Tuesday, 15 June 2010

bad boyfriend

She wouldn’t have called him her boyfriend by the time he did what would make her, which was save our mum’s life, and she, that is my sister, didn’t know he’d done it.

She, my mum, didn’t stop on foot and the man didn’t stop in his car until they both stopped and just me and my sister’s boyfriend-to-be were moving.

“I can stop this from happening,” he said to me. So nearly were my family, and this not-yet-boyfriend, at the park. Everything had gone wrong at the last crossing.

“Oh God, yes, stop it, please,” were among the things I said to the almost-boyfriend who stood now twice as tall, naked, looking like something from a Marilyn Manson video with, crucially, two horns at the top of his head(1).

“What the fuck?” I said.
“I beg you’re pardon?” Said my mum, from the other side of the road. The car had disappeared.

My mum had a nosebleed that no one mentioned, and the blood disappeared when it fell onto her clothes. She seemingly couldn’t taste it as it streamed onto the sandwiches she ate. She started to make a grinding noise when she walked.

A man was found in his car in a field with his body turned inside out.

“Shrug,” said the basically-boyfriend when I asked him about it, I mean that is literally what he said.

My sister asked eventually if something happened between us, either because he always mentioned to her inviting me to the pub, or because I never went.

Eventually I did, the same day I woke up and my mum’s fingers had no skin left.

“Don’t worry about it,” said my sister’s boyfriend when I asked him about it, in a way which made me actually worry more.

He offered me a drink which cost him £2.65, but me I have no idea how much.


“If you ever mention this to anyone I will fuck you up in ways you can’t comprehend with a body,” he said to me, “but, I mean, this isn’t a big deal, or anything. Think of this conversation as, like, a footnote in this moment, yeah?”

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