The Break-Up
Neither he nor Julie had acknowledged it, but they both knew that it was over. Their break-up had been hovering in plain sight for some time now, but they both pretended not to see it. A terrible sadness trawled deep within him. In that place that requires no words, where truth presents itself and waits to be noticed, their final farewell has already been said.
They had planned on going to Max and Debbie’s tonight, where they were going to have a chocolate fondue, drink lots of red wine, watch movies and spend the night sleeping on the couch cushions, a little uncomfortable but snug and cuddly, and a little giggly. The four of them had been good friends for just over three years, and “sleep-overs” had become the norm when any drinking was done.
Julie had already told Debbie that they couldn’t make it. He didn’t know what reason Julie had given, and he wasn’t interested in finding out. Anger and frustration stirred mightily inside him. He picked up a coffee mug and threw it onto the floor.
“What was that?” Julie shouted from the lounge.“
Nothing, I just dropped a coffee mug.” He shouted back.
He squatted down and started picking up the pieces. There was a large piece with the handle still attached to it. He picked it up and held it by the handle. A sharp and jagged triangle of broken mug stuck out from the bottom of his fist.
Reaching across his body he placed the jagged point against the inside of his forearm, in that fleshy part midway between wrist and elbow, and pushed. The skin dented but did not break. He pushed a little harder. With a needle of pain the skin broke and a single drop of blood broke free and ran down his arm, pooling in the crease of skin where his arm was bent at the elbow. He pushed harder; more blood broke free and ran down his arm.
Julie appeared in the kitchen doorway. She stopped and stood very still. Squatting on the floor with the piece of broken coffee mug pushed into his forearm; blood now running freely and dripping onto the floor, he looked up at her.
What passed between them in those few seconds of silence was forlorn and alien. They looked at each other as if at strangers, bewilderment, soul-deep, sent out tendrils that swayed gently behind their navels.
“What are you doing?” Julie shouted.
He didn’t answer, he didn’t know how.
She didn’t move further into the kitchen. She didn’t offer to help him. Looking up at her he knew that he would never hold her again, never rest his forehead against hers and rub noses until they both started laughing.
He stood up and laid the bloodied piece of coffee mug in the sink, grabbed a dish-towel and wrapped it around his forearm. Tears formed in his eyes as he and Julie looked at each, neither of them able to utter a word. As he walked out of the kitchen Julie backed away, not wanting to touch or be touched.
Grabbing the car keys from the little table in the passage he walked out the front door, closing it gently behind him.
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