Chapter 4 – I’ve just seen a face I can’t forget, the time or place where we just met

I was flicking through the channels at home, sitting on the couch. Doing nothing. Mum didn’t have Foxtel, so I was over it very quickly. I decided to go for a jog, and returned about 40 minutes later, sweating nicely. I started reading a book, and then had a shower. I stunk.

I had moved back home about two months ago. It was nice to be home…really. To eat such delicious food again, to have my mum shower me with attention. The idea was mine too, which was the sad thing. 31 year old Rudy: unemployed and living at home. Very sad.

Her name was Josephine. She had been my neighbour for some two years. She lived on her own, but her boyfriend was always around, always around. I got to know him pretty well, and her a little. We hung a few times -me and the boy- and watched the occasional bit of sport together. I spoke to her from time to time (I’d have a party, she’d have a party, her boy had a party). I always had a crush though. From the moment I saw her.

She had long, wavy blonde hair. Maybe strawberry blonde, kinda dirty. She usually wore it tied up, but occasionally it would caress the small of her back when she walked. I didn’t know her surname, her middle name. I still don’t know how old she is.

So Josie and her boyfriend broke up some 6 months ago, and I found out a little later. She told me. One day, being the friendly neighbours that we are, we chatted while putting our rubbish out. She told me her news, and then suggested we get a drink.

I said “yes”, immediately, too quick. I was embarrassed by my eagerness but Josie laughed it off. I remember walking up the stairs and back to our respective apartments. I laughed later, but it was awkward.

She sad she would come by later, "round 8".

Our date was great. You know, when someone laughs, and you watch the way their body moves, where their hands go and how the gleam in their eyes …gleams? You know when you like or are falling for someone, and they laugh, and you can’t help but stare. It was like that, all night for me. And I was in fine form.

It was fucking great.

We kissed (at my door I believe) and said goodnight. It was fucking great. The next night, she knocked again on my door, and invited me over for dinner. I don’t remember what we ate, but remember this being the beginning of some really wonderful moments, when the passion and inklings of love fluttering in my heart were preparing to grow into something more violent and beautiful.

I had period of bliss, absolutely. I was a talk, dark, handsome, smiling face. Beaming actually. A few really great weeks went by, I think about 6 in total. I decided to have party. My roommate was out of town, and I invited Josie and lots of other people. Tom was one of these people. He was a pretty good friend - we have known each other since school.

He got along really well with Josie, and I guess I will stop there. About a week later, she broke up with me, claiming it was never anything, just a “thing”.

‘Rudy, it was fun, but just a thing, nothing more.’

I knew exactly how many weeks it was since we first kissed, not ‘around’ or ‘maybe about’. I knew the number of days we spent together.

She shut the door on me. Hours later, many hours later, I decided to go for a jog, and noticed Tom near the building. We chatted briefly; he declined my offers to come up for a drink. He came of the next night, uninvited.

‘Rudy, you and Josie, it was just a thing. Me and her, well, this is serious. This means something.’

A few weeks after this, I moved back home. The first time I saw him it was so goddamn awkward. And then I started seeing her more too. The bars and pubs I went too, the same places he used to go to, too. Seeing them about town wasn’t the worst part. Seeing him everyday at my home, in front of my door, near my letterbox. That was fucking awful. In the beginning he even tried to play it cool, or act naturally. He would knock on the door and invite himself around for a beer or something. I remember the first time, how hard the conversation was for me. My gut hurt, really hurt. I was so angry too.

I was allowed to be, right? He came over every few days, but I eventually made it very clear, in no uncertain terms ( I stayed in my room) that I wanted him to fuck off. But I still saw him, all the time, everyday. And I just couldn’t hack it no more.

It wasn’t long, our thing. It wasn’t the most beautiful relationship I had been involved in. It maybe wouldn’t have ranked in the top, the top 3.

