Condoms murder passion. The build up to sex is a delight, but then, thanks to the condom, it ‘climaxes’ with an emotionless and robotic release of fluids. Grunts and oh babies are exchanged in a sad effort to mask the new crassness of the act. We try to retrieve the preceeding excitement, simulating stimulation.
Tyler was leaving.
Anne’s House was busy, so the party was held at Oni Giri’s. The tables were those long low Japanese ones, the room a hot and greasy tube. an unpleasant contrast to the cold wind and rain outside, making my face an ugly red. And it was hard to breath. Tyler wasn’t there yet. I changed gears from trying to look unhappy at his departure to trying to look sexy and interesting. The room was packed with his friends and admirers. When I leave, I’ll have to book a smaller room.
I sat down at the smoker’s table.
‘where’s Yuko?’ said Takashi, very slowly.
‘snowboarding.’
‘snow…?’
‘Boarding. Snowboarding.’
‘eh?’
I made a vague gesture with my hands.
‘ah! Snowboarding!’
He looked amazed and pleased.
I made myself smile. I like Takashi. He’s a nice fella, But like everyone in Japan, conversation with him is a drag. His wife sat down.
‘Ah! Ribo san! Where’s Yuko?’
‘Snowboarding.’
‘Snow?’
‘Snowboarding. She’s snowboarding. Snow-borru?
‘Snow… ah! Snowboarding! Segoi!!’
Delighted and amazed. Yes. She’s snowboarding. My cigarette had burnt out. It had done nothing for me except make me a little deader. Hey fuckit, we’re history man, so smoke 'em if you got ‘em.
So, how the hell do you bring a condom into a sexual encounter without spoiling the mood? Apart from all the normal sex anxieties that generations before have learned to deal with, there is a whole new skill set- the art of making condoms exciting.
The great lover will make them erotic, make them add to the mood. Fucked if I know how.
Dooley ambushed me with a snapshot from across the room. I hate having my picture taken, with my big flabby red face and dopey loose lips. There’s a great word in Irish for one such as me-
‘buddach’.
It means an oafish giant. Bud means bollox. I look like a bollox. I don’t mind usually- I get on well with people and in a lot of ways I’m pretty cool. But I hate photos.
I went over to talk to Amanda.
‘hey Amanda. What’s the craic?’
‘Hey man, where’s Yuko?’
‘Snowboarding’
‘oh.’
I like Amanda. She’s cool.
Tyler came in. Oh baby.
He’s a bit of a sky scraper, even by his American standards. High cheekbones, sincere blue eyes, deep voice. He’s mad into yoga and he can draw better than me (but that doesn’t bother me). He’s a skinny fucker too.
I’ll have to talk to him, but not just yet. He’s doing the rounds of both tables. All the girls are looking at him with their beautiful ‘take me now’ eyes. And you just know he’d take-them-to-another-level. Possibly all at once. sex god. fucker.
But Amanda wasn’t looking at him. She was fiddling with her ridiculously chunky camera. It looked like a bunch of gray and pink shampoo bottles taped together. A fun-cam Polaroid. What a riot.
I made small talk.
‘where’s he off to again?’
‘He’s going to trek around India and Nepal.’
(Yeah).
‘then he’s going to study yoga in Tibet.’
(Yeah.)
‘that’s a funny looking robot you’ve got there…’
‘shut up! Anyway, I have to take your picture. Sorry, I’m making a friends book for Tyler.’
‘Go on so.’
Flash. Click. Out came a postage stamp picture that would soon fade to Ribo.
‘Thanks Ribo.’
I don’t mind it so much when Amanda takes my picture. She taped it into an album, and gave me a pen to write something. Without thinking I gave myself an eye patch and a moustache. It looked lame. I turned back a page. There was Mark; easily pulling a goofy face, looking confident and handsome. He’d written
Hey Tyler, I don’t like you. Now shoo, outa my restaurant. Love mark.
Damn. I wish I’d written that. I wish I’d made a goofy face. I wish I hadn’t drawn that stupid eye patch. I feel like a dork.
Tyler had come around, it was my turn to shake his hand. Oh boy.
‘hey man, good luck in India.’
Thanks uh, Peter.’
His handshake was warm and strong, his gaze was steady and serene.
‘so why India?’
‘I’m going to study yoga.’
He sat down beside me.
‘Oh yeah? You must be pretty in to it.’
‘yeah. I’ve been studying it for 2 years now. For me, it’s much more than just a deadly martial art. it’s a whole philosophy.’
The other teachers were nodding solemnly at his insight. Except Amanda who rolled her eyes at me. Sometimes you need friends like that.
