Page 26 of Plight
I did know the reason whyElliot should stop. It was freakin’ flashing inside my head like a Vegas street sign.
Flash, flash. Because friends should never fuck. Flash, flash.
Apart from Chris, Elliot had been my only other true friend, and I didn’t want to screw that up now that he was back in my life after so long. The problem was that all we seemed to have done so far was fight, and I hated that.
Struggling to keep my eyes from closing under his intoxicating effect, I quickly found my bearings and stood back, away from his grasp. “I do know why. I’m … I’m seeing Chris.”
He turned away from me, dismissively, and immediately snatched up pieces of wood, tossing them aggressively into the wheelbarrow. His hurt and disappointment were obvious and they stirred an ache in my chest that I wasn’t used to feeling, a type of pain that stung without actually stinging. I wanted it to stop. I wanted to tell him the truth.
But I couldn’t.
At least not yet.
“Elliot, I—”
“If all you’ve got to tell me are lies, don’t bother. I don’t want to hear them.”
I wrung my hands together, hoping it would stop me from bursting into tears.
“And you should put a Band-Aid on that finger,” he added, not turning back to look at me. “Soil contamination has one of the highest potentials for harbouring pathogens.”
Nodding at him, but more at myself, because the nodding helped keep the tears at bay, I turned on my heel and headed for my car. I had a first aid kit under the driver’s seat. I also needed a moment of privacy to calm my racing heart.
Elliot didn’t so much assay a word to me for the rest of the day. Mum did, though, and she was on her third attempt of asking what was wrong.
“Nothing, Mum,” I replied while biting into my sandwich.
“You’re barely talking to each other. Did you have a fight?”
“Mum, we’re fine.”
“You don’t seem fine.” She poured herself a cup of tea from her flask. “Communication is the key to every relationship. You should go talk to him.”
“REALLY? You’re gonna give me advice on relationships?”
The moment those words left my mouth I wanted to pull them back in again, to tether them to a bottomless pit inside myself so they could never resurface. Mum’s non-existent love life wasn’t through any fault of her own. Dad had up and left when I was a baby. No phone calls. No birthday cards. No nothing. So it had just been Mum and I for as long as I could recall. She’d remarried when I was just two, but Ken died of a brain aneurysm less than a year later.
I don’t remember him, but I do have photos. Sadly, she never really recovered from losing Ken. Sure, she’d dated a couple of times, but it never went anywhere. She was happy on her own, and with me, and with her poodle, Jackson, and three cats.
Shuffling along the tattered wooden park bench we were seated on underneath the big gum tree, I rested my head on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“I know, dear.” She patted my leg and stood up. “Lover’s quarrels bring the worst out of us. They’re necessary. Inevitable. But don’t let them last for long.”
Mum took a few steps then knelt on the ground beside a nearby garden bed to continue her weeding, and that’s when it hit me. Although she was happy, she was also lonely, and I knew what that felt like, to be grateful and content with all you had while knowing there was more you could have and not wanting it — not seeking it.
To be content not to love was safe … and lonely.
Swallowing the last of the Milo Chris had poured into a thermos for me early that morning, I was about to return to my patch of weeding when Elliot unfolded a chair for Helen to sit on not even a metre away. They were laughing and smiling, as if one of them had just told a ridiculous joke. It was sweet and made me smile — they didn’t look lonely.
“There you go, Mum. Now, don’t break this one as well, okay?” Elliot’s eyes were gleaming at her, their brilliance even more brilliant due to him wearing all black. He looked delicious, and, annoyingly so, I desperately wanted another taste.
“I didn’t break the last one, young man. It broke itself.”
“Chairs can’t break themselves. That’s impossible.”
I laughed at his typical matter of factness and finished my last bite of sandwich, which was when Elliot’s eyes bounced off of mine like a pinball, their disappointment and anger stamping me all over. It hurt, the way they gleamed at Helen but disdainfully seared me. I didn’t like it. I wanted their glow. I liked their glow.
My chest tightened and my throat constricted. Why am I feeling so horrible and guilty, and sorry for myself?
