To Make Love With Your Eyes Closed Page 3

  “It’s a little different to home. But I think it was a good decision to move.”

  “Oh well, as long as your happy I suppose.”

  “Yeah, well I would be happy anywhere. Me girlfriend is more of a family person and I am not so much so.”

  “It works out for the best though.”

  You laugh again.

  “Sure does.”

  “My family live in London,” I tell you.

  “Wow, nice, where abouts?”

  “Camden.”

  “Beautiful area, you been there much?”

  “Yeah, quite a bit when I was younger but not so much recently, its too expensive these days.” I say with a laugh.

  You smile, weirdly. As if I have said something that’s had to make you think. You stare at me too like you’re waiting for the rest of the story.

  I turn away and continue with my work before realising that it’s my time to head on out.

  You fall back to the office to reconnect with Aaron.

  I know I’ve only met you for three maybe four straight minutes but something about you just doesn’t feel right. You’re so… different.

  I haven’t really touched on where my love life is at so far in the story. That was kind of stupid on my part. But if I wanted to explain to you the whole drama of my love affairs you’d probably think I was a total looney.

  Well I’m twenty one, as you know, and I’ve never been in a serious relationship. Most of my experiences haven’t lasted more than a month. But in saying that, that’s when I am actually dating someone. I go through phases in my life a lot where I obsess over people. Obsessions that leech my life away month after month. My latest has been with Duncan.

  Duncan is a little different though. I know I said that you were different but Duncan was perhaps the closest thing I have ever felt to crazy in love.

  I had never believed in love in first sight before I met him but the night I met him I played with the idea a little bit. I like to convince myself that I’m a really intuitive person, so much so to the point where I get little psychic premonitions about my future when things feel right or not.

  With Duncan, I had one of those inklings.

  I felt so cozy with the idea of him that I convinced myself it was meant to be. But love at first sight isn’t a thing. I am starting to see that now. It’s a thing for people who don’t honestly understand what love is. You can have strong lust and attraction, hell you can even have a profound curiosity about someone at first sight to the point where it keeps you up at night, but as for love and compassion, no, those are things that take time and development. They take the shitty times as well as the good ones. Having a physical connection with someone is great, but to have a spiritual connection with someone, that is something entirely different.

  At first I believed Duncan and I were made for each other. I still do, most of the time. That’s why I put up with his shit all the time, because I know he’s going to come around and realise that it was always me. But Duncan and I have a very odd relationship.

  We will go through times where he will really really want to be with me and treat me like I am the best thing that has ever happened to him, and then he will go into a phase where I feel like a celebrity stalker, obsessed with someone who barely even knows my name nor wants anything to do with me.

  In saying that, he was probably the best thing that has ever happened to me at this stage in my life too, because before him I was a massive downer. I hated myself, I really did. I thought I was a loser, I thought I was ugly and I thought that no-one would ever love me.

  Over time my self-loathing turned into self-abusive behaviour. I was really into some nasty shit on the weekends that involved a lot of tequila and cocaine. But then the night came that he walked into my life and looked me in the eyes my world and I felt my world flip upside down. I felt like maybe I was beautiful in my own fucked up way and maybe, just maybe I was capable of being loved too, just like my straight counterpart friends.

  I always compare myself to straight people, I feel like they have it easy, maybe that’s small minded on my part I’m not sure, maybe it’s true.

  I still remembered the way I felt that night when he first walked in. I never saw anything in him at first glance, as such. I saw another simple clone of the macho-sexy straight man. I still remembered the way in which he walked and the way he laughed at almost anything I said. It felt good for someone to take so much interest in me.

  I really did acknowledge the possibility that he was only interested in me because I was available and it because it was an exciting experience for him, not for a second did I let the idea manifest that truly this was fate and that he actually liked me. I remember the way the he looked me in the eyes though, with a look of stardust on fire. That stare tore a hole in my heart that will never fully heal over.

  Okay so it wasn’t love at first sight, exactly, but it was love at first night.

  “He will never like me,” I told myself. He was amazing and I was… me.

  Everyone has a dream of what they want their lovers to look like and he was, without a second of a doubt, everything that I had ever wanted.

  However the truth was far too hard to ignore, Duncan was too stuck in his insecure ways to ever be able to open up to me on an emotional level. I tried to help him to develop himself with the hope that in time our relationship could turn into something serious.

  Duncan is a 10 and I am a 7, on a good day, but despite the fact that he was only taking notice of me out of desperation, it still made me feel as if I were worth something.

  “I’m going to find someone who loves me like I deserve and it’s going to be so much better than whatever I feel for Duncan” that was my mantra for a year or so.

  I would sing it to myself every time he stood me up, ignored my texts or got with someone else. When I was younger I would look at people in emotionally toxic relationships and wonder why they stuck around for so long. I would shake my head and just tell myself that, “yeah it does kill you to walk away, but can’t you see what this boy is putting you through?”

  But when it came to Duncan I understood it all.

  Now I get it.

