The Break-up

“We’re a fucking calamity. This. Us.” John was pacing round the room like he was on crack, leaping from foot to foot and darting between the kitchen top and the door like a heated atom.

He finally came to a standstill.

“I mean seriously Lils, what happened? What happened to us?”

As I stared blankly back at him his eyes began to fill and I looked down to find my fingers nervously toying with the dog lead, wrapping it around one finger and pulling it tightly with the other hand, as if trying to strangle it.

“I don’t know what happened” I said, lifting my head slightly to see his hunched shoulders and erratic breathing that was punching his body inwards and outwards like air through a paper bag. He was holding a bunch of flowers.

“I just can’t put my finger on it, on anything. These things happen ok?” 

I knew I was nonchalant, and at that, John suddenly deflated down into a sob, throwing the flowers to the floor and placing his hands to his face. He looked so vulnerable, so small. It felt strange to see him like this, and it made me feel horrid, but I guess it was ironic. John had somehow dug deep into the depths of his lungs and coughed up more emotion now than he ever had - just when I didn’t want him to.

 I thought back to when I would cry on his shoulder, watching each tear tangle in his wiry chest hair whilst he would lie there like a statue, not understanding. Not understanding me. Funnily enough I felt more stone now than I ever imagined I could.

“Did I do something to upset you? Piss you off? I mean seriously Lils just fucking tell me what’s going on up there. How is it that, what, one month ago everything was great, and now you’ve got your fucking bags by the door?”

“It wasn’t good between us a month ago and you know that John. It hasn’t been good for fucking ages and you haven’t noticed or cared to ask me how I am. It’s like you’re so intent on having this perfect little life that as soon as you see me doubting things you ignore it, you ignore me. You’ve never stopped to consider how I’m feeling. How I want to live my life.” I was angry now and I felt my body begin to tremble with a quiet rage. The stone was slowly cracking.

He looked at me with concern and I could tell from his expression he thought there was more to it. 

“I haven’t met someone else if that’s what you’re thinking" I continued. "I’ve been totally out of sorts this last year and you haven’t even had the courage to sit me down and get to the bottom of it. As long as everything is good for you then that’s ok. Well you know what, it’s not ok.”

John and I had been together for four years. We met at a gig in Brixton, bumped into each other actually as we were throwing ourselves around from side to side, dancing and singing like giddy groupies. From that moment on, we laughed our way into love with each other. We were so similar then, and everything about him made me smile. When he was around I wanted to re-live my life using everything he’d taught me and I couldn’t imagine my world without him in it.

But here I was, pointing out the exit. 

I remember it was the morning after our three year anniversary, and I woke up wondering when my life was going to get exciting. I was 30 at the time, and tonight was my 31^st birthday. I guess you could say I’d been stewing.

John had come home from work early, probably to surprise me, only to discover my bags by the door and me, sitting awkwardly on the kitchen stool, eyes pierced on the door handle and rehearsing in a hush whisper what I was going - or at least trying - to say.

“Look, some people just fall out of love with each other. I know that’s shit to hear, but it’s true and I don’t know what else to say to you. I don’t know why I feel like this. I just do, it just is, and I’m so sorry”.

John wiped his face with his shirt sleeve, and looked at me with a stare I hadn’t seen from him before. It was a look of recognition but complete alienation all at once. It was like I was a famous sculpture seen in real life for the very first time, and as the natural light fell on my stony skin, John simply stared, taken aback at how disappointing I looked.

He turned and sat back down at the wooden table, his grey jumper seeming darker, harsher than it had this morning. As his shoulders gently hunched, he finally appeared to wilt down into a sad but quiet surrender.

“You're my life Lils. We're my life.” He choked, “we’ve got this house, that, that fucking budgie that shits everywhere and....” he trailed off and as he seemed to grapple with what to say next, he cried. He really, really cried. 

Strange to bring up the budgie I thought. I imagined us pulling at its wings, arguing over who got to keep it: the poor thing crying out like a helpless child torn between two keepers. But after that, I just sat there, wondering whether the water drenched flowers would stain the wooden floor.