Chapter 2 Inescapable, Unintelligible Grey

A Chapter by Siobahn McKenna

burning in hell/this piece of me fits in nowhere - Bukowski

As much as I never really have a favourite anything, because the human mind is this indefinite transient mess and I hate being put into boxes of concrete certainty -almost as much as I hate shorts and high top shoes, but not at much as the colour burnt orange - my favourite colour is red. At least it is tonight. I decided this while bending over the mirror and patting on some red lipstick, my glass of red wine, shiraz, was calling to me from across the room. Or was that my imagination? The colour red was trying to put my social anxiety to bed before I left the house. Actually social anxiety isn't the right word, insidious social dread might be better phrasing. It’s not that I don’t like people… actually its probably at least seventy seven percent that I don’t like people, but my life philosophy demands that is something that has to do with me. Thats a thought of reflection for a different time. Really I don’t like loud music, unless I'm driving and singing along, or drunk people asking for my name a dozen times. Hemingway and I only drink to make other people more interesting, and considering the amount of time we spend around them, him being dead, we did not need to drink often. I wondered when Gracie would be here. She would brighten the whole apartment with her smile, charging in with her terrible tasting white wine, we’d hug and she’d be so excited. Not that I’m stoic, but some people just brighten a room when they walk into it, she’s one of them. She’d join in on my wine drinking, her sister, Scarlette the second of my three female friends in total, would not be coming tonight. She was a little more grounded than Grace. They were almost twins, two of the best people I had ever met.

On the agenda for tonight was a house party.

I don’t know when I became an adult, maybe it was somewhere around the time I got my undergraduate degree but I kind of just wanted to play scrabble and read a book. But I’d been doing that for two weekends now. Thats why Grace was coming over. She didn't want me to become a shut in. Is it wrong to avoid people? When they just hurt you? When you just hurt them? Time proves again and again the true nature of people, the frail human condition. We all just want to be loved and recognized, feel in control…

Banging on the door.

« I’m glad you're here, I was beginning to wax philosophical »

« Aren’t you always? It would be more charming when you did if you did it less. »

Gracie flutters in, her red hair curled in a beautiful fashion, green eyes bright with excitement. She’s beautiful. I felt very much in the way of a brown eyed-haired poster child of ordinary next to her. But that was ok, everyone’s pretty in their own way -I liked to think that I’m charming and smart so it doesn’t matter as much that I’m plain.

« Thats the trouble with dispositions Grace, one would be infinitely more charming if they were just a hair altered, except you, I like you just as you are. »

« I’m not Bridget Jones. »

« Correct, you drink more »

We arrived at the house and I was three glasses in, mouth stained a little blue. She’d been rattling on the entire night about this man with whom she’d spent a passionate evening - please take my euphemism for all it is meant to be. He sounded like a chump. It made me think of Oliver, my best friend whom I’d almost lost after we broke up. That sounds so juvenile: broke up. We were no longer romantically entangled, maybe? That sounds worse. I just wasn’t in love with him anymore, funny how those things go. I caught myself missing him, he hadn't visited in awhile. Remembering Oliver sent familiar pains around the empty place where anatomically I’ve been told my heart should be. He’d broken it and I guess I’d returned the favour, not out of spite, but out of necessity. Fitzgerald said it: “There are all kinds of love in this world, but never the same love twice.” Sometimes you could love people, even when you weren’t in love with them. I continued cooing at Gracie’s glorification, I was sure, of this ostensibly charming man she’d met.

We entered the house and I clumsily removed my shoes, wobbling a little from the wine. So many people, so much noise, so much light. Literally every light in the house was on. I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Beverages were customary. I turned to look idly around the party, the sink was directly parallel to the hall spanning the kitchen and living room and it gave a few view of the living room. Clusters of people stood talking, some absentmindedly swaying to the music, laughing, flirting. It was beautiful and interesting to observe, and I was perfectly alright leaning against the counter, observing, as long as I didn't have to participate in the inane small talk. People were great, to look at, from afar, acting, smiling but they were messy up close. Heaven knows I am. I looked down to smooth my dark blue dress, it had white polka dots. Polka dots were my favourite. Raising my eyes, I sipped my water. Gazing back into the living room, a pale face caught my eye -instant recognition. It was the sarcastic classical literature reader I’d met at the bookstore a week and a half before. He smiled as he ducked around the segregations. There it was, the magnetism, I was pulled towards him. I almost choked on my water. Turning around I firmly grabbed the sink until the skin stretched completely over my knuckles. Nope nope nope nope nope. I knew his type.

“Shouldn’t you be like reading?” I heard his voice a few seconds later and composed my face before turning around.

“Shouldn’t you be like pretending to browse classical literature?” I raised my left eyebrow and then furrowed them as condescendingly as possible, if thats a thing. His tone had been playful but I genuinely wanted none of it. Well, I wanted a little of it. Only human I guess. But I wasn’t about to let that get the best of me. Somehow the left side of my face turned up in a traitor half smile. I looked down before he noticed, well, I hoped. Sipping from my glass, I chanced another look at him. He was smiling.

“I was not pretending. I actually ended up purchasing a book.”

“Which one?”

“I’m not telling.”

“Dorian Grey… So good.”

“I said I’m not telling.”

“So I’m wrong? Why not?”

“I didn’t say that. You’ll just have to come back to my place and see.”

