CC19: The Black Room

'Hey, folks,' said Paidi, who had been looking around the beer garden disinterested and appeared now suddenly concerned. 'Chill--ax, ey?'  I wanted to tell him to fuck off but Emer's abrupt public display had immobilised me.  There was an added rage in her eyes which I hadn't seen before.  Perhaps it was her drunkenness, or the aggravation of dealing with me outside of the house and amongst her old pals.  Red smoke seemed to rise up round her like she was a witch conjuring up some demon from the deep.  She was too drunk to see the whole scene as something that should not have been performed in public, that should have stayed at home.

'Stop fighting, folks,' said Paidi.

'I think he deserves what he gets,' said Serena.

'MISTER CROWWW-LEEE!' roared Geary in the background.

The argument which then unfolded in McManus's beer garden was an outrageous back-and-forth of profanities, attacks, and hexes, scratching at old injuries, etching new ones.  I tried to hold back at first out of sheer embarrassment, but eventually I too forgot my surroundings and let rip on her.   As we went at it to the entertainment of all in the beer garden, the dogs in the houses nearby had a new excuse for an evening howl.  Being used to spats at home, Emer and I entered a fog of our own making.  As we launched our verbal insults and made our vulgar rebuttals, our environment began to slowly vanish around us, leaving us alone in a kind of unearthly blackness reserved for querulous husbands and wives.  A blackness known all too well to those lovers who have made a domestic commitment and sought to form the conventionally accepted unit.  A vacuum created by social consciousness existing beyond the concerns of everyday social interaction, walls bleeding the black blood of emotional restraint.  There are no windows in the black room, no doors, no family memories framed.  No outside world.  No toothbrushes, no mantelpiece, no children, no social contract.  No pet dog.  The black room is the metaphysical space you are destined to drift in and out of for the rest of your time together.  When inside the black room, Emer and I would lose our shared assessment of reality.

'.....you and your fuckin....'

'I can't believe this sh......'

'.....if you had some balls.....'

'.....and your fucking dad......'

'Go and f......'

'.....very subtle, aren't y.......'

'......and over nothing......'

'......hard pushed to say that.....'

'Ah, fuck o......'

'.....just stop.......'

'......and a bloody layabout.....'

'....what.....'

'......and then you'll keep.....'

'When have I.......'

'Ah, there's no need for that,' said the man with the Thin Lizzy T-shirt, who had just joined us alongside Carol, without Emer or myself noticing.  'Just take all your hardships and measure them against the woes of the poor friggers out in the cold tonight who'll get stamped on by the screaming hordes.'

I couldn't remember a single clear thing that was said in the argument.  Not a meaningful point.  Not a single term of spiteful abuse.  The conflict was a jumbled box of partially-assembled insults.  But I was happy about one recollected thing.  I was pretty sure that she hadn't brought up the fact that we weren't really having sex so much anymore.  I was relieved of that oversight on her part.