Just as he had reached the second corner Bill found that he could no londer stomach the lobster that he had selfishly filled himself with. The people, the dress, the air of formality with a hint of self-righteousness had created a sense of bitterness within him. A bitterness that could not be choked by caramelised prophiteroles and light beer. They didn't even have a cake. Seriously, Bill thought to himself, for people of a religious orthodoxy, they were really trying hard to be something different. At first that alone had made him feel ill, but it would not last long. No one notices how stupid they are when they are surrounded by similar people, and everything that looks different is slighted and poked at. The scene Bill entered this windswept Autumn afternoon had been envisioned by Grimm's daughter; a happier and brighter England - Australian Autumns are a happier England. It was not jolly, it was not christmas, but it could have been a primary school paegant. It had all the characters; a wolf, a dozen princesses, a couple of pirates, a ghoul, and of course a monk. That was the irony. A monk at a Jewish wedding. Yet the funny side to it was that the boy did not realise the meaning behind his being there. While the proceedings proceeded, the band reared up in yet another Beatles' cover, Bill sipped on his glass of peach schnapps and wondered what the fuck he was doing here. Wearing a purple lounge suit with white pinstripes so faint they were unnoticable. A brown-red tie and a worn peach shirt, matched with a new pair of white sneakers outlined in yellow. His mother still bought his shoes and express posted them the thousands of kilometres over the country. His shoes would travel further than he would ever usually walk in them, he would usually wear thongs that he picked off his flatmate who worked in a rubber firm.
Noticeably, Bill walked to the bar and asked for another whiskey, and again the pimply barboy poured him another peach schnapps. The wedding continued without the slightest interest in any particulars. Why should you care about what you are drinking when you are dressed as a pumpkin that cannot sit properly on the chairs provided, forcing you to stand most of the night, in the most awkward shoes that look like vines from hell; where at the end of the night you pass out in the rain on the lawn that was, ten minutes previous, used as an altar. Bill, ostensibly shot down the peach schnapps, stood and turned to leave. Then it happened. As his feet felt the ground the unmistakable pang, the unwavering wash, of a man's need to pee was struck on him like a bolt from the heavens. Composing himself for a moment, Bill walked not to the exit, but to the amenities block. That is where Bill found his bitterness. This is where shit happens.

Amy had met Bill at a house party celebrating her boyfriends birthday, which so happened to occur six weeks previous, but that fact was ignored considering that the surrent date coincided with Amy's moving in with said boyfriend and hence a house-warming party was apparently necessary, and by default, tha birhday excuse was also piled into the one and the same day for the sake of ease, and to bring more people to the event which was the party. On this day Amy did not pay much attention to Bill. Amy was a sociable animal. She had plenty of friends who were just as sociable, loud and as fun as she was. Bill wasn't loud, at least not in her way; he wasn't very sociable, and no one had ever called him fun. Bill thought more than he spoke and was a very good listener, that is largely why Steve had befriended him. One night after Steve had been horribly trashed by a girl he had only intended to sleep with one night and then had accidentally fallen in love with after she continually turned up to his place. She hadn't been given his phone number, so she couldn;'t call and the only way to see or speak to Steve then was to sit and wait ouside his door. Which she did for three weeks - in which time Steve denied her existence while completely falling for her. By the end of the three weeks she grew tired - she never turned up again. Steve was heartbroken, and was emotionally forced to speak to Bill, he flatmate for close to a year now, to whom he had never managed anything past a "good morning", "good night", and "could you please turn that down, i am trying to sleep!". Steve to his surprise found it very easy to talk to Bill about all his inner turmoil that he never really admitted to himself, let alone anyone else. Steve believed that a new shirt or cd, and a joint could solve any emotional problem. But somehow it only seemed to displace that feeling of emptiness in Steve onto the government, who were a bunch of pricks, and his employer, who was also a prick.
Yet here was Bill, sitting on the couch, actually listening to what he said. Things that really aggravated him and made him dream uncomfortably some nights. Steve spoke to him about the girl on the steps, and how she reminded him of his mother, and the security he felt knowing that she would be there on the steps when he returned. And now that she will probably never want to see him again, and that there is every possibility that she hated him. What surprised Steve the most though was how much help Bill could be. Not only did he listen to him, which was a great help in itself, but he also said very caring and thoughtful things. Not things like; "who needs that bitch anyway", or "she was never good enough for you", but real things that were actually meaningful and should never be published in a book in case someone without thought reads them and tries to pass them off as their own.
Eventually Bill and Steve found other places to live, that were either closer to where they wanted to be, better condition, cheaper, or all of the above. (NB: the all of the above option is merely a representational fourth option - never in reality will anyone ever find a place to live that meets all three of the former qualities.) Nevertheless Steve and Bill kept in touch. Or rather Steve kept in touch with Bill. And so it came to fruition that Steve invited Bill to his birthday slash housewarming party. This is how Amy met Bill.
Bill had previosuly met Amy in every romamce novel, every love story and every dream that Bill had ever had. The fact that he had never made a physical connection was completely arbitrary.

Labels: shortstory

¶ 5:02 pm