But the rejection hurt. It always does. Always. And seeing him, and knowing they were together, now, tonight, right now…

So I moved home. I was devastated. Absolutely devastated. Maybe this might bring Chapter 1 into a more relative and less misogynistic scope. It was after Josie and Tom that I tried to break down every transaction with a girl into a purely physical exchange of bodily fluids.

Precious bodily fluids.

It didn’t work so well.

But you know that.

Chapter 3 – The after affects of Bump and Grind

Affect or effect? My spineless friend Alastair suggested a night of easy drinks and wooden benches at a nearby pub. The venue lacked anything and most kinds of everything, so we settled down to dirty beer and stupid conversation. The usual banter; which girls you would bang (the ones you know), which ones you wouldn’t bang (the ones you know) and which ones you haven’t banged (ALL the ones you know).

Misogynists we were, sure, but it was the end of a long day, so it was either that bullshit conversation or bitching about our jobs.

We stopped banging our brains after a bit, topped up our drinks, and then I started this little bit.

‘So Al, the other day, after you birthday, I caught a cab home.’

‘Wow!’ he exclaimed, ‘You rebellious fiend you, you fox. A cab, all the way home? Oh sorry, was daddy’s Merc in the shop? Your poor thing…’ This went on for quite a while, it was pretty damn funny, I’ll admit.

‘Anyway, this cabbie was from East Africa…’

‘Where?’

‘He didn’t specify, which was weird. I told him my mums was form Seychelles, to see if that would make him more comfortable, but it didn’t. So, we were just driving along, chatting about stuff, our nights and all that, when a car behind us flashed their lights at us.’

Alastiar nodded, ‘Let me guess, another cabbie right?’

‘Exactly. Now my guy wasn’t all over the road or anything. He was in his lane, sitting on the speed limit too. The cabbie kinda sighed and said, “You will see, it is an Indian cabbie”. Well, I didn’t say anything, and just lent back and waited for the cabbie to drive past and lo and behold, he was an Indian. I didn’t say anything again, but then my guy started venting.

“Thirty years back, all cabbies Greek or Italian okay? No problem. Before this, they all Australian, no problem too. Then, maybe fifteen years, you start getting East Africans or other Europeans too, and also, no problem. We work, we work hard. We nice to customer. And then maybe five years ago, you get the Indians come down. Trouble start from here,” is what he said.’

I sipped my drink, to refresh my dry tongue. I tried, and tremendously failed to reproduce the cabbie’s accent.

‘He went on, “They fight, all the time. For ten cents, they fight customer. They fight to go here or there. They don’t turn on meter, they cheat customer, they lie. They steal mobile and bag instead of taking to police station. They stink, they stink very bad, very bad. They work 24 hours or more, they eat in car. Always talking on mobile. No respect. They stink very bad.” Now, I didn’t say shit, I didn’t quite know what to say. I prefer not to agree, but I don’t disagree either…’

‘-cos you’re a pussy?’ Alastair butted in.

‘Yes, maybe, but, I don’t need that. So, that was my ride. He finished pretty much as he pulled up in front of my house. The charge was $19.90. I gave him $20.’

‘Hmm,’ Alastair said and then proceeded to state the obvious, ‘How strange, and amusing.’

‘I know, it was so interesting to see how other cabbies feel to be honest.’

‘Yeah, and there aren't many shitter jobs out right now than driving a cab. People don’t give you no respect, so you don’t show them any. And you hear such bad stories about cabbies. I knew a girl who used to drink at a local spot each week right? Each night, when they pub closed – she lived close enough to walk home – there would be cabbies outside offering her and her friends free rides home. So one day, one of her friends was particular drunk and took this free ride home. So this fucking shithead, took this chick to some pre-arranged location and him and his buddies raped this chick.’

We both shook our heads, the way you do when you hear something fucking horrible and feel completely fucking helpless.

‘It’s that circle, the circle of shit. You know?’

Alastair silently applauded by brilliant conclusion.

I left not long after this slight down in conversation and jumped on a tram. I grabbed a window seat as usual, and was surprised to see cabs everywhere in the city. It was one of those nights, two hundred yellow cars waiting for your business and you not needing to bother.