  I haven’t heard from the dickhead for a few months now but I still think about him every day. Probably not because he’s anything amazing, moreso it’s probably just because I don’t have anyone else to focus my attention on, but all of that is about to change.

  5

  It’s just you and I on shift together today. It’s a little awkward because you’re really odd. I can’t put my finger on it but something about you makes me feel uncomfortable. I’m a little awkward around you and I like to avoid contact altogether. We don’t talk, ever. Sometimes I’m lucky to get a hello. I’m not sure if it’s because of who I am, or because of who you are. It’s easy to avoid talking to you. You don’t go out of your way to say hello and even if I look in your direction you’ll pretend you don’t notice. Maybe that’s the macho straight man pride streak. As the weeks went by we slowly have a wall divide up between us. You seem alright to have a muck around and a joke or two with Rory and Tripp. I want to believe you’re homophobic. I don’t know why. Maybe because I’m really insecure in my own sexuality. Whenever I feel like someone doesn’t like me that’s always the go to reason, and as soon as I believe that, then I start to really dislike being around that person. You get along with Aaron just fine though so it’s possible it’s something else about me you don’t like.

  Byron enters the pub.

  “Morning!” I yell out.

  “Oh, oh hello Gerry,” he says sounding out of breath. “How are you?”

  “I’m good buddy, how are you?”

  I can feel you’re eyes on me. I don’t know how or why. I turn to face you slowly and notice you have your head turned the complete opposite direction. I turn back to Byron.

  “Just the usual?”

  “Yes, please.”

  I hand him over his Guinness and wish him on his way.
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br />   You disappear into the back room again.

  I notice when you’re in the room. Sometimes even without seeing you, I can just feel your presence. I am very self-conscious around you.

  When you return I ask you if it’s okay for me to go outside for a smoke break. You nod. I head out the back of the pub for a quick smoke. It’s raining. As usual so I cuddle in close underneath the slim line of roofing we have. It’s a gloomy scene; bags of trash sparse all over the floor, a few illegible lines of graffiti on the door and a grey sky, but at the same time I wouldn’t choose this scene for anyone else.

  Most people dream of sunsets and beaches, sipping mojitos on cruise ships or sunbathing in Australia. Not me, I’ll choose this dreary little alleyway and my half-dead lungs over all of that.

  I come back inside and you’re leaning over the bar, in some deep banter with a guy our age. He seems pretty cool. You’re both pretty engaged in this conversation, laughing and whatever. I overhear a bit of talk about your girlfriends and I sneer.

  It sucks being on shift with you and not actually being able to hold a decent conversation with you.

  You wrap it up with the customer and walk past me. You don’t look me in the eye but you curve your lips in and raise your eyebrows.

  Whatever, as if I care that you don’t have the time of day for me.

  The rest of the day goes pretty slowly.

  Rory enters just as I’m finishing my shift.

  He has a habit of doing what can only be described as barging through the front door, yelling or singing or something. He’s always in an energetic mood.

  He slaps a hard high five with me.

  “How are ya? How was work?”

  “It was okay, a bit dry and it dragged on.”

  “How’s the new kid?”

  It seemed odd for Rory to refer to Thomas as the new kid when Thomas comes across as ten times more mature than Rory does.

  “Yeah he seems cool,” I lie.

  Rory heads out the back and spots Thomas.

  “Hello!” He yells out cheerfully, “how’s it going?”

  “Hey!” You yell out, as if you have known Rory your entire life, “good! you?”

  Whatever. I stop listening and turn away. Rory is my friend no matter what and I am not going to lose him to the likes of you.

  You come to the front and clock out of your shift. You say goodbye and thank me for a good shift. I don’t know what you mean though. Me doing my job properly is no favour to you. I’m annoyed. I feel like every tiny little thing that comes out of your mouth makes me like you less and less.

  I hop on the bus. The rain hasn’t stopped yet. I’m happy because I’m wrapped up nice and warm with a thick grey jumper.

  I instantly feel de-stressed the second I walk out of work. I don’t like to carry negative emotions around with me. They way me down and are a waste of time. Most days I come home from work I’m pretty alright though. As I said, I do love my job, but at the same time people have a habit of pissing you off now and then.

  When I get home I slide my keys across the bench and literally throw myself onto my bed. Part of me wants to scream into my pillowcase purely from being tired.

  A lot of people have cool ways of de-stressing. For me there’s just painting and that’s it. If I’m not in the mood for that then I pretty much just lie in bed and groan for hours.

  Art for me is something I have to be in the right space of mind for. Some people preach about how it should be your life and soul and something you work on every second of the day in order to improve, but for me it’s just a release.

  I am also very anti-materialistic. I’m not sure if that’s a word. If it isn’t, it really should be. I live in a small apartment outside of a fairly small city and I own none of the things that most people consider valuable. I don’t own a car, I don’t own a fancy camera, I don’t own expensive clothes, I barely even own enough food to last me the week. But in a lot of ways I never really pray to the universe for things to change.

  My parents were always the opposite of me, they worked really hard at jobs I’m not so sure that they enjoyed just to afford flash things that impressed their friends. If I ever had friends over when I lived at home they would comment on how beautiful my house was and how amazing the colours complemented each other from the skirting boards to the curtains.

