The Start of Something

The Start of Something
by Arti Rajput

It was a fairy tale. Far removed from a glass-slippers, being woken by a kiss from a coma kind of fairy tale. Instead it’s like a distorted dream with good and bad. It feels like I can do anything I want in the world whenever I’m in his company. Thinking back on the day I met him makes me acknowledge the spark. It’s hasn’t fizzled out; at least not when I remember. Imagine closing your eyes and being able to think of not only that one person but everything surrounding them.

Mine are closed now and I can feel his right arm draped across my shoulders. The distance from skin to skin merely separated by a long, grey V-neck I spent hours in front of the mirror deciding to wear; the tight black top he effortlessly pulled over his rough hair for the occasion. I couldn’t concentrate on the film while his fingers traced circles where his hand rested. Each movement made me tingle; his touch erecting every nerve ending in my body.

If I think back clearly to the way we were positioned on the seats of the cinema, I remember being happy, more than that; full of bliss. The way my head rested upon his chest, my eyes glazed, watching Valentine’s Day. I couldn’t think of anything, simply the reality of his breathing, knowing he was there next to me. My whole body was at-tuned to the proximity of our closeness. I had this handsome guy in my company, holding my hand, making my moments perfect.

Everything has its ending. It is a common known fact that every-thing ends. I’ve realised that when I open my eyes and bring myself back to the reality of everyday life, moments do end but feelings linger. What I felt in the moment can always be recalled. Every touch is memorable, the intensity reaching its heights whenever I think back.

Feelings like these should be able to map out the rest of forever. Answer all my unanswered questions and make everything easy.

Forever would be my perfect improbable dream. He’d still be around, at least physically, in the same area, let alone the same room as me. Or I might just be talking of my future not ours. Forever and The Future can be so complex that one can mix them up. My future would be everything I have now, but with the version of him I’d fallen in love with; the job, the flat, the experiences of the last year and him.

Not everyone’s dream comes true, that’s another fact of life. It’s what I believe right now, I’m dealing with the hand I have been dealt. I don’t believe there is anything wrong with my life. It’s amazing. It’s peachy. However, I am more than certain that if he’d stayed the same he would be the cherry on top of it all.

You may ask if it was the day at the cinema I realised I more than liked this guy. I don’t know how to explain the extremity of feelings I experienced when I was with him those blissful months. They passed like paper on fire, fast, burning; coming to a quick end like the debris of memories. All there is now is to tell the story of how it came to an end, like all good things do.

We met upon an extremely memorable day. The sun had not shone for a good, bleak month and rainy weather brought rainy days. Then there was a sizzling Sunday. The Sunday was not only the start of an extremely hot, relenting week but of extreme hot, relenting pas-sion. The sun shining isn’t the reason I remember the day clearly but buying the most beautiful dog made it stand out.

That little pup stole my heart before any others had a chance; dog or man. Pet shops have the best advertising ploys ever. It saves them money as well, all they do is display the intolerable puppies with their melting muddy eyes at the window and in come the swooning manipulated, passive customers ready to devote years, even lifetimes to these vulnerable creatures. It broke my icy heart when I conformed to exactly that, taken in by the ploy; I ventured inside and one little sandy mutt caught my eyes as I tried to look away.

The pup wasn’t at all vulnerable; just cheeky with a lolling tongue and a brown chocolate button nose to match his eyes. And to date, he is the only form of a male that I’ve managed to keep. My in-expensive, extremely worth-it-purchase of Marvel made my Sunday morning memorable. And in contradiction to popular (or at least his) opinion my Sunday is not memorable because I met him, that’s wishful thinking on his end.

I walked into a cafe ever-so-happy that I had a male like Marvel in my life, plus the amount of walks I’ve taken him on has done my body some good. I didn’t know the area very well and this pretty cafe was inviting. It wasn’t as it seemed. It wasn’t a cafe as I thought but a modern bar; modern being the word the owner used. I thought it was more an old people’s hang out, all the flowers and the upstairs garden made it seem as such.

After months of experiencing the place I have to say it has grown on me. Even with Marvel as company, I became the dog. Sniffing about, each scent leading another way into a different room with a small garden weaving onto a veranda.

Every room had a theme and its own bar, private and enchant-ing. The scent that took me upstairs was beechwood mixed with light lavender. It was so familiar it could have been my back garden. Well, it could be my garden if I bothered to grow anything in it. Maybe mow-ing the lawn should be first on the list.

The rooftop looked out onto a small lake with seagulls swooping near bins and people lazing in the sun with their picnics. I turned back to the mini-garden. There were wooden chairs and swings with thin green vines winding around them. I couldn’t believe I’d never heard of The Regret let alone been there.

