Equations [Short story]dialogue/imagery build up
He swiped the screen on his phone one more time. Nothing new. Looked up slyly at Amy sitting across the table, busily swiping too. Hadn't this been a ground rule? "We'll never become one of those couples that never talk!"
Now they'd become one of those couples that never talk. Derek couldn't believe it. Knew too that if he mentioned it, there would be one of two outcomes. She would look through him as though he were a ghost, not hearing a word. Or she would switch on immediately, blame him squarely for their lack of communication, thereby ruining the evening. Damned if you do. Damned if you don't.
Derek ordered another round of drinks. A craft beer because this place was uber cool. A pint of ordinary draught lager would be a fashion-faux-pas. Her's was prosecco. From the tap. The only thing they had in common was a hatred of their jobs. Meeting at the bridge as they usually did on Thursday evenings, ten minutes of cursing and damning-to-hell of all their workmates and despicable chores ensued. Usually by the time their first drinks arrived in The Palace bar the angst had given way to silence.
Minutes passed. He stared at the beer rings in his pint glass. She looked up at him. "Dion and Rachel will be in town later. Said they'd see us at the club." Her eyes moved down towards the screen again, her pupils slightly dilating at the square light in her hand.
"Ah Jesus. Same as last week. That Dion is so boring. Nothing to say." She didn't react. She swiped again.
"And that moustache. Like, what the hell?" Still no reaction. The gel nails flickered, mascara-blackened eyelids stayed down. It was true too. Inter-Milan! All that man wanted to talk about was soccer in general and Inter-Milan in particular. Derek liked any sport as a conversation starter but... last week it was still Inter after three pints in The Long Hall pub. Listen, girls are great, they could probably talk about toast for hours and not get tired. And Derek, he didn't see himself as clever, or God forbid, intellectual. He just loved a laugh and a rounded conversation. Blokes, he'd decided years ago, hold sport conversations up like a shield to protect themselves from having to participate, to be in a conversation, to accept there is more to this world than their version of it. Damned if Derek was going to put up with that again this week. Not at his age. Amy returned from the toilet and picked up the phone again.
"Amy love, can't we just blow them off and do something different this evening?" Her eyebrows lifted to listen. He had got her attention.
"Like what exactly? I'm not going back to your place again. Those housemates of yours like living in squalor. It's not very romantic. Besides, all my clothes and make-up for work are at my place." And her face took on that demeanour; the one that said its not worth even trying. There was however, three empty craft beer bottles on the table. As Dutch as courage could get.
"What about going to a gig then? There's a Coneheadz gig at the Acorn theatre." Her eyes were back on the screen.
"Or comedy? Lar Wiseman is doing stand up at the Lounge?" No response. She was as becalmed as ever. Derek though was restless. He was breathing deeper and feeling a little tight, as though his veins and brain were straining under the alcohol. He didn't do the maths where beer was involved. You could think whatever you wanted without consequences; fancy your chances with the girl near the bar. Believe yourself handsome in the bathroom mirror. Love or hate all and sundry so long as you only thought it. But saying what you were thinking had consequences.
"Alright. What do you suggest?" He ploughed on, lest he forgot what it was that had crossed his mind like a comet but wasn't meant to fall to earth in a conversation." I mean, if a typical Thursday with the love of my life is going to be silent drinks followed by a jammed club where we can't hear ourselves and I'll have to make conversation with some dude with a moustache straight from a 1985 pop group...." He had held her gaze for the twenty seconds it took to deliver his insight. And there was the face he'd fallen in love with. "So thats it? My friends can go to hell? And me along with them? And where are your friends? Why aren't they here? What makes you so much bloody better? So damned superior? Eh?" She hadn't raised her voice. Her face though, that blemish-free young face was furious. Beautiful and angry in equal measure.
And Derek's gut sank as he realised just how gorgeous she was but he'd not seen it lately because it was looking at a phone. He had to anger her to see her beauty again and regain her attention but he'd gone too far not to have consequences. Even putting her phone away she was elegantly silent. Taking a twenty out of the couture clutch bag was done with an inaudible click of the catch. The banknote was placed on the table with a manicured hand on top. She stood up without hurry. Silence invaded the space about their table.
Derek knew it was useless. He looked a little ashamed. Stared down at nothing. Amy looked down at him with those ice-blue eyes like nothing he'd seen before. Or would again. He did not look up from the table. He was busy working out which silence was better. It didn't take long to do the Maths.
