I look at all the lonely people, where do they all come from?

Phone rings out, again. I decide to leave a message. I tuck the phone in between my right ear and shoulder while I investigate the pockets of my suit. I haven’t worn it in six months, who knows what marvellous treasures I could find?

“Hey, it’s Evan. Just calling to see how…and where you are. My exhibition is on next Friday night even though I know you won’t go, since you’ve always found photography pretentious and completely decided by fate and luck. Daytime television is no longer fulfilling. The truth? Life’s boring without you. That is the fluffiest thing I have ever said. Cherish it. I’m not mad at you for leaving, you know. Bye.”

Treasures discovered: dollar coin, packet of mostly used matches, broken cigarette, chewing gum wrapper, chewed gum in wrapper and a dry cleaning docket.

---

I hurriedly push my way through the glass doors of the bar, cursing my pea-sized bladder and the spitting rain. Before reaching the bathrooms, I spot her across the room. Coincidence?

Convincing myself that I am James Bond, I fix my shirt collar and strut over to her.

Mission: Discomfort

“Sorry, do I know you from somewhere?” The hyena shrilly barks.

“It’s me, Evan.”

Crystals drip from her wrist as she runs a polished red nail up the length of my arm. My grin provides a wall of pseudo friendliness. Her age is indistinguishable, due to suspected plastic surgery. Her husband approaches us, causing her to pull her dancing hand back to herself. His face is nothing more than a cheesy smile. They are windows, so easy to see through.

“Who’s this, sweetie-pie?” The wallet asks.

Are you sleeping with him?

“Lance, dear, this is Evan…you know Evan.”

I don’t have a clue who he is. Do you?

“Evan.” He pauses, rolling his eyes as if he is trying to see his own thoughts. “A-ha! From the downstairs office? One of the printing guys!”

Wrong, idiot.

“Yes! That’s me, Evan. Evan the printing guy!”

I enthusiastically return his handshake.

“How is it down there? Ol’ Jimmy ain’t working you too hard is he?”

“No, no…Jimmy is having wife troubles, if you get what I mean.” I invent, nudging him.

Lance then offers to buy wine and though I despise wine, I agree. He leaves me with her.

“Since when did they make printers so adorable? How old are you?” She coos. The lipstick on her teeth reminds me of a Vampire.

“I’m twenty three ma’am. As for adorable, I’m only half as adorable as your husband.”

I catch her flicker of shock at both being referred to as ‘ma’am’ and at what she thinks is my affection for her husband. She regains her composure and laughs wildly, head flung back, howling to the down lights.

“He sure is something, isn’t he? He’s good and faithful…”

He returns. “Say Ev, you play on the company soccer team?”

Nickname basis? Next I’ll be on Lance’s episode of ‘This is your life’

“Yes sir. My little shorts look great on me.”

He gives me a sideways glance before asking “You married?”

“Me? No. Marriage is for lucky people. People like you two.”

He beams at her, snaking an arm around her sucked-in waist.

“You’re not…you know…” he drabbles, gulping his wine to cut off his sentence for him.

“Boys or Girls? I don’t think that really matters, does it Lance?”

He chokes on his mouthful, spinning around to disguise his spluttering cough. Once recovering, he changes the subject by asking “I bet a single youngster like you has many great stories to tell.”

He punches me on the arm as he says this. It hurts more than he thinks and I try not to wince…or punch him back.

“Stories? Many! I’ve got one about this lonely guy whose lover left him. Anyway, this handsome fellow is lying on the carpet of his apartment one not-so-special afternoon, trying to grieve and meditate like usual when a high pitched giggle from next door can be heard through the paper-thin walls. The giggling turns into sounds of …delight, if you get what I mean and the guy thinks, hey, this could be like the radio...”

Lance smirks and eagerly nods for me to continue.

“... So he listens to them…not purposely, he’s not a pervert, but because the noises are so consistent and inescapable no matter how loud the T.V is. Every night and every afternoon without fail.”

