Mr Onniss T. Factor knocks on my door, slides himself past me into the hall, takes off his coat and flops idly into a chair, his feet draping over the arm. It's three years since I've last seen him; he looks exactly the same. His cap falls over his eyes and he pushes it back into place.
"Are you ready to begin," he says, not really asking, "because I think you are."
I close the door and walk slowly over to the computer. I sit in the chair there, even though it's the least comfortable one in the room. I lean back a little and swing.
"Tell me," he says. "why do you think your last relationship ended? Or, at least, why the two of you aren't together anymore."
I sigh. I know the words are going to come out of me. There's no hiding from Factor, he knows me too well. I can see the words and sentences beginning to form already – they're there in my head; they might as well be here, in this room.
"It was something to do with another woman," I say, "my lust for her and my thinking that I might be better off with her. It was because I called my ex by her name by accident over Christmas, and when she asked me if I'd been thinking about her I said I had, said it was because I thought she might be something of a muse for me, a creative inspiration. My ex got really mad at this and wouldn't let it go, and I never understood why – until a few weeks ago, when we discussed the meaning of the word, and I realised she thought it was something pretty heavy – a lover, a soulmate, a companion you share everything with, every special thing – and I understood why she had been so hurt – on top of the name thing – and why I thought it meaningless, because to me it just meant someone you hang around with and then go away feeling inspired. But we never figured that out at the time, and I guess it put something of a wedge between us. Misunderstandings; semantics. It's amazing how difficult it is to talk sometimes, how even the simplest words can mean such different things to different people, and how hard it is to get down beneath it all and make oneself properly understood. I've tried to express myself as plainly as honestly as I could – and so often I've found myself misunderstood; little wonder I sometimes wish I didn't bother, kept schtum! But…I guess there was something in it, too…a feeling of something else, of – maybe that I couldn't see her anymore – in the sense that, not that she was invisible, but that I had perhaps, you know, taken her for granted, ceased to feel that special thing you do in the beginning, the wanting, the longing, the magic, the gratitude; I guess I stopped caring. Being a teacher perhaps messed me up too – the stress of it, the worrying where it would go, how I would find my way through it. The not sleeping, the workload, the demands of the job. That was hard, and I'm not really sure if she ever understood that, ever took that into account – only saw that she wasn't getting what she wanted and then demanded it more, which only made it harder. I remember before that, though, when things weren't so tough, while she was away for a few weeks, while the World Cup was on, that my life would be nothing without her – and that was just the end of June! How did it slide away so quickly? How did it all change so fast? Was it school, the intensity of it, the misery, or…was it something else?"
Onniss T. slides a little further down into his chair, folds his hands and looks at me from under his cap. He raises an eyebrow and nods me to go on.
"I can trace it back to September," I say, "like following a thread, a railway track, a trail of black chalk scratched into the pavement – to the argument we had over her mum coming to visit, how she wanted me to drive to Glastonbury to spend the weekend with them there. I said I had too much work to do for school and, anyway, I'd just spent four days with her mum at home, took her out, chatted, etcetera; I didn't see why I had to go all that way just to spend another day or so with her. She said family was important, that she needed to be with somebody who felt that way, who would make that effort; I just couldn't understand that: I mean, it was a long drive, I had too much to do, and – hadn't I already seen her mum? Why the need for this extra time? We went for a long walk and talked it over – but that, too, just put a wedge between us. I wouldn't compromise, wouldn't budge, and I said if that's what she needed from someone then I guess she was with the wrong guy and that we'd have to end it, because I couldn't give it. 