I Unlove You (8 page)

“
Actually,
”
she says, leaning her
head on the side of the seat.
“
I was hoping
you
’
d make your famous veggie burgers.
I
’
ve been thinking about them all
day.
”

“
I see you
’
ve
planned this,
”
I say, laughing.

“
Maybe
…”

“
This
celebration
of ours
better be worthwhile.
”

“
It will. Don
’
t you
worry.
”

Resting my head on the chair, I stare out of the window as
the sun continues its descent. Still light, but hazy as the clouds
lighten to a cooler tone. Evenings like these always remind me of
midsummer; Joey,
B
, and me lazing in Hyde Park after a day of uni,
wasting away the hours as guys kicked footballs and girls lounged
in next-to-nothing.

Joey and me in thin shirts with rolled up sleeves,
and
B
in a low cut top that showcased the top of the birthmark
above her left breast; shaped like a summer cloud, the type you
draw as a child.

It
’
s strange to think those carefree days are over,
after so many years of school summer holidays and easy-going
university. Waking up at the same time, catching the same train,
and rinsing and repeating throughout the seasons; evenings spent in
the garden drinking wine are soon to be the exception, not the
rule.

I
spent what seems like a lifetime imagining adulthood and everything
it may hold. It seemed so fantastical, but now
it
’
s here it feels normal and so everyday. The park may
be replaced by a living room, and quirky studios with a rather
boring desk, but I continue to waste away the hours with
B
,
chit-chatting until we submit to sleep.

I
’
m not sure if my younger self would agree, but I
sense my younger self didn
’
t know what he
wanted, anyway.

MAY 10
^TH
- THE GREATEST VINTAGE SHOP KNOWN TO
MAN:

I
can
’
t recall the last time I bought new clothing. Barring
underwear and socks, my wardrobe offers an exclusive range of old,
tatty, ancient attire. It all began here, in this random vintage
shop in Leeds. I remember the day Joey and I found it, catching the
train without telling anyone and spending the afternoon exploring
without the constraints of adult supervision.

“
Just wait until we tell
everyone on Monday,
”
he said, holding his arms in the air and arching
his head towards the sky.
“
I love
Leeds,
”
he yelled, laughing and running down the
street.

Eleven years-old and oblivious to the dangers or
consequence, we ventured down streets never before visited, and
into shops we
’
d read about in
music magazines. Then, for some reason I cannot recall, I
said,
“
Should we try this place?
”

Entering through its bright blue doors, a huge space opened
up, flush with shirts, trousers, bags, and every colour imaginable.
Where the shops our parents took us to had shiny new railings, this
haven presented industrial scaffolding, catering trolleys stacked
with jeans, and an eclectic range of rusty fixtures holding bags,
shoes, and random memorabilia. Most shops play chart music and
mainstream nonsense, but this hidden gem played classic rock, early
punk, and songs we
’
d never come across
before.

“
I
’
m in
love,
”
Joey said, looking up to the ceiling.
“
We
’
ve found it.
We
’
ve found the greatest place on
Earth.
”

Little has changed over the years. Despite spending more
time in here than is probably healthy, I
’
ve only met the
owner on a handful of occasions, but it
’
s always clear
when he stops by, adding a random picture or lamp to the already
crazy offering of this and that.

Still, it seems to mature with age, its wear and tear
providing further mystique. We
’
ve all tried to get
a job here at some point, but the owner only hires girls. It was a
surprise to nobody when
B
got one, and what started as a
summer job soon developed into a five-year love affair with
fashion, hipster customers, and easy-going
afternoons.

I
think it
’
s here her desire to craft her own creations
began. She
’
d return home with a
sparkle in her eye, eager to draw and sketch and mishmash pieces of
clothing she
’
d held that day.
Sitting at her desk, she honed in on her notebook, steely-eyed in
the same vein as when she runs.

Hours ticked by as she drew; I
wrote. We spent entire evenings silent, but said more than enough
through what we crafted.

“
When did this jumper come
in?
”
I ask, holding the dark green fabric to the light and
peering through the hole in the elbow.

