For Conan
I'm not very good at goodbyes. Or hellos, for that matter. In all matters physical, I am awkward as fuck. I never know quite what's appropriate [hug/kiss/handshake] and my awkwardness is infectious. Andrew, by contrast, is a great man for the hugs. My brother, in his cups, once thanked him for "bringing hugs into the family". I usen't to hug him or my sister, but Andrew's physical affection for them has shamed me into sharing some love with my siblings. We hug like comically heterosexual men in buddy films; stiff-backed, with shoulder pats. I do it with friends now too, friends I'd probably never so much as shaken hands with in all the years I've known and loved them. Two pints and a hey-here's-me-husband introduction in the pub and Andrew's wrapping them up in his arms like a big hairy Amma. If it was left to me, I'd have snuck out the door without so much as a see-ya.
Because I'm bad at goodbyes. So this is a story about bidding a not-very-good goodbye to a boy on a bicycle. He was a college friend of mine, and I had no idea at all that he'd fallen hopelessly in love with me. In fact, I thought he was gay. I thought everyone was gay when I was a teenager. Mostly because nobody fancied me. I fancied him, but then I fancied everyone when I was a teenager. Mostly because nobody fancied me. Anyway, we'd gone for a drink so's I could tell him all about this fella I liked. Because that's what you do when you fancy someone; you tell them all about someone else you want to ride. He gave me a sympathetic ear and some sage advice and pursed his lips obediently when I went to put lipgloss on him (I'd gotten a new tube of the stuff that stings your lips to make them plump and sexy and was so wowed by it that I was only short of insisting passers-by on the street give it a go). By the end of the night, suffused with gin and self-confidence, I'd decided that I didn't mind at all that he wasn't ever going to fancy me back (what with the gayness and all) and that it was just nice to have someone so handsome to bend the ear off and put lipgloss on. "He'll probably make me much more attractive to other men" I thought, because I'm one of those ugly people who accessorise with good-looking friends.
At closing time we took to the street, me with my delusions and him with his bicycle. He didn't offer to walk me to the bus (gay) but we walked the first five minutes together, my high heels clacking and his spokes making that lovely clicky ticky sound. We reached the corner and stopped to say goodbye, the bicycle between us and his helmet perched comically on his head. I was mid my usual rock-paper-scissors-hug-kiss-handshake when suddenly he leaned a little closer and kissed me on the lips. Mwah. Goodnight. Then off he cycled.
I'm not very good at goodbyes. Or hellos, for that matter. In all matters physical, I am awkward as fuck. I never know quite what's appropriate [hug/kiss/handshake] and my awkwardness is infectious. Andrew, by contrast, is a great man for the hugs. My brother, in his cups, once thanked him for "bringing hugs into the family". I usen't to hug him or my sister, but Andrew's physical affection for them has shamed me into sharing some love with my siblings. We hug like comically heterosexual men in buddy films; stiff-backed, with shoulder pats. I do it with friends now too, friends I'd probably never so much as shaken hands with in all the years I've known and loved them. Two pints and a hey-here's-me-husband introduction in the pub and Andrew's wrapping them up in his arms like a big hairy Amma. If it was left to me, I'd have snuck out the door without so much as a see-ya.
Because I'm bad at goodbyes. So this is a story about bidding a not-very-good goodbye to a boy on a bicycle. He was a college friend of mine, and I had no idea at all that he'd fallen hopelessly in love with me. In fact, I thought he was gay. I thought everyone was gay when I was a teenager. Mostly because nobody fancied me. I fancied him, but then I fancied everyone when I was a teenager. Mostly because nobody fancied me. Anyway, we'd gone for a drink so's I could tell him all about this fella I liked. Because that's what you do when you fancy someone; you tell them all about someone else you want to ride. He gave me a sympathetic ear and some sage advice and pursed his lips obediently when I went to put lipgloss on him (I'd gotten a new tube of the stuff that stings your lips to make them plump and sexy and was so wowed by it that I was only short of insisting passers-by on the street give it a go). By the end of the night, suffused with gin and self-confidence, I'd decided that I didn't mind at all that he wasn't ever going to fancy me back (what with the gayness and all) and that it was just nice to have someone so handsome to bend the ear off and put lipgloss on. "He'll probably make me much more attractive to other men" I thought, because I'm one of those ugly people who accessorise with good-looking friends.
At closing time we took to the street, me with my delusions and him with his bicycle. He didn't offer to walk me to the bus (gay) but we walked the first five minutes together, my high heels clacking and his spokes making that lovely clicky ticky sound. We reached the corner and stopped to say goodbye, the bicycle between us and his helmet perched comically on his head. I was mid my usual rock-paper-scissors-hug-kiss-handshake when suddenly he leaned a little closer and kissed me on the lips. Mwah. Goodnight. Then off he cycled.
