The year of Hello Goodbye
Jane Bellis
I hadnt expected to meet someone that February. The cold, grey and usually uneventful time had thrown up a real cracker. I met him at a gig in Liverpool. I stood next to him and we said hello like old friends. It was one of those times when you feel like you have already known each other. We talked for hours, swapping stories about our lives, which really was incredible as we were both rotten drunk! I cried as I lay in his arms the next day. Slinking home later, I could hardly contain the smile. From then on, it was love, love, love all the way. I fell into it willingly as I had not before. He stole my heart but now it seemed the unthinkable had happened...
It was late May now. Things hadnt been the same for the past few weeks. Certain things that a woman notices, a distance, an absence of what was previously there, and more tangibly, not returning phone calls like before I could have put it down to him anticipating his upcoming trip away. As it happened I couldnt really understand and had rung him the night before. Upset, especially after a few glasses of wine I had told him I felt like he wanted to end it. His tense voice assured me that was not the case... no, that was not the case. He was away at that point, up North with friends. Promising to come over the next day he said a curt goodbye. So, the next day arrived, a Wednesday. I stuck to the same old routine. Work was just somewhere I was that day, I couldnt concentrate at all. My head was reeling. I kept it to myself though, mentally preparing for what was to come. It would have spilled out messily in work and I just couldnt face that. There are times when I have to call on the British stiff upper lip!
I raced home, cooked my tea and ate alone in front of the TV. My flatmate looked worriedly across as I stared at the programme we were watching. Later I lay on the bed, restless; all manner of emotions seemed to have been unchained. I willed the clocks to stop but they continued up to 10pm, 11pm. The doorbell never went. The phone never rang. With a heavy heart I closed my bedroom door and turned the light out. My small room was bathed in electric orange light from the streetlamp outside. It served to illuminate his absence. The empty bed provided no peace that night or for a long time after. Didnt he know that was no way to say goodbye?
