I am a camera watching my ex come out of the kitchen at work and sit opposite me – or an actor playing me. There are similarities, but I know for certain that it’s not actually me. I’m worried that the person playing me is going to say something stupid. I see myself sitting opposite him, awkward. I am wearing big sunglasses, a tank top and hot pants. I have sunburn on my shoulders. He asks me how I’m doing.
I reply, ‘Fine. You?’
‘Yeah I’m great,’ he says. ‘Been doing lots of fucking.’
My head is shaved and I am a whole foot smaller. It must be a different actor. We are in a club and I am crying. I ask him why he doesn’t love me. I am weeping like a toddler in a supermarket.
I wake up to my phone ringing. At first I am annoyed that I have been woken up, then I remember that it might just be the café phoning me about interviews. It’s not.
‘You’ve got to help me. I think I have Chlamydia,’ the voice on the other end tells me.
‘You think?’ I ask. I can hear my voice and it sounds like a voice that has just been asleep for 6 hours.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I’ve been up all night, you see. I just didn’t know who else to call.’
Sarah was my friend for most of our school lives. We always seemed to wind up in the same classes and we hung out with the same group of friends, but I don’t think we were ever particularly close. I'd received a couple of e-mails from her since she went to university in September, but this is the first time she has called me. I try to think if she has ever called me before. She must have at some point but I can’t think of any right now.
‘Have you had any tests done?’ I ask her.
‘No, not yet. God, I don’t know what to do. Fuck, I feel like such a slut.’
‘You’re not a slut.’ I tell her.
Sarah then tells me, at length, how she slept with her flatmates boyfriend and then found out last night while they were out at a club that her flatmate has Chlamydia. I stop listening for a minute and take the phone away from my ear to look at the time. It’s half five in the morning. I listen a bit longer. She keeps on repeating things. Maybe this is because I am not saying anything and she thinks I am not listening. Maybe she’s just a bit drunk. She then tells me: ‘I can’t tell anyone this but you. Every one else will think I am such a big slut.’
I tell Sarah to get a test done at a clinic. I then tell her it’s Monday morning and I need to start getting ready to go to work. After about four 'bye’s and three 'speak to you soon’s I hang up the phone and get ready for what I have been dreading these past seven days.
I reply, ‘Fine. You?’
‘Yeah I’m great,’ he says. ‘Been doing lots of fucking.’
My head is shaved and I am a whole foot smaller. It must be a different actor. We are in a club and I am crying. I ask him why he doesn’t love me. I am weeping like a toddler in a supermarket.
I wake up to my phone ringing. At first I am annoyed that I have been woken up, then I remember that it might just be the café phoning me about interviews. It’s not.
‘You’ve got to help me. I think I have Chlamydia,’ the voice on the other end tells me.
‘You think?’ I ask. I can hear my voice and it sounds like a voice that has just been asleep for 6 hours.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I’ve been up all night, you see. I just didn’t know who else to call.’
Sarah was my friend for most of our school lives. We always seemed to wind up in the same classes and we hung out with the same group of friends, but I don’t think we were ever particularly close. I'd received a couple of e-mails from her since she went to university in September, but this is the first time she has called me. I try to think if she has ever called me before. She must have at some point but I can’t think of any right now.
‘Have you had any tests done?’ I ask her.
‘No, not yet. God, I don’t know what to do. Fuck, I feel like such a slut.’
‘You’re not a slut.’ I tell her.
Sarah then tells me, at length, how she slept with her flatmates boyfriend and then found out last night while they were out at a club that her flatmate has Chlamydia. I stop listening for a minute and take the phone away from my ear to look at the time. It’s half five in the morning. I listen a bit longer. She keeps on repeating things. Maybe this is because I am not saying anything and she thinks I am not listening. Maybe she’s just a bit drunk. She then tells me: ‘I can’t tell anyone this but you. Every one else will think I am such a big slut.’
I tell Sarah to get a test done at a clinic. I then tell her it’s Monday morning and I need to start getting ready to go to work. After about four 'bye’s and three 'speak to you soon’s I hang up the phone and get ready for what I have been dreading these past seven days.
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