An argument between two lovers #19

She could see the drink in his face, all snarling lips and bulldog's
nose, red and seething with Stella indignation. She could see it in his
brooding whiskey scowl, in those thick Sambuca eyes. Hear it in the
fuzzy logic of each indignant snap, each retort as they argued in the
cold over money again. "I'm not paying for a fucking cab!" he swore,
fried chicken all over his face, down his shirt like he'd murdered the
meal. Pushing her arm away as if flicking a match, staggering off
without explanation, leaving her standing there, vulnerable at the cash
point. "We'll walk", his dismissive voice echoing from the alleyway as
he sprayed his name across the wall in piss.
"I'm not walking!" she volleyed, the words spitting out like machine
gun fire, "No fucking way! . . You claimed it was my night tonight . .
I won't drag you to another new club, you said. I promise I won't
wander off, you said", finally punching in the right pin number as she
swayed a little, leaning against the wall for support. "I'm gonna treat
you, you said. Whatever you want to do Babe, you said", she continued,
pulling back her cash card, their cab fare left dripping from the slot
like a Dali watch for all the street to see. "So what did you do on
this Oh-so-special night? . . Huh?" Pointing, her index finger aimed
like a trigger, "You fucked off for twenty minutes, that's what! . . I
sat waiting for you, on my own, surrounded by kids half my age, on my
night out, for twenty fucking minutes! Where were you?" she lit, each
word a firework as she stood now, hand on hip, head cocked like a bird
just beckoning him to bring-on the response.
"I got locked in the cubicle", he defended. "Fucking lock jammed and I
couldn't get out. It stank in there", returning the shot and even
though he couldn't quite see her face in the half light, she gave him
that look, that cracked porcelain smile that simply said I don't
believe a word you're saying. "I had to climb over the door to get
out", he blew, "that's when they threw me out. Said I was barred . .
Over a year I've been drinking there now. A year! Some loyalty that
is?"


Stood by the light of the cashpoint, listening to him spray
the wall she lit up the last of his crumpled cigarettes just for
badness, dragging the smoke into her lungs, holding it down just that
little bit longer before blowing back with a seething aerosol sigh,
coughing a little, her face a half-cut sneer as if drawn on with biro
as she tapped her foot in quick rhythm, just waiting for him to finish
and button up. She looked unhappy.


"Why would I lie? Hey? Why would I? Look at me, I'm bruised",
he rhymed, still spraying the wall, "My eye really hurts."
"Just hurry up. Its pissing down", she boiled, foot tapping, eyes
rolling, her hair dampening in the rain.
"I'll stop when I'm empty. Just go wait in the light."
"I haven't heard an apology yet?"
"I got locked in! It wasn't my fault."
"You left me alone in there. They all seemed so young."
"I didn't do it on purpose . . "
No response, she just looked away.
" . . It wasn't my fault but I'm sorry OK, I'm sorry", he pissed.
"Just hurry up", his apology acknowledged as she remembered their cab
fare still dripping from the slot, hurriedly snapping out the notes to
hide them. Wrapping her coat around her that little bit tighter. Moving
over to stand somewhere else, somewhere safe for comfort. Observing
each passer by. Checking faces, working out intentions. Cautiously
rating them on the chance of heading over to slur a last line or paw
her with clumsy midnight come-ons. She pulled on the collar of her coat
that little bit tighter, trying to keep warm, unnoticed. Stood under
the street-lamp, watching him down the alleyway as he bounced among the
bottle banks; tap dancing around the stream trying in vein not to piss
on his own shoes.
"I'm sorry", his apology echoing around the alleyway for all to hear as
he knelt down to face her, hands clasped together as if in prayer, a
poker smile spilling out across his face in the half-light, "I'm sorry
OK," his glazed eyes spun.
She smiled back.


Closing time just off the main street. Faces full of fast
food. Groups breaking off into couples, singles. Everyone drunk under
neon, under rain clouds, surrounded by chicken bones and used
serviettes while he slumped like a roll of dead carpet against the fire
sign of a backstreet kitchen door. Piss all over his shoes. His knees
damp from kneeling. Face lit by the neon of the fly ring, over the bins
strewn around his feet, "If you don't want to walk then, and I'm not
paying for a cab, then we should stay out", he decided, slurring, his
words like ink left out in the rain to run. Buttoning up his fly all
wrong as, decision made, he straightened up, lurching back from the
alleyway with a half-cut victory swagger. "Options are . . ", his eyes
briefly looking up to her before focusing on the weekend club guide
pulled from his pocket as he rhymed off the choices, faking knowledge
of the places reviewed.
"Let's just go back", she offered, "I don't want to drink anymore."
Pupils dilating. Soft almond eyes on that sweet Bacardi face that
telegraphed her intent to take him home, make him drink a pint of water
and pull off those boots. To let him feel like it was all his idea to
just climb under the covers with her and curl together like spoons.
"Let's get a cab", she asked, waving a few notes under his nose to
convince him yet never knowing now in these drunken weekend moments
whether a word could kick up a conflict, whether her sentence could
start a war as if the intent was to hurt him; cause him harm and she
took two soft steps away, retreating as if to hide from the impending
blast.


As she stepped back, I could almost touch her
hair.


"I don't want to go home yet", his defiance now stirred,
spitting the words out like toys thrown from the pram, "Its too early!"
Insisting that the night was still young, a child in adolescence with
still so much more to see, still so much more to do as he fought the
whipping fear of missing out on something more exciting that always
seemed to be going on someplace else, somewhere new that he just hadn't
heard of yet.
She could see the drink in his face. It sparked like a November rocket
with each defensive response, "Its too fucking early to go home", he
poured before she could even breathe to answer, "Why do you never want
to stay out with me?" Baiting her for a response, missing all her
affectionate signals again, too drunk to see the signs. "You never want
to stay out. You're always wanting to get home and crash." His words,
always the same midnight Catherine Wheel spinning faster, spinning
faster, smeared in crayon colour, all flame red and Halloween orange
around his defiant childlike stamp. "It's too fucking early to go
home", he slurred, slumping against the wall, wrapping his crumpled
coat around him in stubborn solitary defiance. Fried chicken all over
his face, down his shirt. Piss all over his shoes.
"Let's get this cab", she stroked, holding out her arm to flag the taxi
down, her other hand wiping the food from his face with a clean
serviette, affectionately stroking the side of his cheek.
"I'm not ready to crash," he spat, cracking open a new sentence from
the same angry six-pack of thought as their cab pulled up
alongside.


She could see the drink in his face.


"You promised you'd stay out tonight", he swayed, slipping in
and out of a slur as he held onto the cab door as if seasick by a rail
on the bow.
"I did," she warmed, wrapping her arms around him in the street under
neon, under rain cloud, "?it was supposed to be my night remember, but
I just want to go home now", bundling him into the cab, her own legs in
that little skirt, under that old coat, unsteady now as she fell in
alongside. "I got stuck in the cubicle. I couldn't get out", he
stressed again before noticing the food all down his shirt as he poured
into the back, "I've ruined it", he realised, mopping up the grease
stains with the used serviette, smearing more in. "Its fucked",
smiling, finally realizing exactly how drunk he was, resting his head
on her, seeping over like Christmas brandy as she slammed the door shut
and they rode the cab home together.
Back to our flat.
A year, three months and seven days since she told me to go.