The best thing I did today was break in my new umbrella.
The rain began at nightfall. Invitingly it played out a rhythm of patters
on the living room roof. I was concerned
about going out purposelessly, and the pointlessness that might entail, but
still, it sounded so good, so I departed.
Immediately my spirits were lifted. A little bit, but still, any little bit is
worthy. The air tasted fresh and I felt
cosy cocooned under my personal roof, despite the inhospitability of the night
around me. I followed my own
footsteps. They usually manage to take
me somewhere, even if it isn’t far.
Tonight they took me towards brighter lights, and people. Outside a pool bar an argument between young
guys and a bouncer was taking place. I
contemplated going in. I felt
reckless. Let me get into a fight
tonight. But there were no seats at the bar
and no obvious corners to perch in and observe, so I kept walking.
Not practiced in the skill of umbrella
wielding, I occasionally whacked a branch or a bus stop pole as I passed,
though I was quickly becoming better at it.
I passed by a man also sheltered under his umbrella and our pointy
corners touched with a thmmp as we passed.
I smiled briefly. Some of the
closest human contact I had had today in that canvas noise.
I wondered about buying some food. I felt
like buying some food, but had no idea what.
I had struggled with eating all day; it felt like an inglorious chore.
A pub appeared. It looked more hopeful than the pool bar:
dark, old man-like. I didn’t cross the
road to it though, but continued. Like a
bird of prey I often circle probable destinations before committing to them,
wanting to scope out my surroundings well.
I saw another pub ahead, it looked less desirable than the first but I
crossed the road towards it to examine it from the window before turning back
down the road towards the first. When I
got back to it, it was not quite as it had appeared from further away: a little
too bright, a little too busy. With this
new information I turned upon myself once again and made for the second.
Inside it was at just the right level of
occupancy. Busy enough, yet with space
for me to slot myself in, little noticed.
A barmaid approached me promptly, but ordering whisky was a
challenge. Mixer? No. Southern Comfort?
No! I pointed to one that was empty,
ended up with a 12 year old something or other.
She was foreign, Spanish perhaps, it wasn’t her fault, it was just that
I did particularly feel like an ‘old man pub’ experience tonight. Well, eventually I had my glass in hand.
I thought to myself wouldn’t it be nice if
you could still smoke in pubs. Then I
caught myself in confusion. Who was this
man thinking? Was it I? He seemed
unrecognisable. I felt like from the
outside peraps I didn’t look like myself either. Perhaps I looked old and crumpled; perhaps I
was dressed in rags. I rather liked the
idea. Oh what perverse desire! To melt
away out of this young body you value so much and are so grateful for. How could I wish away my health? Well, I do, don’t I? With the nicotine I am inhaling into my lungs
for the first time in my life.
I sat there at the bar on my stool. Left knee sore as it jammed into the wood of
the bar. I was trying to maintain the
perfect angle of looking neither out into the people nor right at the bar
itself. I wanted to be inconspicuous I
suppose. I wanted to be wallpaper.
I belonged into Billy Joel’s Piano Man. But the rest of them didn’t. Except perhaps the other solitary patron to
my left. No, the rest of them were in
medium and large groups, chatting, drinking and grinning. The music vied with their voices for my
attention. Pop. Not piano. There were to be no sing-alongs, or even
melodies here tonight.
My glass was empty. Time to leave. Anyway I missed the rain. Also, I had had a good idea about food. I would buy a pudding of some description in
Sainsbury’s -- that seemed like a good idea.
I stood up and the rags I had been sitting in magicked themselves away;
I once again wore the track bottoms and hoody I had left the house in.
The rain welcomed me and my new umbrella. My best friend tonight. I bought my pudding then lit another
cigarette. Who is this guy? I asked
again. I still couldn’t recognise
him. He did not walk at night holding
umbrellas and cigarettes. Moreover, he
was not depressed for days on end. Who
is he? Where is Theo? Why does his body
ache? These were his questions. The night gave him no answers. But the rain was soothing. And the umbrella gave him something to hold
on to.