“Oh wow, that was really good. Does that work on everyone?”

“Only the girls who frequent bookstores”

“And they’re a dime a dozen right?”

He just smirked. “Well… No.” I shook my head. The tendons in my neck stood out and I ground my molars. “I am not, and probably will never be, that drunk.”

“C’mon, it’s not a line.” Very convincing, bravo.

“I don’t know you, its like Schrodinger’s cat. Except you're probably a serial killer or a totally harmless closet intellectual.”

“What? Wait, why do I have to be a closet intellectual?”

“Just look at you.”

“You don’t even know me.” Damn, he used it against me.

“Lets keep it that way.” I knew I was being unkind, but I didn’t want anymore attention. Well, I did, lets be honest. But I wasn’t going to take it. Gracie was eyeing us up across from the living room, probably wondering who the incredible handsome man I was talking to was. He noticed her too and a faint expression flashed across his face that I couldn't put my finger on. Well, there it is. Like I said, Grace is beautiful. I took this opportunity to escape. Finishing off the rest of my water I briefly well-wished “Have a good night” before rushing off towards Grace. I hugged her on impact.

“Do you know him?” That was my greeting.

“Not particularly well darling. He was sarcastic to me in a bookstore once.”

“Thats Him”

Oh. Good thing I ran when I had the chance.

“Ohhh. Ok. Awkward. Do you want to leave or talk to him or stay and avoid him.” Those seemed to be our three options. The first was my preference, I was getting tired.

“Lets just hang out for a little longer and I’ll go chat him up later.”

“Deal.” I was trying to be enthusiastic. As gracefully as I could, I walked across the living room to stand against the wall by the back door. My hands were stuck firmly behind my back. Watching the room my mind wandered to Oliver and then to my little brothers. A few people struck up a conversation on the couch to my left so I started eavesdropping. Half-way through my dissection of their body language to intonation and actual words I heard the back door creak open. Someone grabbed my hand behind the wall, giving a little pull outside. Wow, Gracie is sure getting strong. But alas, it was not my best friend, but a scoundrel. I had been pulled out onto the deserted back patio, he spun me in an adorable little arc before releasing my hand.

“What are you doing?”

“So you were paying attention.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Stimulating conversation from an attractive woman.”

“We are at a University party, you can literally find that anywhere, pick a faculty.. any faculty. You know what? I hate people like you. Walking around like you can have anything you want. Literally its in your walk, you should probably get that checked out. Asking strange women to come over to your house, as if I’m like that.”

“You’re right… you are strange.” I shot him a disparaging look. He began quoting Macbeth touching my face with his fingers before tucking my hair behind my left ear. “Tomorrow and tomorrow…” That was it. No one could be this good-looking and have a personality.

“No stop. Like I just said, I hate you. I’m not sure what you want, I don’t even know you, and I’m pretty sure you've been sleeping with my friend.. So theres that.” I was looking up at him and the magnetism was still there and I was desperately trying to fight it. I’m a good friend, I’m a good friend.

“You can’t hate me, you don’t even know me. What you aren’t into Shakespeare?”

“I’m incredibly “into to shakespeare. This is beginning to get redundant.”

“Alright alright, it wasn’t a line to get you to come home with me, I genuinely just wanted to show you. Better? I literally haven’t thought of you since the bookstore, it was interesting seeing you here tonight though kid.” Go ahead, patronize me, see what happens.

“Alright. Final answer, still a huge negatory, but thank you for summing that up.” Why was I sad? That didn't make any sense.

“Can I at least have your number?”

“What? How did you get that out of that?”

“Purely for academic purposes, interpretation of a book I may or may not have picked up.” I sighed. He handed me his phone and I put my number in, deeply tempted to type it wrong. I told my self it was solely for my love of Oscar Wilde and its correct interpretation. I gave it back and turned to leave. He grabbed my hand again, gently and spun me around, pulling me close into him. He looked down at me as if he wanted to kiss me.

“What are you doing?”

“Thought I’d introduce some grey area.” Grey. I thought in my most drawl inner voice.

I put my hands against his chest and pushed him away.

“Life’s complicated enough, I don't do shades of grey. I’m too clever for that garbage”

“You should let other people tell you you're clever.”

I left untroubled this time.

Gracie met me inside and saying she couldn’t find him anywhere and looking right downtrodden about it. I suggested we leave and she reluctantly acquiesced stalking out the front door to call a cab away from all the noise. It was crowded in the house now and I moved around people as unobtrusively as possible back to the kitchen. Moving to leave, I asked the man standing behind me to kindly hand me the brown leather rucksack I carrier hanging from the chair adjacent the table. He did, but left my keys hanging beside it. Apologetically I bothered him to pass those over as well. When I looked down, the pepper from the table had been also been placed in front of me. I looked left with just my eyes, feigning irritation. Classic Literature Guy Chris slyly smiled at me “You may as well have that too” I couldn’t help it, the corner of my mouth turned up. I was very sober.

And at that moment I knew he was going to break my heart, and I also knew I was going to let him.

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© 2015 Siobahn McKenna

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The Twin Arenas

This is great! Referencing s**t is something that usually drives me bats. Somehow it works when it's writers in a story that, at least up to now, has literature as a theme. I'm impressed that you seem to understand the importance of linear storytelling - the necessity of a narrative. Rare here.