  Every house I lived in as a kid was huge, we had plenty of space and plenty of rooms and mazes of gardens you could get lost in. We moved around a lot too so I had a good opportunity to experience different types of beautiful.

  I hate saying those material things didn’t matter to me because they were fucking amazing, but at the same time, living life under the roof of a privileged family has taught me that money is just that, it’s money, it’s stuff. People spend their precious time working for things that are nice to look at but don’t necessarily make them happy. I’m happy with the stage that I’m at in my life right now.

  Possessions way me down. If I have a lot of money or a lot of… ‘stuff’ I freak out. I panic. I feel like someone is going to rob me and take these things away from me. I would rather live on the essentials than have things that I can’t take with me when I die. So yeah, here I am, lying in my bed with my white sheets groaning into a pillow for no reason. I live a simple life, but it’s perfect for me.

  I begin to think about you and the way you’ve made me feel about coming in to work. I’ve been working at O’Byrne’s for so long that I feel almost threatened by your existence. It’s a stupid feeling, I pinch myself for thinking it, but I can’t help the way I feel. I think in a really odd way, I’m actually jealous of you. I haven’t quite worked out what exactly I want to do in the long run of my life, so I am very protective of my job at O’Byrne’s, it’s my second home and it would kill me to leave it.

  The phone begins to ring, I drift through to the kitchen and slap it against my ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Gerry?”

  “Aye ma,” I say. It’s mum. I mentally prepare myself for a half an hour conversation about my exciting life over the course of the last twenty four hours.

  “How’s everything going?”

  “Yeah good,”

  “Good. How’s work?”

  “Good.”

  “How’s the art going?”

  “It’s going… well.” I stutter in my response, staring briefly behind me at the messy looking canvas sitting in the easel in the corner of the room. The only thing missing from this picture is a flickering lightbulb and a few spiderwebs. I swallow loudly. I really hate lying. It does something weird with my conscience. My body trips up, badly, when I’m feeling guilty, like the only thing I can concentrate on is the lie I’ve just told. So I don’t.

  “Well,” she says in her posh London accent, “tell me something new, have you quit smoking yet?”

  I stare at the packet of 24’s on my kitchen worktop. It’s laying less than gracefully with the top opened displaying two remaining sticks.

  “I will… soon.”

  Mum pauses for a moment. She hates me smoking. She knows about how I used to do a lot of drugs when I was younger, I was terrified of telling her at the time but I had really hit rock bottom and needed somebody to lean on. She handled it… well, considering.

  “How about you ma, what’s new with you?”

  “I’m good son, your father is doing well with the car. He managed to replace the radiator so we won’t have to get a new one. It’s only a week and a half until we’re off to Majorca again, so I’m putting in the hours at work to get the savings in.”

  My parents probably don’t need to put the extra hours in to get savings. I’m sure mum could easily stop working today and still have enough money for the holiday. She works as a songwriter for a big label in the UK. I couldn’t tell you which one because mainstream music doesn’t really interest me. Dad is the top boss for a mechanics/engineering company. Both jobs sound exciting enough but also very stressful and demanding at the s
ame time.

  “That’s good everyone’s good. I’m considering putting in a request to get leave from work in August. I’ll try come home for my birthday.”

  I still consider London as home, probably because that’s where I have lived most of my life. I’m still not sure where I’ll end up buying my first house though.

  “That’s fantastic Gerry.”

  I could probably trail my conversation with my mum out by going into details about you but I just don’t have the patience. I like to internalise my feelings. Most of the time.

  I wrap up the conversation with mum and sink into the sofa to watch another re-run of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. Tonight’s episode is The One With The Dollhouse. One of my personal favourites.

  6

  Current diet: cigarettes & coffee. I’m poor and I’m not looking after myself.

  The rain crashes hard against the bus. I’m glad because I managed to make it to the bus without getting absolutely soaked today.

  Mumford & Sons’ ‘After The Storm’ is the next song on my playlist. I smile. I think of Duncan. I wonder how long I’ll have to wait for him to come back to me. For him to wake up and realise that I am the one for him and have been all along. A deep, dropping intuitive feeling pulses into life. It’s a reminder that I already know deep down he’s the one for me. I don’t think I’m ready to get over him yet though. Not until I’m ready to enjoy my own company, I need to fall in love with myself before I can allow anyone else to.

  I whip the jacket hood over my head and race out of the bus. You are already behind the bar. Clocked in, uniform on point, whistling to your music. I don’t like your music, it’s loud, it’s annoying (like your laugh) it’s quite generic and it’s repetitive. It’s brainless, that’s all there is to it, brainlessness. The person who puts this music together must have no idea how to write a decent song. You smile to me and yell out a happy hello, like you’re genuinely happy to see me. I smile and say hello back, but with less enthusiasm. I head into the back room. Rory is sitting on a bench scrolling through Facebook or Instagram, one of those two. He sees me enter the room and his face lights up.