He
understood as misplaced his optimism that switching on the light wouldn’t wake
her.
ache1
(turning over towards him): Skunk? What’s up, are you okay?
Skunk:
Yeah yeah it’s okay, it’s okay it’s nothing. Just a dream. You get back to
sleep and I’ll see you in the morning, okay?
Since
she was awake, or damn near, he began to reach across her before remembering,
and then remembering, rose and stepped around the bed’s end to retrieve from
her little table some pages of hotel stationery and a dark crayon both of which
he carried back into his lamplight.
ache1
(yawning): What time is it, Skunk?
Skunk
(getting back into bed): Don’t worry about the time, babe. Just you get back to
sleep. I’ll be finished in just a second. I’ll see you in the morning.
She
rolled away and he passed his hand gently up through her hair from her neck to
the crown of her head.
Skunk:
I’ll be right here.
Slowly,
and with barely energy enough to wake a trail of wax from out the crayon, he
wrote:
Skunk:
I work in a bar, hostile customers,
another barman who tries to show me up – Faulkner arrives – barman knows I
want to serve him.
each
individual letter less and less defined as the crayon’s tip eroded across the
paper.
Skunk:
F. asks for whiskey + soda – the other
barman messes it up, twice. F. leaves, I follow. He has groceries. I
offer to carry ‘em he says no. We walk out to Oxford, cross a river, crazy
putting course, massive magic castle. Bill puts money in and it opens up, plays
music, like a fairground ride. Film posters on it suggest it’s from the 70s.
Get to Bill’s house, bottom floor of joint place – shared group of girls. Side
of river. We see a hurricane pass overhead through the window ceiling. I
mention it looks like a maggot sucker passing over the house. It passes. Then
the river next to us starts to become disturbed. Expect water level of 30 ft.
We go into the vestibule and up on a little level. I’m wearing a Christmas
jumper. As this is happening England are in the World Cup final. They lose.
When we switch on the tv there’s another tv on the screen – someone’s placed a
child’s dummy over the on/off switch.
dropping
crayon and paper both to the carpet and extinguishing the lamp. He was almost
asleep before understanding this to be the closest he might ever approach,
feeling a sudden warming truth to their meeting and talk from which phantom his
memory would, given time, distil some preferred actuality he would not ever
forget.
Skunk
(in dry whisper): Goodnight, Mr Bill.