“
A couple of days
ago,
”
B
says, folding a pair of yellow
chinos and sliding them into a bag.
“
I thought you might
like that one,
”
she continues, passing the brown paper bag to a girl
who looks familiar, but at the same time, just like so many girls
who wander the streets of Leeds.
“
Have a good time at
the party tomorrow, Steph. Let me know how it
goes.
”

“
Will do,
”
says Steph, the girl
I may or may not know.
“
And save me one of
those bags you made, okay? Such a cute design.
”

Backing out of the shop door with a large smile and
swinging bag, the familiar stranger leaves
B
and me alone. I
struggle with names, and I
’
m not much better
with faces, but it doesn
’
t help having a
girlfriend who knows every single student in Leeds, and almost the
entire town of Halifax. I
’
ve never understood
how she has the energy to entertain so much small
talk.

“
Steph is lovely,
don
’
t you think?
”
she says, stepping from behind the
counter.
“
I don
’
t understand why
she
’
s single.
”

“
Don
’
t even
ask,
”
I say, placing the green jumper back on the
rail.

“
I didn
’
t say
anything.
”

“
You don
’
t have to. If it
were up to you, you
’
d set up every
single girl you know with one of my friends. The thing is, I only
have one real friend, and his name is Joey. Do you really want Beth
to go out with Joey?
”

“
Steph. Her name is
Steph,
”
she says, smoothing down the green jumper
I
’
ve apparently disturbed.
“
And you have lots of
friends.
”

As
she hands me a purple top with a pocket on its left breast, I
smile.
“
No, you have lots of friends. I just have vague memories of
people I may or may not have met.
”

Blowing her bangs away from her face, she wraps her arms
around my neck and kisses me on the nose.
“
How is it someone who
remembers so much crap can
’
t recall a name or
face? And I don
’
t want to set up
everyone I know, just nice girls like Steph.
”

“
You only like her because she
wants to buy one of your
cute
bags.
”

“
Shut up,
”
she says, digging her
fingernails into the back of my neck.
“
That
’
s just a
bonus.
”

Winking and backing away, she leans on an old trolley
stacked with t-shirts. She blows upward once more, displacing her
fringe and the curly strands that frame her face. For one year we
shared an arts class at school, and even though we were already an
item, I couldn
’
t help but stare at
her for the entire hour. It was usually the one class I excelled
in, but not that year.

I
sense few notice, but barely a conversation goes by where she
doesn
’
t huff at her fringe.

A
subtle quirk, but one I can
’
t help but notice
when she concentrates on a design or a particular task in hand; her
huffing and puffing intensifying the deeper she slips into her
world.

“
You
’
ll come across
plenty of pretty girls,
”
said my father once, showering me
with advice like he often does.
“
But
don
’
t allow a pretty face to fool you,
”
he continued, as he
taught me how to play The Velvet Underground
’
s
Pale Blue Eyes
on the guitar.

“
Would you like to know how I
knew your mother was the one? It
’
s when I noticed her
annoying little habits. At some point in every relationship, you
notice little things that drive you insane. Fingernail biting, or
knuckle cracking, or certain words and phrases
…
everyone has silly
quirks, and most drive you mad.

“
One day, I noticed how your
mother snorts when she laughs. I couldn
’
t believe how
I
’
d missed it for so long, because all of a sudden it
was all I could hear. The thing is, it didn
’
t annoy me. I
loved it. I found myself listening for it, and trying to make her
laugh so I could catch her doing it.

“
That
’
s when you know
you
’
re head-over-heels-stupid-in-love, son. One day
you
’
ll meet her, and when she reveals her flaws,
you
’
ll long for them.
”
He strummed his guitar without
removing his gaze from me.
“
I can
’
t tell you when that
girl will come along, but when she does, never let
go.
”

I
grew up surrounded by my parent
’
s love, a strange
fixation in contrast to Joey
’
s world, and
B
’
s
own fatherless void. I suppose I never thought much about
it before that day, but I remember my father
’
s face,
and his genuine happiness as he spoke about my
mother
’
s flaws. In that moment, I yearned for it. I
wanted to feel what he felt, and to understand the real act of
loving another.

I
suppose I
’
m foolish to assume I have it with
B
, because
what do I have to compare it to? But I
’
ve always
noticed her. I
’
ve forever seen
inside her. I love what
’
s on the surface
like so many other people do, but I adore what
’
s
beneath. I need it. Even now, after all these years, I search for
new quirks and traits that others won
’
t. That others
experience but don
’
t consider for a
second.