“But what this guy begins to realize, is that there is always the same woman…but there is in fact two distinguishable male voices. One guy, who is her husband, is the evening lover and lunchtime? Well that voice is completely different.”

“And the point of your story?” the wife interrupts.

“Well he sets out one afternoon, dressed in his best suit, just walking around, taking photos, observing, when he enters a bar for a pi…sorry…a tinkle. Who does he recognise? His favourite radio couple from the next apartment! He then strolls over to the woman to gain some of her precious attention…”

The welcoming, seductive smile has slid down her face. I imagine it dripping down the front of her dress like wax.

“You’re sick!”

“You can’t catch it.”

“You are just a bitter man who is very alone.” She scorns, her paws clutching onto Lance’s suit jacket.

“There is a difference between alone and lonely,” I explain to her. “I, am lonely. Alone is when you have no one. I have a loving family, a network of friends, whereas lonely…well, sugar, that one just happens to you, and it’s a hard feeling to shake. Who is Dan by the way?”

Lance has just clicked. “My brother.”

He removes her hands from his lapel and faces her. I reach for the camera that is slung around my neck and take a snap of their stunned faces. They can sue me. I’ll gladly pay for their divorce lawyer. I’ll title the shot ‘Unfaithfully Yours’.

---

I lay in the thick carpet, a glass of scotch in arms reach. One arm lies curved above my head and the other rests on my stomach. The pose almost reminds me of the chalk outline of a body on the cop show that’s playing and I shift a little to replicate the position.

Eventually, I head into the kitchen and find that the last note you left has slipped from the fridge onto the floor.

Ev,

Heading to work. Please get these items:

Milk

Insect spray (Forget Karma)

Steaks for dinner

A robot to do my work for me

It’s not a big list and I’m sure it’s manageable. I love you and I don’t want you to go even a few hours without thinking I don’t. See you tonight.

I stick the note back onto the fridge under the magnet that’s in the shape of a fork with googly eyes and a lopsided grin. Its apron reads ‘Don’t like my cooking? Fork off.” I never found it as funny as you did.

---

I’ve always loathed cemeteries. I remember a particular time my parents made me go to see grandma when I was six and as soon as we hit the entrance, I threw a diva of a tantrum. I became a spider: limbs flailing, hissing and screeching as my dad struggled to constrict my waist in a bear hug to carry me in. A group of Catholic women began violently crossing themselves as if I was Reagan from ‘The Exorcist.’

It would be a lie to say I’m not edgy about being perched cross legged on the grass in front of a gravestone in the middle of the night.

The song ‘Eleanor Rigby’ by the Beatles pops into my head.

All the lonely people, where do they all come from?

“I think I broke a marriage up today.” I begin.

“Before you shake your head like you usually do, I believe that it was one that didn’t deserve to be a marriage. After I did it I went home. That’s when I realized I was pathetic and well, jealous. She was pissing all over something that we never got to do.”

Rain drops from my matted hair, hitting my cheeks and nose on the way down. My suit is becoming saturated.

‘I know it’s been three months, and you always hated my lack of punctuality, but I haven’t been able to visit because I…have no reasonable excuse. Sorry I didn’t go to your funeral; I haven’t even been able to accept you were gone until tonight. I’ve been fooling myself into thinking that we have just broken up.’

I move a little closer to the stone.

‘Here’s a secret…the reason I say I never feel alone is because I know you’re here. You’re part of me, part of my art and part of my personality.’

I glance at the granite and a pale eyed, almost ghostly boy stares back. He runs a hand through his drenched dark brown hair. He is hardly recognizable.

‘I’m leaving, since I’m not a fan of hypothermia. I’ll see you in my memories. Good night’

I stand up, and for the first time in months, I feel refreshed and convinced that bitterness is a curable sickness.

All the lonely people, where do they all belong?

---

This was my first writing assignment at uni this year. I know it has a slight air of my story 'The Park' , but I feel this one is a lot better developed than the other.

My story 'The Barricade' will be updated in the next two days, I have completed the chapter, but just touching up final parts.

Thanks for reading this far! xx