It was discreet in its placing; somewhere beautiful to go with friends for a drink and ice cream. Oh yes. They do ice cream. I love ice cream. I loved this place. Ice cream and drinks being the focus of a bar made me fall in love with The Regret, probably named after all those patrons who overindulged on the rooftop. Even Marvel’s eyes opened wider, tongue lolling at the ice cream selection. I only realised they made ice cream because their bartender felt like advertising it with the Baileys I wanted to drink. At first, I thought he was a bit full of it, trying to make a sale. Usually I’d say no to any sales, walking away, but I couldn’t.

He might have seemed big-headed, but oh my god he had every reason to be. Plus, I wasn’t going to say no to ice cream with my Baileys. He was so dishy I wouldn’t have minded having him on the cone instead. Once I bought myself a Cookies and Cream, he casually followed me to the wooden benches and introduced himself as Sean.

I hadn’t noticed from afar but the benches were cushioned and made from darkly shaded distressed wood. This place got better and better. I’m not one to be impressed easily. I got talking to Sean with an endlessly flowing conversation and it felt like he was playing into the palm of my hands. Until he got cocky that is. He told me they had a games room downstairs and I started to boast about my basketball skills. I could always make the most shots in a sequence before the buzzer.

‘Why are you staring at me like that?’ I had to ask as he looked amused.

‘Why do you sound so sure of yourself?’ Sean leaned in and took a quick, skilled lick of my ice cream.

‘Excuse me?’ I didn’t know what else to say. I was stunned by his daring nature. After all, he was supposed to be working.

‘You’re excused. What are the chances of someone beating you at shooting hoops?’ He sat angelically, as if he hadn’t recently had his tongue all over my cone.

‘Well there isn’t a chance really unless it’s a fluke but that rarely happens’. I sounded full of myself, but I wasn’t lying, I rarely lost.

‘If someone beats you that means they win, right?’ he asked.

‘That’s how it usually happens love. If one person loses, then an-other must have won.’ I was confused at his questioning.

‘I propose we have a game and if I win, you owe me’. He’d got to the core of it.

We played a game. We had a crack at three games and then an-other four until we had about seven games, in which I am ashamed to say he beat me fair and square. The boy wasn’t lying, he knew how to play.

I would also like to add that he may have beaten me because I was more interested in checking him out. Watching his arms flex as he threw the basketball and the way his body leaned forward with concentration. His chiseled face was a distraction; the concentration which was obviously lost every time he looked up at me, trying to put me off my game with his eyes. Holding his gaze sent flutters to my stomach. I’ve heard only two people will keep eye contact for longer than ten seconds, either someone who wants to murder you or someone who wants to rip your clothes off.

I wasn’t getting the ‘oh-my-god-love-at-first-sight-flutters, but the oh-my-god-he-is-just-so-god-damn-fine kind.

Sean finished tormenting me with my loss by saying, ‘You owe me a date’.

‘I thought you weren’t allowed to play games while working’. I tried to gather my thoughts and figure out a cool enough answer.

‘Don’t be a rotten looser, you owe me. And on a more serious note, I enjoyed myself and would like to have more fun with you.’ I wasn’t sure what kind of fun he was after.

Without another word, I put my hand out for his phone and di-alled my number into his contact list. I still can’t believe I reacted like that, it was his attitude and the way he spoke. He was so sure of him-self and I wanted more of him. Although, I am going to tell you now and I mean it, I never knew he’d become that guy.

That guy. The one I fell for, the one I can’t stop thinking about and each time I think of him my emotions come crashing together, heavy like an avalanche making me fall deeper and deeper. I met him so randomly, it’s quite unbelievable how small meetings have bigger eventualities. I only stopped by The Regret to get something to eat and ended with drinks, ice cream, a few games and by the time I went to sleep, an extremely cheeky guy texting me. He temporarily left me sleeping with a smile imprinted on my face until the next morning.

I miss those mornings. I woke up nearly every day to a ‘good morning’ or a ‘morning beautiful’. I used to sit there and read over the texts because they made me feel amazing. Nobody had made me feel like that. Like I was worth a dime, at least not the way he made me feel it. He was genuine. I can still imagine how I imagined him. Sitting there every morning when he woke up, ruffled hair, half opened eyes and the duvet held tightly against his body whilst he texted with his other hand. The small smile playing about on his face, half there, half somewhere else, deep in what he was texting me.

I know that’s how he looked when he texted me in the morning. Because even when I was lying on his right-hand side with my head resting on his shoulder, eyes gazing at his face, he was right there tex-ting me.

There is a lot I miss about the Sean I knew then. He’s easily missed because his charming personality draws people in quickly and keeps them there. In his false sense of security. I felt great when we were together. We went on a trip to Westfield shopping centre, past White City train station. I wanted to do a bit of shopping and he wanted to watch a film, so it was the perfect place.

When we eventually arrived the shops were closing, but Ted Baker was open. In all my excitement to see their beautiful purses I pulled him by his sleeve and pointed out all the bright and colourful bags, claiming we were going to enter the shop. With this I walked smack-bang into the shop-front window.

