overall picture. The rest of us would get caught up with details that rubbed us the wrong way but Kelly could always see the best course of action. At times it was a blessing, other times it’d fuck me off no end. I’d know she was right, even when we were fighting over trivial shit but I didn’t always accept it as easily I did on this occasion. The bottle was like the family crest, and a way of pushing the emotions down. As she softly removed it from my hand her stillness caused the emotions to bubble up unchecked in my chest. As it broke free I sobbed and cursed my big sister for being a “stupid selfish fucker”, Kelly held me while my body convulsed and wracked itself with sobs. She kissed the top of my head and rocked me until it passed. Until she made it better.

  As first weeks together go that was probably the one that should have spelt doom for us but for some wondrous reason it didn’t, Marley wasn’t easily spooked. As the following day dawned it was my turn to play sheepish, I assumed that Kelly would want nothing to do with a fuck up with a family of fuck ups that couldn’t even fake normality for a week. I was really fucking embarrassed, I’d showed this girl my inner workings and I figured she’d probably never want to see me again. I was wrong and she was there waiting on me at the hospital when I came to visit. Sat in black jeans and a Kansas tee shirt; her hair tucked behind her ears, she was radiant as she held my mum’s hand.

  That seemed like a memory starring two other people, and once inside our Stranmillis apartment away from her family’s scrutiny Kelly busied herself with tidying and rearranging. Whatever it took to avoid eye contact with me. I stood before her, motionless, silently demanding she look at me. Her resistance broke as she tucked a buyer’s catalogue into the magazine rack and turned to face me. For the first time I saw it, I saw the effect living with me had had on her beautiful face. For the first time in her life she looks genuinely tired.

  “Don’t do this Kel…” I said.

  She quickly wipes a threatening tear and composes herself before speaking.


  “You should get some sleep tonight Doug, I don’t wanna see you running yourself sick again. I’m sorry.” And with that she left our living room and went to bed.

  Her avoidance hit me like a hockey stick to the gut, I limped to the bathroom. The lighting in that room made me look ghastly at the best of times, on this occasion I was sickly transparent. I was in no mood for anything, not even the memory of Janie’s pert sweater meat, her offer of oral release or the thought of being sandwiched between her and Tess at dinner couldn’t coax me into having some one on one time with myself. Opening the medicine cabinet I scavenge for pharmaceutical withdrawal, Kelly’s monthly visits usually lead to our medicine cabinet coming down with pain relief. At the back of the mirrored cube sat a half empty bottle of painkillers from when Kelly threw her back out playing doubles with her sister.

  Grabbing the bottle I make a beeline to the kitchen, “All her appliances are still here maybe she’s just spring cleaning a little early” I persuaded myself. I gathered the remainder of my festive bourbon, a bottle of dark rum, the bottle of gin found at my birthday party, so cheap it simply said ‘Gin’ on the label, and retired to my spot by the window in my armchair. My copy of 1984 sat by the window, opening it I began reading again while pouring myself a bourbon, rum and gin cocktail that in today’s acronym obsessed world I dubbed ‘bummin’. I allowed it the extra ‘m’ because of the state it leaves your bowel movements for days afterwards.

  Three glasses in and my ability to see straight has been severely compromised, by the time Winston discovers the second hand bookstore I’m anticipating what’s happening more than reading and within a page I begin to feel myself drift off. I hadn’t slept in two days but this was different. The bevy of over the counter and prescription drugs mixed with spirits of all creeds made for a formidable concoction, it was the vision that went first then my ability to hold my head up – leaving me rubbernecked. My efforts to crawl out of my armchair and get help were thwarted by a complete lack of motor skills and strength. I was losing a battle with myself, I didn’t stand a chance. Unsure what was awaiting me I let go and went with the journey into the dark like a Jules Verne character.