one and me and Laura are running in the rain, laughing. I squint to try and see where we are. But the moment is blown from my hand. I go to grab another and I miss. There is only me and these moments flitting around, out of my grasp. I am reaching out in all directions but I canât get hold of one, no matter how high I jump or how fast I move. I donât want to lose them. I need them.
I finally close my fist over one and open it. I see her holding a melon to her nose in a supermarket. Then that too is lost, impossible to hold as a gust picks it up. It swirls off and joins the others spinning around in front of my eyes. The beating of his heart is loud and fast in my ears. I want to block it out, I want to be left alone and gather all these pieces up in my arms and hold them close so I can never lose them. I only manage to get my fingers on one sole moment: we watch James Stewart running up a street in the snow yelling, âMerry Christmas, merry Christmas everybodyâ, and she is curled up under my arm with her head on my chest. She says the lines along with Jimmy. Dampness through my T-shirt.
âAre you crying?â I ask.
âArenât you?â she says.
And I touch my eye and there is a drop of moisture in the corner.
The moment flits off. Darkness. I can see nothing, but I hear crisp little sounds around my ears, near and far, like bats circling in the night, audible in the blackness even though the drum of his heart is so strong I can feel it vibrating through me.
I grab out blindly, hoping to find something to hang onto, to fill this void. What am I without these moments Iâve guarded and kept and cherished? What is my reason for being if I havenât got them? How is he doing this to me? Why is he doing this to me? Does he even know what heâs doing?
I manage to get another and the darkness falls away. Itâs squashed in my palm and I turn away from the wind and open it up, keeping it in my hand with my fingers pressed down hard against it. I watch as it shows me the moment, a lump in my throat, feeling small and stupid again.
âWhy were you kissing him?â
âI wasnât, I was hugging him.â She shakes my hand off her shoulder and yanks open the taxi door.
âHugging, kissing. Why were you doing it?â I push myself in beside her before she has a chance to shut the door on me. She slides across the seat until she is elbow, hip and knee against the far door. The gap between is full of ice.
âBecause heâs a friend. And I donât have to explain it to you, but I will if it makes you shut up.â She pulls her skirt down over her thighs. âIâve known him since I was ten. I havenât seen him for about a year and his sister died six months ago.â She shrugs her shoulders. âSo I gave him a hug.â
I say nothing. An embarrassed blush heats my face.
âWhere to, mate?â asks the driver.
âIâm sorry, you know,â I say, ignoring him, âI just came back into the room and you were hugging. I didnât know. Iâm sorry.â I go to touch her leg but she somehow makes herself even more compact against the door.
âThe meterâs running. Where to?â
I find myself looking at the driverâs eyes in the rear-view mirror. I can even feel him accusing me.
âBeacon Avenue,â answers Laura.
âIâm sorâ¦â and I lose it. My fingers havenât the strength to hold it anymore. Iâm back in the darkness, my arms swirling around me, feeling for anything, hoping for the rest of that moment to fall into my fingers so that it is resolved, or for a moment of laughter or love or intimacy. But Iâm flailing, like a man without his parachute, falling through a vacuum.
A LITTLE
PIECE OF CAKE
T he lights whirl and spin, and when I close my eyes they leave pale pink, blue and green trails behind my eyelids. The music is numbing to my ears, it is just a beat, a
I finally close my fist over one and open it. I see her holding a melon to her nose in a supermarket. Then that too is lost, impossible to hold as a gust picks it up. It swirls off and joins the others spinning around in front of my eyes. The beating of his heart is loud and fast in my ears. I want to block it out, I want to be left alone and gather all these pieces up in my arms and hold them close so I can never lose them. I only manage to get my fingers on one sole moment: we watch James Stewart running up a street in the snow yelling, âMerry Christmas, merry Christmas everybodyâ, and she is curled up under my arm with her head on my chest. She says the lines along with Jimmy. Dampness through my T-shirt.
âAre you crying?â I ask.
âArenât you?â she says.
And I touch my eye and there is a drop of moisture in the corner.
The moment flits off. Darkness. I can see nothing, but I hear crisp little sounds around my ears, near and far, like bats circling in the night, audible in the blackness even though the drum of his heart is so strong I can feel it vibrating through me.
I grab out blindly, hoping to find something to hang onto, to fill this void. What am I without these moments Iâve guarded and kept and cherished? What is my reason for being if I havenât got them? How is he doing this to me? Why is he doing this to me? Does he even know what heâs doing?
I manage to get another and the darkness falls away. Itâs squashed in my palm and I turn away from the wind and open it up, keeping it in my hand with my fingers pressed down hard against it. I watch as it shows me the moment, a lump in my throat, feeling small and stupid again.
âWhy were you kissing him?â
âI wasnât, I was hugging him.â She shakes my hand off her shoulder and yanks open the taxi door.
âHugging, kissing. Why were you doing it?â I push myself in beside her before she has a chance to shut the door on me. She slides across the seat until she is elbow, hip and knee against the far door. The gap between is full of ice.
âBecause heâs a friend. And I donât have to explain it to you, but I will if it makes you shut up.â She pulls her skirt down over her thighs. âIâve known him since I was ten. I havenât seen him for about a year and his sister died six months ago.â She shrugs her shoulders. âSo I gave him a hug.â
I say nothing. An embarrassed blush heats my face.
âWhere to, mate?â asks the driver.
âIâm sorry, you know,â I say, ignoring him, âI just came back into the room and you were hugging. I didnât know. Iâm sorry.â I go to touch her leg but she somehow makes herself even more compact against the door.
âThe meterâs running. Where to?â
I find myself looking at the driverâs eyes in the rear-view mirror. I can even feel him accusing me.
âBeacon Avenue,â answers Laura.
âIâm sorâ¦â and I lose it. My fingers havenât the strength to hold it anymore. Iâm back in the darkness, my arms swirling around me, feeling for anything, hoping for the rest of that moment to fall into my fingers so that it is resolved, or for a moment of laughter or love or intimacy. But Iâm flailing, like a man without his parachute, falling through a vacuum.
A LITTLE
PIECE OF CAKE
T he lights whirl and spin, and when I close my eyes they leave pale pink, blue and green trails behind my eyelids. The music is numbing to my ears, it is just a beat, a
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