Page 24 of Statistically Speaking
“Yeah, I suppose. Well. Look, I don’t really know what to suggest. But for starters, you need to relax and not let yourselfget so wrapped up in this that your brain explodes. If you’re going round to theirs for dinner, try to switch off for a bit first—go out with Karim or something. Stay in with him, even. I’ll put me earplugs in!”
I roll my eyes and reply, “Seriously, you have a filthy mind! And maybe I will go out with him again—but if I do, I want it to be because I like him, not because I’m... I don’t know, using him as a distraction?”
“In my experience most men don’t mind being used like that, but fair enough. Maybe tell him you need distracting and see what happens. But about Katie and her mum, I probably only have one thing to offer.”
I nod and say, “Okay. What’s that? All suggestions gratefully received.”
“I’d say be careful. I’d say this is a situation nobody is prepared for, even you. I’d say remember that poem, the one about treading softly?”
I know the one she means—“Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven.” It’s by W. B. Yeats, born 1865, Dublin, died France 1939. The dates are irrelevant, but the idea is not. I run over the last two lines in my mind:
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
I look back at Margie and reply, “Yes, I know it. I need to tread softly because I can’t crush their dreams, mess up their lives?”
“Yes, that,” she says, “but also your own, sweetheart. These are your dreams, whether you’ve realized it or not, and you are also laying them beneath their feet. I don’t want to see you crushed either.”
She is right. She is looking out for me. She knows my biggest secret; she has seen me at my weakest. I have talked about Baby to someone for the first time in almost eighteen years, and I am not sure how I feel now. Relieved? Scared? Like I have shared a burden? Possibly all of them.
I am also worried about what will happen next. I have untangled some of my knots, with Margie’s help, and do feel freer for it—but I know that even more are yet to come.
Chapter 10
Two Missing Baby Teeth and One Magic Cushion
I am about to leave work a few days later when Karim pops his head round the classroom door. We have chatted and exchanged messages, and I have danced around setting a time to go out with him again. I am, I think, being a bit of a prick.
“You’re avoiding me,” he says, sauntering over to my desk and perching his rather fine backside upon it.
“No, I’m not; I’m in the same room as you right now.”
“Only because I tracked you down, and because you didn’t have time to climb out the window.”
I glance over at the glass and its slightly rusted aluminum frame. We’re on the third floor, but I might have been tempted.
“Okay,” I concede, leaning back in my chair and trying to appear relaxed. I am far from relaxed, and not just because Karim is here. This is the evening I am due to go round to Erin and Katie’s house for dinner. “I’m sorry if I’ve been avoiding you. If it’s any consolation, it’s not because of you or anything you’ve done, or not done, or might do...”
“Right. Well, that makes perfect sense,” he says, grinning. He runs his hand through his hair, looks me right in the eyes, and adds: “Look, I don’t want to be that guy—that guy whohassles someone when the someone isn’t interested, but is too polite to say so? In fact, I’d hate to be that guy. It’d mess with my otherwise robust self-image.”
“Honestly, you’re not that guy, and I’m really not that polite. It’s—well, it’s like a list of clichés: it’s not you, it’s me; it’s complicated; this isn’t the right time; my head’s not in the right place. Take your pick—they’re all true. I do like you, Karim, and I know your robust self-image tells you that anyway—but I have a lot of stuff going on.”
“Any stuff I can, you know, help with?” he asks, sounding genuine. “I’m a good listener. Trained by the best.”
Having met Asha, and knowing about his childhood now, I am sure that he is a good listener. I’m sure that he is a kind man, that he has a fine heart as well as a fine backside. That he is someone who could matter in my life—which, of course, terrifies me.
I gaze at him for a moment and realize I am performing some kind of emotional risk assessment. I am wondering how much I can tell him, how much I can trust him. How much space I can allow him in my usually controlled world.
I decide within a few moments that this isn’t the right time. That I don’t even know what’s going on myself, that I still have no real answers. That he is a teacher and Katie is a student and it’s all a bit too tangled up and messy. I don’t want to drag him into all of this, but at the same time I don’t want to lie to him or dismiss him.
“I don’t know yet,” I reply simply. “I don’t know how the stuff in question is going to turn out. My friend Margie, who lives in the flat below me, suggested that I need distracting.”
“From the stuff?”
“From the stuff. She also suggested that you might be good at distracting me.”
“Ah, a wise woman. It is indeed one of my very best skills. I could probably get business cards made up that say Distractor for Hire. Also, I’m glad to hear you’ve been talking about me behind my back.”
