He said it. Of course he did. It was only a matter of time. He said what every man before him has said. He said what friends have said. What colleagues, strangers, acquaintances, medical staff have said.
There’s something about you…
So I’ve been told.
Yeah, well, it’s bugging me.
The thing. The thing that makes you special and different.
I see. And why’s it annoying you?
Because I dunno what it is about you that makes me not stop thinking about you, I dunno what it is and it’s winding me up cos I can’t figure it out.
And then I just laughed and laughed and walked out into the garden for a smoke and then he came outside a few minutes later and I was still laughing and he just ran up to me and kissed me and I knew that I should push him away and say ‘We shouldn’t be doing this’ but I didn’t and neither did he and so that was that and now nothing will ever be the same again.
Nobody has ever managed to pin it down, to put their finger on it, to work it out. The elusive Something that I possess that makes all the wrong people fall in love with me, that makes me appear charming but cynical, intellectual but ditzy, clued-up but clueless, powerful but vulnerable, intimidating but sweet.
Maybe what they’re all seeing is just my collection of illnesses holding hands and dancing in a circle around me so I can’t get out and I’m trapped in the middle, but from the outside the merriment makes joining me seem fun, inviting, appealing. But when people join me in the middle they realise how terrifying it is to be me, and they realise how sick I really am, and that’s when they leave.
I like things to be a certain way, I like familiarity, I am afraid of change but I am as unpredictable as the British weather and sometimes I chase change because I need new and exciting things to occupy my brain. I can’t keep up. And they most definitely can’t keep up.
Nevertheless, I wished him luck on his quest to try and work me out. I told him nobody has managed it before but I respect his determination. “There’s just something about you…” That will not be the last time I hear those words, of that I am certain. Something, something, fucking something…
C’est tellement mystérieux, le pays des larmes.
It’s so mysterious, the land of tears.