A to B You came over on a cold day, when my dog was really on heat. She had this little friend round who'd had his balls off and they were a tumbleweed of sex. You'd come over to talk, and you didn't smile when I pointed out my dog mounting her friend like she was the boy. You said 'Is there somewhere quiet we can go?' and I showed you into the study. You sat in the broken chair and I was worried it'd collapse under you, and I'd have not to laugh. It was when you were asking me that question again, that I looked out the window behind you, and saw that the dogs were at it on the mound beneath the pear tree. I looked away and back at you, and your eyes were red and sore. You said 'I don't know how to get from point A to B' and I said that I didn't either. You said 'Five years.' And I said 'Yes.' You said 'How could you?' and I didn't know, only that it was not difficult. I yawned. You looked me in the eye. I would have liked to have laid down on the floor and slept for an hour. 'Heavy night?' you asked. I pulled at my socks. Itched the back of my knee. You tried to get angry and I tried to look scared, but you knew I had seen it in a film and I knew you had read it in a book. You said 'You make me feel sick.' And I wondered why I hadn't been more worried about seeing you. You said 'Point A to point B' again, and we had a quiet spell. There was a brown cloud outside that was gold where the sun shone through it. It'd been a dry winter and the pear tree was blackening. The dog's tags tinkled as they humped. 'Do you even want to try?' you asked, and I wanted to give you an honest answer, and so I didn't answer. 'Five years.' You said 'Five years, you make me sick.' 'I make myself sick.' I said. 'It's little wonder that I make you sick too.' 'Who is this person?' you asked, meaning me; and I said nothing again. Your chair made a sound like a cracking walnut. You said 'I don't believe you when you say you're sorry. I don't believe you.' And I said, 'I'm sorry.' You said, 'I can't believe this is it. Five years. Just like that.' And you showed me your palms, as if they were just like that. 'I'm sorry,' I said because I couldn't think of a way from A to B. You stood up from the broken chair and I breathed out. I saw your eyes and the backs of your hands and I did want to stop you, but then wouldn't we have to start all over again? So I said it again, I said 'I'm sorry.' And you took it badly and turned your back to leave. If you had drawn breath you would have seen that the dogs in the garden had stopped fucking, and were stood side by side watching snow fall. |
