The pause before the jump (part 1)

I have the habit of getting myself into strange situations. It’s something I’m quite proud of, to be perfectly honest, life get’s boring when everything goes to plan. Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t go looking for the rabbit hole, I really don’t. the truth is, I’m careless, I don’t pay much attention to where I’m going.

I’m telling you this because it’s important, in a general sort of way, but also because that’s pretty much why I ended up seeing her again. It was at this house party, sometime after the exams, at the end of June. You could almost smell summer in the warmth of the night. There were twenty of us, more or less, getting drunk and being young in someone’s back garden. Now, to be perfectly honest with you, I wasn’t having too good a time. In the first place, I hardly knew anyone there. I’d been pretty much dragged out by Sam, who was now lying in the grass, with a half empty bottle of wine in one hand and a joint in the other. The truth is, I’d come searching for some kind of conclusion, some kind of great farewell before I left. Looking around I was starting to get the feeling that I wouldn't get what I wanted.

I was sort of sitting at this wooden table littered with empty beer bottles, smoking a cigarette, not really doing anything. The problem was, the girl sitting next to me, on my left, was almost as pretty as she was thick, and that really depressed me. I can’t stand beautiful stupid people, it almost feels like an insult, some kind of cosmic “fuck you”. That’s why I hadn’t said a word in ages.

So there I was, waiting for something to happen, debating wether I should get violently pissed and join Sam in the grass, or leave before it was too late and catch the last train home. And right then, just as I was ready to get up and leave, that’s when she waltzed in, through the kitchen back-door, like some kind of tipsy ballerina. She stood there in the doorframe for a second, catching the moonlight, and I could hardly believe it was her. She was wearing a skirt which fell just short of her knees, and her hair was made into a loose bun, and her eyes were lined with black. She took in her surroundings, and her eyes rested on me for a second. I looked away. Slowly, like she had all the time in the world, she made her way towards me, and sat down in the chair next to mine.

“It’s been a while,” she said, “have you been avoiding me?”

“I’m hurt you could think me even remotely capable of that.” I answered, putting out my cigarette.

“I brought something to drink.” she informed me, very matter-of-fact, taking out a litre of vodka from her handbag. Somewhere behind us, Sam had started to sing. He had a terrible singing voice, and the alcohol didn’t help. I picked out two plastic cups which seemed relatively clean, and she half-filled them up with vodka, and topped them up with lemonade. She raised her cup, and I did the same. I hadn’t looked her in the eyes for a long time, and all of a sudden, I got this strange feeling like I was seeing her for the first time in my life. I swear it almost gave me a heart attack. She downed her drink, which took me by surprise, and after hesitating for a second, I followed her lead, because I didn’t want to look like an idiot. I spend most of life trying not to like an idiot, and failing miserably, I really do. She frowned a little in disgust, and I saw the skin above her nose wrinkle into tiny folds.

“The great thing about vodka,” she told me, with this tone of casual authority, resting her hand on my arm, “is that it’s quick and effective.”

Her nails were bitten down and uneven. She’d told me once that she loved being drunk, but that she hated drinking. It embarrassed her, she found it unbecoming or something. I took a cigarette out, just to have something to do, to give myself some composure. It was a losing game, and deep down I probably knew it.

“Can I bum one off you?”

I gave her the cigarette I was holding, and took another one out. I started packing it against the table, to the rhythm of my heart. Sam was singing louder than ever.

“Do you have a lighter?”

I looked at her like an idiot for a second, then took my lighter out, ignited it, and held it out towards her. She leaned in, holding her hair back, and I could see the contour of her neck take shape in the wavering orange light. She took a deep drag, closing her eyes, and the way she sucked her cheeks in brought out the sharpness of her cheekbones. She pulled away, and I lit my cigarette. I could feel her eyes weighing on me, watching me carefully, but I pretended not to notice. We sat there in silence for a few seconds, and it was all becoming quite unbearable for me, until, out of nowhere, she leaned in and plucked the lighter from my hand. I looked up at her in surprise, and she started laughing, like it was the funniest thing in the world.

“Give it back, I’ve only got one” I said, trying hard not to smile.

“You owe me one.”

“That was an accident.”

“It doesn’t matter, you broke it.”

And without waiting for an answer, she hid the lighter down the front of her top, and filled our cups again, and that was pretty much the end of it. ​We didn’t talk much after that, and even when we did, it was in this guarded sort of way. I’ve never been too good at confronting people, and she hated it even more than I did. There’s a nice word in french for it: la pudeur, but really what it all comes down to is a sacred fear of sincerity. So I ended up telling her how I was leaving town, probably for good, at the end of the week, and how I was going to study abroad for a few years, and when I asked her what her plans were, she didn’t really give me much of an answer. I swear, she never had a clue where she was going. It was a point of honour for her or something. Anyway, at some point this guy, who I hardly knew and who liked even less, sat down next to her, and just rested his hand on her shoulder. He introduced himself, in this real suave tone, as the friend of a friend. That killed me, it really did. He didn’t even recognise me, he was too busy falling in love with her. As he talked, he kept passing his hand through his hair, like he had to make sure it was still there every five minutes. She stopped paying too much attention to me, and I felt myself capable of actually breathing properly for the first time in a while. So I finished my drink and decided I was going to look for Sam, who had somehow managed to disappear from the garden. She turned to me just as I was getting up, and she kind of let her hand rest on top of mine, which was flat against the table. She had this strange look in her eyes, and she mouthed a word to me, I’m pretty sure it was “sorry”. So I leaned in and whispered something in her ear, and she laughed and I left, with her laughter ringing in my ears. I made my way inside the house. Alone, in the darkened living room, a couple danced.