Now they'd become one of those couples that never talk. Derek couldn't believe it. Knew too that if he mentioned it, there would be one of two outcomes. She would look through him as though he were a ghost, not hearing a word. Or she would switch on immediately, blame him squarely for their lack of communication, thereby ruining the evening. Damned if you do. Damned if you don't.
Derek ordered another round of drinks. A craft beer because this place was uber cool. A pint of ordinary draught lager would be a fashion-faux-pas. Her's was prosecco. From the tap. The only thing they had in common was a hatred of their jobs. Meeting at the bridge as they usually did on Thursday evenings, ten minutes of cursing and damning-to-hell of all their workmates and despicable chores ensued. Usually by the time their first drinks arrived in The Palace bar the angst had given way to silence.
Minutes passed. He stared at the beer rings in his pint glass. She looked up at him. "Dion and Rachel will be in town later. Said they'd see us at the club." Her eyes moved down towards the screen again, her pupils slightly dilating at the square light in her hand.
"Ah Jesus. Same as last week. That Dion is so boring. Nothing to say." She didn't react. She swiped again.
"And that moustache. Like, what the hell?" Still no reaction. The gel nails flickered, mascara-blackened eyelids stayed down. It was true too. Inter-Milan! All that man wanted to talk about was soccer in general and Inter-Milan in particular. Derek liked any sport as a conversation starter but... last week it was still Inter after three pints in The Long Hall pub. Listen, girls are great, they could probably talk about toast for hours and not get tired. And Derek, he didn't see himself as clever, or God forbid, intellectual. He just loved a laugh and a rounded conversation. Blokes, he'd decided years ago, hold sport conversations up like a shield to protect themselves from having to participate, to be in a conversation, to accept there is more to this world than their version of it. Damned if Derek was going to put up with that again this week. Not at his age. Amy returned from the toilet and picked up the phone again.
"Amy love, can't we just blow them off and do something different this evening?" Her eyebrows lifted to listen. He had got her attention.
"Like what exactly? I'm not going back to your place again. Those housemates of yours like living in squalor. It's not very romantic. Besides, all my clothes and make-up for work are at my place." And her face took on that demeanour; the one that said its not worth even trying. There was however, three empty craft beer bottles on the table. As Dutch as courage could get.
"What about going to a gig then? There's a Coneheadz gig at the Acorn theatre." Her eyes were back on the screen.
"Or comedy? Lar Wiseman is doing stand up at the Lounge?" No response. She was as becalmed as ever. Derek though was restless. He was breathing deeper and feeling a little tight, as though his veins and brain were straining under the alcohol. He didn't do the maths where beer was involved. You could think whatever you wanted without consequences; fancy your chances with the girl near the bar. Believe yourself handsome in the bathroom mirror. Love or hate all and sundry so long as you only thought it. But saying what you were thinking had consequences.
"Alright. What do you suggest?" He ploughed on, lest he forgot what it was that had crossed his mind like a comet but wasn't meant to fall to earth in a conversation." I mean, if a typical Thursday with the love of my life is going to be silent drinks followed by a jammed club where we can't hear ourselves and I'll have to make conversation with some dude with a moustache straight from a 1985 pop group...." He had held her gaze for the twenty seconds it took to deliver his insight. And there was the face he'd fallen in love with. "So thats it? My friends can go to hell? And me along with them? And where are your friends? Why aren't they here? What makes you so much bloody better? So damned superior? Eh?" She hadn't raised her voice. Her face though, that blemish-free young face was furious. Beautiful and angry in equal measure.
And Derek's gut sank as he realised just how gorgeous she was but he'd not seen it lately because it was looking at a phone. He had to anger her to see her beauty again and regain her attention but he'd gone too far not to have consequences. Even putting her phone away she was elegantly silent. Taking a twenty out of the couture clutch bag was done with an inaudible click of the catch. The banknote was placed on the table with a manicured hand on top. She stood up without hurry. Silence invaded the space about their table.
Derek knew it was useless. He looked a little ashamed. Stared down at nothing. Amy looked down at him with those ice-blue eyes like nothing he'd seen before. Or would again. He did not look up from the table. He was busy working out which silence was better. It didn't take long to do the Maths.
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