Why would you clean your windows so much that they end up looking so clear I don’t even notice the glass! My nose, my head, my chest and then my knees were all acquainted with the window, they were also ridiculed by having every eye on them. Those inside of Ted Baker looked shocked and kept the expression without fail. Those out-side of the store let their laughter meet their eyes. Sean’s chuckle stood out the most.

He resorted to using the floor to balance himself and this sight of him put me into hysterics. With as much strength as I could maintain, I tried to drag him away from the surroundings, mentioning that the film was about to start. All I really managed to do was bring him to the side, so he could laugh in private, standing up straight. As a consola-tion I received a giant bear hug, quickly followed by more chuckles, his whole body vibrating from them.

For weeks after this was our personal joke, it also didn’t help that at one point I thought his car window was wound down and at-tempted to put my hand through it in front of him. That prolonged the event in his memory. I specifically remember a conversation we had about that day.

‘I’ve never seen you laugh so much,’ I’d began.

‘Well it was pretty funny, you know how you thought a window was a door, the security lock even fell off.’ It seemed he’d never get over the hilarity.

‘At least now I know how to make you laugh.’ I’d smiled at him.

‘Alright, if you want to walk into windows every time you’re with me just for my happiness, I’m not stopping you.’ He found me funny. That’s what I remember thinking. I was pleased I could make him laugh.

I remember his tone of voice, it was incredulous and challenging, but the smile on his face made me want to walk into the window again and again, however much pain it caused. I think this must have been a theme for the rest of our relationship, a profound moment of realisation, but of course I wouldn’t know until after.

To make him happy it’d cause me some form of pain. That’s exactly what I wanted. I wanted him to be happy. The only way to make him happy would cause myself pain in the process. I wonder if I knew everything then, would it have ever occurred to me to analyse our exchange. I was content at the time. Remembering our day at Westfield makes me smile now, regardless of what proceeded months after.

***

The cars passed by in a haze of colour. His top story window looked out onto the highway, not the best location for a house. The noise kept me up all night long, especially when he wasn’t keeping me up with his heavy kisses and false promises.

Disguised behind the white embroidered netting, I wondered if they could see the outline of my body, or if they thought that it was a shadow of me, looking into the mirror. My vanity, in all its glory. She pulled into the car parking spot, dropped Sean off. He gave her hand a slight squeeze as a thank you and made his way up to the door. Every time I saw the smile she gave him, I knew.

I returned to my book, lying next to the uncomfortable wooden stool Sean had in his room. The Expats by Chris Pavone. A real page turner. It wound my mind into little curves and crevices, ideas running through, helping me piece together months of his behaviour.

He found me like that. Perched on the stool, hand on the front cover of the book. As if I were reaching for it. Not fingering the pages in solace.

‘You’re still here?’ Sean sounded surprised.

‘We’re going to dinner, aren’t we? There was no point me leaving and coming back. How was the work emergency?’ Innocently, I picked up the book and lay down on his bed.

‘That’s true, that would’ve been a waste of time. It was okay, they got worried for no reason, I simply had to flick a switch to get the ice cream machine working.’ He came over and gave me a lingering kiss, looked into my eyes and handed me a sneaky slap on the bum. It made me feel special, having his attention on me.

I knew he gave those looks to everyone. He held eye-contact with all the girls. He’d held Lydia’s eyes as well as her hands when he said goodbye. I knew that look. I knew it.

‘I love you.’ It’s like a motor reaction. Those three words. You say them because you’re supposed to. Because that’s what you normally say. They fall off your tongue, as easily as spittle.

‘Not as much as I love you.’ Another automatic response. ‘Are you ready? We could go earlier, get a few drinks before dinner.’ He started to change out of his work clothes.

‘Can we swing by my place, I want to take Marvel with us. My sister is looking after him.’ He was my security blanket. When he was near me, I never felt alone.

‘The dog. Always the dog. Why would we take a dog to dinner with us?’ He wasn’t being unkind. I amused him.

‘He’s not just any old dog and the pub is Marvel-friendly.’ It wasn’t up for discussion. We didn’t even need reservations for their seated area, but Sean liked to make me feel special.

‘Sure babe.’ Peck on the cheek, he rubs his nose on mine. Kisses my forehead and turns away, checks his phone. I once read somewhere that if a man kisses you on the forehead it means he respects you. When I kiss a man on the forehead, it means I don’t want his lips on mine. It means life has become routine and mundane and I don’t trust him. I didn’t need to read that in a magazine.

He couldn’t stop looking at his phone. A lazy smile appearing on his face. I loved that smile. It’s the same one he’d have when texting me even when I was across the room.

I went up and hugged him from behind, glancing at the screen, catching him off guard. It was a message from Lydia.

‘Remember when we met?’ It was the best time wasn’t it? The way you tricked me into dating you.’ I gently kissed his soft cheek and walked away.

I thought it made me the cool girlfriend. The strong one who never spoke her mind. Jealousy riddled within me. It would forever be a powerplay between us. I wasn’t going to let him win.

Copyright © 2020 Arti Rajput, The Start of Something, All rights reserved.