roger smith
It makes me think. I guess the circumstances of anyone's death depend on random factors, that one cancer cell that starts it off, but in my father's case it was so random that I couldn't help but wonder if it was random at all, if maybe there was something else involved. When I think of that rock flying through space all those years, my father going about his life, looking up at the sky every night and not knowing. The chances were so small. And then one day that piece of rock crashing through the atmosphere, my father walking out. That particular spot in time and space, that minute combination of events. You can't help but wonder.
*****
I've been seeing her for a couple of years now and it's got to the stage where we're in a 'serious relationship.' This means we take each other for granted and get Christmas cards with both our names on them. We love each other, I mean, we say we do, but it's a jealous possessive love, born more out of need than anything else. Love the one you're with. In honesty, we were both each other's second bests, we were both rejected by the ones we really wanted and somehow ended up together. Made do. Even after all this time though, there's always the fear at the back of my mind, the fear that one day one of us will walk out, the fear that one of us will find something else, something better. There's always the fear that it won't be me...
We're sitting in my flat watching TV. There's nothing much on, but I can't be bothered doing anything else and TV is an easy option, so, as it is, we're both sprawled on the sofa watching, as if it mattered, some fly on the wall thing about flies or walls or something, I don't know. One of the best things about watching TV is that you don't have to worry about making conversation, other than the occasional, basic, stating the obvious comment - 'Look at that!'
'Where have I seen that guy before?'
Or, more often - 'Isn't there something better on?'
Spending time together without connecting, without making any effort. TV is an easy option. It's what we always do, just sit here watching TV. Which is why the question confuses me at first, coming out of the blue like that.
'Why do you never talk about your father?'
It' s amazing how you can be so close to someone and still not know the second thing about them. How they can still surprise you with details from a past you never knew about. I know absolutely nothing about about her parents. It would never occur to me to ask. There's a time in a relationship when you can ask these questions, like where you went to school and if you believe in God and what happened to your father and it seems natural. At the start, when there's so much to find out and there's nothing wrong in asking. But when you've been together as long as we have you can't really get away with it. It seems somehow amiss, as if you haven't been paying attention.
'Why do you never talk about your father?' She says.
I wasn't really watching the programme before, but now she's started talking, I have to pay attention to every single word, scared I'll miss something. I frown and move closer to the screen. I say:
'What?'
She adjusts herself, sitting up and taking her leg off mine. She says:
'I've never heard you talk about your father. You go on about your mother all the time, but you never mention your father. Why not? I mean, are they divorced or something?'
'No, they're not divorced.'
This is the most fascinating TV programme I've seen in my life and she has to talk through it.
'Then what then? You do have a father don't you?' I nudge the volume up slightly. A hint. I say:
'Well, I did. He died years ago.'
Her expression suddenly changes.
'Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't know. I'm so sorry! What happened to him?'
I stare at a damp patch on the carpet and try and look suitably bereft. I say:
'A meteor hit him.' Maybe it's the way I say it.
'A meteor hit him?' She's puzzled for a second, not sure whether to believe me or not. Then she makes up her mind. 'C'mon I'm serious, what happened to him?'
'I told you, he was hit by a meteor.' And this time I'm trying so hard to look honest, trying so hard to look sombre and sincere, that I can't help but look like I'm lying.
'Look, stop joking around. Why don't you talk about your father?'
'I told you, he was killed by...'
'NO-ONE'S killed by meteors! C'mon tell the truth.'
'Look, I am telling you the truth. A big rock came out of the sky and it hit him and he died. That's the honest truth.'
What should have brought us closer, what should have resulted in sympathy and hugs and a greater sense of understanding has now resulted in an argument. Not what I wanted at all. She gets up off the sofa and stands in front of me, hands on hips. She's blocking the view. I can't see the TV properly.
'Why do you have to lie all the time?' She tries to look into my eyes, pleading with me, but I stare straight through her.
'I don't.'
'Yes you do!'
'No I don't!'
I'll spare you the exact dialogue.
She says that I'm always like this. She says that I never take things seriously. She says it's about time I started to take things seriously. She says I don't even take this relationship seriously. She says that if I don't start to take this relationship seriously maybe it's better if we don't see each other at all. She says this and then she throws on her black leather coat and storms out, slamming the door behind her. We both know I'm supposed to go after her.
It would be easy enough to convince her I was telling the truth, easy to show her the newspaper reports and the photographs, but somehow I know that I won't bother. Some things are meant to be and some things aren't.
