—16—
The boy who cried wolf, and then cried some more
Have you heard the saying boys don’t cry? Well, it’s complete and utter bullshit. Boys can cry. Oh boy, can they cry.
Let me start from the beginning.
Three days ago I received an email from a man named Michael. He had found my copy of Kazuo Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go at Burnley station, told me he enjoyed it and would love to discuss it over a glass of wine. After confirming he was a male (as you know, you never know), I shrugged my shoulders and agreed. After all, I had nothing to lose. Oh yes, that reminds me – I’ve officially ended things with Edward Cullen, my one-month lover. You see, it appeared that he was not only passionate about Young Adult literature, but he was also passionate about other women while dating me.
Anyway, I agreed to meet Michael at Jungle Boy in Windsor. Which brings me to my date last night.
When I walked into the moodily lit room, five minutes fashionably late, I saw a handsome man sitting at a two-seater bar table, with my tattered copy of Never Let Me Go sitting next to him.
‘Michael?’ I smiled at the brown-eyed, black-haired man, dressed in a brown woollen shirt with elbow patches.
‘Frankie! You look as beautiful as I imagine Ruth to be,’ he replied, as I took my seat.
A literary-themed compliment – we were off to a good start.
We talked about everything and everyone, from Virginia Woolf to Donald Trump – and we shared the same views on both (heroic and horrible, as if you even had to ask). So, things were going well; great, even.
Until I ordered an espresso martini.
‘What did you just order?’ he said, aghast.
‘An espresso martini …’
‘Oh.’ Michael looked crushed, as if I had just ordered the blood of twenty innocent children.
‘What’s wrong?’ I asked, quizzically.
‘It’s just, that’s what my ex, Diana, used to order. We’ve been separated for two years,’ he divulged, sadly.
And that’s when it all started to go south. Rapidly.
Not wanting to discuss the ex (a big first-date faux pas), I tried to divert the conversation away, to anything, really. But it all kept coming back to the same thing.
‘Do you have any pets?’
‘No, Diana didn’t like animals.’
‘It’s awful, what’s happening in Syria at the moment.’
‘Diana didn’t like to talk about politics.’
‘The weather is amazing at the moment. It’s been so sunny.’
‘Diana loved good weather.’
Eventually, we got off the topic of Diana. (Who, by the way, sounds like the absolute worst. Hates animals and refuses to acknowledge current events – what’s wrong with this woman?) We talked a little bit more about Ishiguro’s other books (we had both read most of them), and the date was thankfully coming to an end. (I tried not to act too happy to part ways.) I took out my phone to check the train timetable, and all of a sudden I heard a gasp. I looked up at Michael, his eyes now suddenly bloodshot. Oh no, I thought. He isn’t, is he? He was. His eyes were welling. They were actually welling. Yes, he was. He was about to burst into tears.
‘What’s wrong?’ I tentatively asked.
‘Your phone, it’s the same as Diana’s.’ He sniffed. I have an iPhone.
I had to defuse the situation before it exploded. So, I did what I do when I don’t want my fizzed-up Coke to erupt out of its bottle: I put my hand over it. I awkwardly placed my hand on his shoulder. How was I to know that this would be his spiralling point?
Michael wailed. And I mean really wailed. In a crowded, busy bar, this thirty-five-year-old man sobbed at the top of his lungs over his ex-wife, who left him two years ago, and who didn’t even like dogs.
Now, what I did next was as close to gallant as I have ever come. While everyone in the bar was staring at me and the crying man sitting opposite, I got up from my seat, went around to his side of the table – and hugged him. A full-blown embrace. And he howled and sobbed and snorted for a very painful twenty minutes, into my favourite silk top.
When he finally pulled himself together, he apologised profusely. And of course, I said it was okay. After all, I know what it’s like to have your life fall apart. And I was going to let it go, I really was. Until he looked up at me, this blubbering mess of a man who had just been crying into my chest like it was a pillow, and said, ‘Hey, want to come back to mine?’
Until next time, my dears.
After all, tomorrow is another date.
Scarlett O’ xx
Cat in the Hat > Ahhhhh! I’m almost crying as much (from laughter) as Michael was.
Stephen Prince > @Nooffencebut … I’m surprised you haven’t made some senseless ‘this is sexist’ comment yet.
No offence but … > @StephenPrince … What, did you miss me?
Stephen Prince > @Nooffencebut … I missed your stupid comments, yes.
No offence but … > @StephenPrince … You’re an idiot. By the way, Scarlett O’, I was at Jungle Boy the other night, might’ve been there at the same time as you.
Stephen Prince > @Nooffencebut … You go to Jungle Boy? I love it there. Maybe we’ll go there together sometime ;)
No offence but … > @StephenPrince … In your wildest dreams.
Jumping Josh > Loved Never Let Me Go!
Lici Lou > Talk about never letting go! Literally laughing out loud. Thank you for being so real.