THOSE WHO SUFFER LOVE
It was a funny night. A joyful day. Eleanor and I were half drunk when we arrived. Drunker as we walked down the high street so he could buy dinner.
At the Hawley Arms, he started to slip away. I reach my hand across the table, hold his hand tight. A bad day. At the Elephant's Head, I have to rest my arm across his shoulders. He's sitting, I'm standing. Our thighs touch. I rub my hand over his back.
He is full of things neither of us would have expected. I leave often. He is unhappy often. That night was full of silent don't gos and stay heres and who else do I haves.
When the girlfriend fell away, we did not resume the old habit. Something different. Always a weird alchemical reaction. Our characters mix differently, but still explosively, with time. The girlfriend is gone. The two best friend, better friends, the ones to whom I was always held in contrast are gone. I went through every friend he had, counting them off on my fingers, and he said he couldn't count on any of them. I didn't mention me and he didn't either.
I made him come back to my house. Made him a cup of tea that he didn't drink. Made him tell me what he was feeling.
He really hugged me for the first time in a long time. I made him do it properly because he wouldn't the first time.
The goodbye was sad. He was sad. He feels alone. I am a puzzle piece in this, but I don't really know what it is.
I say, 'Take care of yourself. You'll be alright. I'll see you in September.' I tell him to find a dumb girlfriend to occupy himself with until I get back. He half smiles, raises a hand, walks into the night