Before I could come up with something devastatingly sarcastic, he had me accept a random gift from his lucky dipshit bag of presents. I got a sketchbook.
‘thanks Tyler.’
It was full of his art work. Yeah, ok, he can draw better than me. From Tyler it was a gift that would leave any one of his admirers moved to tears.
I quickly looked at his eyes, and saw them wince. He clearly wished one of the hot chicks had gotten the book, and that I’d gotten one of the duds.
‘so where’s Yuko?’
‘she’s snowboarding.’
‘oh cool. Would you mind giving her this? It’s a book of my poetry.’
Arrrgh!
‘I translated it to Japanese for her.’
ARRRGH!
I lit up again, so he left.
‘His sketchbook! Nice one!’
‘Yeah. He looked pissed,’ I answered with a smile, ‘What did you get?’
‘Toothbrush case.’
‘Oooh! Nice!’
He’d written a motto on the first page:
‘The search for inner light is the spiritual light that shines bright.
Shine bright light! Burn bright shine light!’
Thanks Tyler, you big dumb retard. I started to feel better.
We started going through the book, pearls of Tyler’s wisdom.
If I could speak with anyone who ever lived, it would be Dr. Leonardo Da Vinci, even though I don’t speak French. I’d just bring him a cup of coffee, and a pen, and some paper, and one more day.
I wanted to chat with Amanda, But I don’t function well in crowds, and I’d nothing really to say to her. I wanted to go, but it was too soon. So I went.
As I walked home, in the pissing rain, I thought about how much better things would be tomorrow. I’d connect with Yuko. I’d hold her and change her life.
Ever since she told me she could be pregnant, I’ve been having nosebleeds at night. My body is so eager for her to have her period, I think its simulating them.
I don’t think her body is still capable of supporting a life form. She’s only 26, but she’s one of those Lego people. She cuts pieces off herself, sucks bits out or stitches them together. magnificent to look at, but cold. We haven’t spoken since I suggested a personality implant.
In fairness, she’s only had surgery twice. Once was to repair damage to her nose. The other time was completely cosmetic. Granted, breast implants make sense. But she talks about her body all the time, how if she had the money she’d spend it on her ass. This strikes me as absurd. ‘Honey,’ I tell her ‘Your ass is mine. Leave it alone.’ I say this to cheer her up, but it just makes her mad. God it pisses me off when she cries. It makes me feel guilty, and give me a headache. There’s just no compromise with her. Not even on abortion. Not even on abortion.
I’ll wait to see if she’s really pregnant, then split. If she’s not.
If she is, well, I guess my life will be over.
I’ll be dad.
As a writer I’m supposed to be able to imagine anything, but that one… simply ain’t fathoming it. What, am I supposed to stop being a writer? Will I have to work for a living? Since she told me, I’ve been smoking 20 a day, and I’ve stopped karate, because of the nose bleeds. When she tells me for sure, I’ll have to quit smoking, and no fucking around this time. If she is.
I forgot to give her Tyler’s poetry.
Last night, I tried calling Amanda. Her phone rang a few times, then went to this message:
“The number for the international dental clinic is zero five seven seven five two three.
Dial three four zero eight one one zero seven four Takushin inc. If you are not entirely satisfied with your Mos Burger, consumer help is available at zero one two zero zero one zero six five seven . Smoking can seriously damage your health. Contact nicarrette at three five seven three three seven one five for a free five free information brochure on quitting.
Don’t worry about it. Don’t worry about a thing.
This is just a phase. Having a number is a weird fad that you can abandon any time you like. Yesterday nobody had one. The mountains haven’t even blinked yet. (beep.)”
I did my best to answer it in kind.
“Since they came racing out of the first tide, the mountains have quietly watched us trying on our hats, fretting over our job, exchanging our numbers. One day two things will be different for all of us. Most of us have forgotten what it is to believe, but we’ll remember, and then the numbers will disap- ”
It wasn’t much, but it made me feel better.
She called me back.
“hey man.”
“Hey Tusa. Nice voice message.”
“Thanks. You too. What’s up?”
“Eh, Amanda?”
“Yeah?”
”What’s it mean to be a dad?”
Here’s a dream I had.
I had a dream last night that god gave me a letter to give to the devil. So I went down to the labyrinth damp. The loneliest place. Not me, nobody.
My eyes filled with tears and I knew the fallen was near. Then he was behind me, on four legs. his beard clotted into a long tail. The fallen is in rags.
The ancient eyes looking up at me were full of young remorse, and I realised that hell is regret. I was too choked to speak. His beard was coiling around my collar and down my shirt. He saw the letter. I whimpered as he clung suddenly to my leg.
“I think its about putting your still breathing heart and your still beating soul into another body.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
“Anytime.”