On Things Planned and Unplanned

“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans” 

                                

John Lennon

It all started with a candle and a dog with a funny name.

Funny names have been following us ever since: his fit for a lord, mine a nickname. 

There were songs and moments worth remembering: a light sway to Leonard Cohen’s Marianne, a long black coat around my shoulders; Johnny Cash and Dylan singing about North Country, me sitting there, him sitting near. 

“I don’t want to go out for a cigarette, I feel so very good where I am.”

Another song. I don’t remember it. All I have is the rhythm beaten out on my skin. His fingers sliding down my back. I know he liked me from the start. 

The morning. Me going downstairs, him waking up to mumble my name. A hug around the waist. We haven’t even kissed.

Just yet. The first ever kiss I give away on my own accord. A couple of times my mouth brushes against his face, I hesitate. We’ve been in bed for enough to make our friend uncomfortably aware of the spark. Or whatever it is. Anyways, she goes to brew some tea. 

I lower my lips onto his, it is laughable. We kiss, too much tongue, but it is alright. I try to be silent, there’s a friend brewing tea after all. We brush it off. We suppress a laugh in a kiss. And then another. And another.

It has been absurd, bizarre, call it what you want. I couldn’t possibly stay, I don’t have a toothbrush?! “Baby it’s Cold Outside,” my very own edition. He gets me the damn toothbrush, he really does. At 4 a.m. How sweet.

And the grapes? Dionysus in a bathrobe, surprising a nymph with a platter of grapes and morning vodka. Dionysus with crooked legs, lying in my bed. Or it is me lying in his. Somehow we are together. It is a slumber but still we are. And the bathrobe is gone.

The hangover, the smell and the walk? Coming back home and sleeping on a sofa? Drinking gallons of mineral water. There is music blaring, it’s violins, violins everywhere. Our heads hurt as we feed on hot dumplings. He buys cheap beer, I take a single sip. We take a picture at the trash-bin. We sleep on the sofa. Violins stop. The music is fine, more than fine, it is wonderful. 

I wake up from the slumber. I’m still on his chest. The friend is leaving, I’m trying to follow suit. I feel I have to but it is not what I want. Slight pressure keeps me where I am, there are almost  no words exchanged. The friend leaves, we barely say goodbye. I’m pinned to the sofa, I’m pinned to him.

I don’t remember when the music stops, but I remember the curtains being drawn, the neighbours are not supposed to watch. Maybe it is not right? We barely know each other. How many times have we met? Two, three?

We both want it but we are not sure how to do it. Or so it seems. We start, the start is always nice. Then I want to pee. Of course, I always want to pee. The mirror reflects me, I look fine. I’m not wearing anything. The plan was not like that. I wanted to be slow and neat and fabulous. I wanted to leave him wondering, leave him wanting more. 

Whatever, here I am in the bathroom and I am not wearing anything. The phone is ringing but I remain oblivious of the call, and the next one. And another 47 or so to follow.

It is a disaster of a sort. Here I am sitting across him, wondering what to do. I do a thing or two, he thinks it is wonderful.  I think we are not sure what we are doing.

It hurts. It hurts a lot and often. I don’t want it to hurt and I think he does not mean it. One last time and we stop. It hurts again. 

I stay curled up on his bed. He goes down for a drink. That weird-smelling vodka in a jar fit for a lord. I want a sip too. Everything hurts. It wasn’t planned like that.

Mum is yelling over the phone. Where the hell am I?! I’m fine mum, I’m just standing stark naked in someone’s kitchen while he is having a drink. Of course I am fine. 

I get dressed. As for the drink, maybe some other time. Do I look nice? He adjusts my trousers. Now I’m a lady. Was it a disaster? Oh my god, what if it was? Forget it, hangover fun, done and forgotten.

– Thank you. 

– No, thank you.

I walk down the stairs. A bunch of relatives walk up.

 I don’t look back, not until I have stepped out of the damn gate.

***

It wasn’t planned like that. But it happened just like that.