‘Ahead’ – Wire
PERCEPTIONS, by which I mean the ways we always see or feel or understand and acknowledged the things that come into our lives, are funny things. I am seeing things in a new light, thanks to events and happenings of recent days and it seems like a whole portion of my time here on this Earth is dissolving and re-assembling in mysterious patterns. Shapes I’ve never seen before; never quite anticipated. Colours I’ll never be able to entirely conceive, feelings I’ll never fully appreciate. A plethora of unsung songs fill my head and fall into discord with new and alien sounds that drift through my mind, tampering with every level of my consciousness, fiddling with every thought, perplexing me in waking life and enrapturing me in my dreams. Both Id and Ego are now extremely aware of something I can only call The Strange.
I have never seen her cry as she did to me in the car at about 3am this morning. I have spent long hours with her and we have, together, skimmed the surface of something careless and dangerous. Something hideous and terrible.
At 2.15am this morning, we began a process of pulling out the truth from the dark places inside. The unspoken has been spoken, yes, but now my fear is that the process might not be allowed to continue; may not be allowed the time to thrive and grow. She is so much to me. But I fear I may now be even more to her than I ever was in the past. Or is that just my ego running wild again?
‘Over Theirs’ – Wire
She has changed and transformed. Fortunately – I hope – so have I. Things have never been this serious between us – and yet so unclear. Why won’t she speak the words that show so obviously upon her face; in those dark, deep eyes, on those curved red lips, that pretty nose, those pale cheeks.
There is a terror in our midst. And it has to be faced.
It’s hard to talk about it all right now. Soon, I’ll speak of dates and details. After tomorrow, it will be perhaps easier. By the end of tomorrow we can rest assured that this phase will be over, for better or worse. As she said: ‘Time, as they say, will tell…’
For once, I think I am hoping time will not tell the truth.
‘Them Heavy People’ – Kate Bush
So the day began in Barnes Bysea. Just after midnight we were all stuffing our faces with fast food and watching a storm begin out to sea. Some fantastic thunder and forked lightning.
Following this, we all drove out to Castle Rising (a kind of castle thing near King’s Lynn) which was both scary and stunning. We had an enjoyable time, though.
The storm came further inland, though, so we all decided to head back to Wisbech, as the thunder raged and huge, heavy, torrential raindrops battered the Earth. The drive home got especially tense, when a massive lightning flash caused all the street and road lighting to go out.
After dropping off our companions, Miranda said to me, ‘Do you want to come in for coffee?’, and even though it was 2.30am, I said yes.
And we sat in the kitchen with most of the cats. I say ‘most’, because humongous Ebenezer was notable by his absence. I drank coffee, and we sat silently and stared. When we finally found our tongues, we started by talking about nothing. I forget what was said. It was trivia, and as far as I could tell neither of us wanted to be focussing on nothing.
Miranda and I got to the nitty-gritty when I finally asked her why she was so morose and sad. She told me she felt she might be heading for a depression. But she wouldn’t tell me how or why. She just said time would tell.
She asked me why we had kissed last night. I explained that I had only intended to peck her on the cheek and that something had gone awry. She then apologised for our sex on Thursday/Friday, saying she wishes it hadn’t happened. She said it can’t have presented a very nice picture of her and put it down to the copious amounts of drink. I empathised and agreed it was probably a bad move, but then we had drunk a great deal. That said, I couldn’t deny that it had been enjoyable, wonderful in fact. Neither could she, I’m pleased to say. Neither of us could account for why it had happened. She asked me if we could put it somewhere at the back of our minds and move on and I said sure.
As she drove me home, I attempted to explain my feelings for her. At the time, the explanation seemed clear and well-defined, but I’m not sure now. I described my desire for her, my lust; explained that I DO have an incredible urge to be with her, to ‘go out’ with her, but know that it would be a mistake. I told her that I need her in my life + want us to be terribly close friends for a long, long time. Because that’s all we can ever really be.
As we pulled up outside Blackberry Narrow, she burst into tears. I’d never seen her cry like this before and it really pained me, bringing tears to my own eyes. She was very upset. But why?
‘I’ve had so much emotional hassle lately,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I could live with anymore…’
But then she asked me to tell her more about my feelings. I explained my obsession with her over the last four years; the way I hold the idea of her close to my heart, in such high regard. I told her I don’t want to keep on losing her.
At this, she began to cry even more.
I could have snapped at that, taken her in my arms and held her; kissed her, longingly + lovingly. But I held fast to my resolve; my sanity and sensibility. I squeezed her hand and told her we must stay in touch, go places together, do things – not walk out of each other’s lives for ever. I told her that if she got a new boyfriend, she must introduce me, we could be friends. I don’t want her to ever forsake my friendship.
‘I don’t think I want a boyfriend for a long time,’ she said. ‘Recent days have taught me one thing: I mustn’t just latch onto boys; I need to be independent. Ever since I met you, I’ve been going out with someone constantly. I’ve got to learn to be myself again; a singular person, not a duo. It’s all too much hassle…’
She cried and she cried and she cried.
Once inside, I went over the situation in my mind. The irony of it all is terrifying. I feel quite certain that Miranda thinks she might be pregnant. And if she thinks this because of what we did the other night/morning, then I think we’re both lost. The thought that Ritcherd Winterfood might impregnate Beatrice Miranda Wasp is both beautiful and terrifying.
[Images subject to control of individual Copyright Holders including works originated by Elton Townend Jones, but excluding any images or design attributed to ‘The Situation’ which are copyright of The Situation (see specific acknowledgements in the ‘Thanks to…’section below) / ‘Berwin Groomstool’ is an iteration of the Situation character ‘William Whicker’ and falls under joint copyright of Elton Townend Jones and Waen Shepherd / Based on true events and designed as a study of parochial British cultural and emotional life in the late 20th century, this blog is a work of fiction – cultural icons excluded, all characters and incidents featured are entirely fictional / This blog is non-profit; all video clips are used for illustrative purposes and almost always come from YouTube / No copyright infringement is intended – just trying to get things into context. Never forget: no man is an island. If you think anything I’ve used is damaging you in any way, please comment and immediate action will be taken to minimise offence / This notice was amended on 1 July 2012 and is intended to cover this and all posts on www.25yearstoolate.blogspot.com that precede it]
Next time: ‘World upside down…’