I woke up and my initial first morning
thoughts made me happy. I began thinking of women and how they get undressed
making ready for bed; the way they can peel off their soft garments in long
slow sexy movements and then take the precious time to fold them neatly and
then placing them in an orderly pile. I was thinking of women and other
pleasant images when the telephone sounded. I glanced over at the clock, it was
ten a.m. I slid out of bed and made my way through to the lounge and picked up
the receiver. Hello I said.
Hello A voice said back. It
was a voice I knew well but the voice sounded flat and sorrowful. The voice
belonged to a friend of mine and he told me that his wife had left him again
and that it was for good, and that there would be no coming back this time, and
that if I wasnt busy would I mind calling round and having a few drinks
to keep him from crying and going insane. I didnt have a great deal
planned so I went over.
He was waiting at his front door and
silently greeted me with a nod of his head. His face was stained with the
sadness and tragedy of the situation; his eyes were bloodshot and swollen. We
went inside and sat upon the sofa; he was drinking vodka and he was already a
little drunk; he poured me a shot and then said Shes gone, gone
forever. This time its for real - thats what she said. Shes
never said that before. This time its for real. Shes only been gone
for a couple of hours and already it seems like forever and its going to
be forever. Shes gone. Gone forever and already I feel quite
The manner and tone in which my friend
said the word lonely stayed with me for a while, loneliness was
something that I had never really known. I dont tend to seek the company
of others, I prefer my own, and have always avoided any long term romantic
relationships that demand a commitment of some kind. As much as I wanted
desperately to do I could not think of a damn word to say to my saddened friend
that would be of any comfort or value to him; I mean what can you say to
someone who is feeling shitty about love?
Suddenly my friend said I feel
shitty about love, everywhere I look there she is, right in front of me. I feel
shitty, really shitty about love
I looked around the room and it was
true. Photographs of his wife were everywhere, small, medium and large pictures
adorned the walls and display cabinets and shelves; photographs of his wife and
he embracing and kissing and laughing together in times now gone forever. There
was no getting away from her.
As the room fell silent a small portable
radio could be heard. A woman began to sing about love. It was a sad song. She
sang of how her loved one had just marched off to war. Well, men are foolish
enough to go fight wars, no big deal; but she went on to sing of how they had
just got married and how she, to her joy, was expecting their first baby. A
second voice began to sing, it was her husband. He sang of how he had just been
shot and that it was a fatal wound and that he would not be returning. Of
course he would never know about the child. He sang an emotional goodbye. Of
course, his wife didnt know that he was dying, she was still singing and
hoping for his safe return into her life; she had so much love for him that she
would wait forever and a day.
It was some song.
My friend lurched to his feet and
staggered over to the radio. LOVE, he shouted at the radio, LOVE IS
SHITTY! He angrily picked up the radio and threw it with force
against a wall. It bounced off in shattered pieces and lay scattered upon the
carpet. From somewhere out of the broken pieces of radio, the singing woman
could just about be heard. My friend quickly located the working piece of the
radio and crashed his foot down upon it. The womans voice
I wonder what happened to her and
the baby? I said out aloud.
My friends eyes rolled back into
their sockets, he groaned and then passed out, crashing to the floor amongst
the smashed up pieces of radio. He didnt care about love; he thought love
was a shitty thing, somewhere his wife probably thought so too.