'If that's an absolute requirement,' I'd said, 'then I don't see how we can go on.' I'm not sure if that's what she meant – but we did go on. But in the spirit of openness and honesty on that talk I mentioned things about sometimes thinking I'd like to be with someone who had big boobs, someone who really, really loved sex – though pointing out that they weren't requirements, just things I sometimes thought – but I guess she took those things to heart, too; welcomed them into her thoughts; made them a home and stored them away and kept them safe for some other day, some other argument, some other reason to resent me. You think you can just say things, let them out, recognise that they're just thoughts, desires, fleeting passes of fancy and that that'll be okay – but it isn't, it can't be, it won't. Or, at least, it wasn't on this occasion. She brought up the thing with her mum over and over, and perhaps something in me gave up, because here was this person saying they needed this thing – and there was me saying, 'I don't have it in me to give, and I'm not prepared to change.' To me, I suppose, there wasn't really any way forward – if you need something, you need something, it's as simple as that, and if you're not prepared to go beyond it, to relegate it to preference or desire, then you just have to look elsewhere. I guess I'd always had this idea that there was someone else for both of us – probably motivated and fed by my desires for freedom, for something unknown, for the unexpected new (aka, not wanting to commit) – and so it was easy for me to slide into that and let it be. Life went on, and the pressures of school, of work, of teaching continued to mount, and I guess, inside, I continued to die. The thing she wanted from me grew smaller all the time, and I escaped all this by moving into a world of computer addiction and avoidance. And because I was her all – because, frankly, she had been crap at finding her own life there – she was left with nothing. Resentment grew, communication stalled, and despite our plans for a new start – a holiday in India, a move to new jobs in Yorkshire, close to family, old friends, a more welcoming part of the country, and perhaps looking to start a family six months down the line – things came to a head over Christmas, on a holiday to Canada – when I did the name thing, when I admitted to thoughts of another – and the nails were all lined up and waiting to be hammered into place. Quitting the job and having a break had done me good, however, and I started to feel my old self come back; I was excited about Yorkshire – unrealistically so – and looking forward to the change, for both of us. Unfortunately, I chose to stay with the other during a brief trip up here – truly, I swear, out of pure gay-hearted naivety and Aquarian future-child innocence – and that was the final straw for her. She felt I belonged to another – and maybe a part of me did. She changed her plans and headed for elsewhere, the other end of the country, and I stuck by mine. And the thing is, maybe it was for the best. Since then, she's become the thing that I so much tried to encourage her to be during our time in Canterbury – independent, fun-loving, with her own friends, pursuits and hobbies – things she hadn't sought during our time together, too easy to retreat to the comfort of my arms, our togetherness – the glue that binds becoming the glue that got us stuck – and I suppose maybe I've found something too. More, though, I guess I've acknowledged where I went wrong, and where I was a fool to myself and where I was disrespectful of her, ignoring the truth of what I've felt, and trying to pretend that things weren't there. I'm so easily led by own thoughts and fantasies sometimes, so naïve and unrealistic, so quick to believe in things that aren't really true, aren't really based in reality…I'm waffling; I'm getting vague. The crux of it is I felt and thought things about another woman, and whether they were expressed or not, she must have picked up on them in some way. I've investigated those things now and I've found – at least, I'm ninety-nine percent sure I've found – that there's nothing in them (you look closely at the illusion and the illusion disappears) and I've now come to accept my part in all of this. I chased breasts, I chased sex – I followed the desires of my pecker, as all men are supposed to do, in the myths of our badnesses, and I got my just desserts. And for her part, she lost herself in me, and ignored her own desires and needs, and together we stifled and killed what we had. Throw in a dodgy living situation – not a great part of the world; barely anything in the way of family or close friends to provide support; the stress of my job; a computer-addicted man – and add a handful of slight but important misunderstandings and it's little wonder it all crumbled. A little time apart, a little perspective…a little space to see ourselves, to be ourselves, to refind ourselves and our lives away from the other…that can only be a good thing. It was my fault that it ended – and yet, given the result, the benefits that have come, it's hard to regret it; I guess it's because life is about learning, and I've probably learned more having lived through this than I would have done having not; something like that. I…"
Onniss T. Factor smiles and leans forwards towards me. He puts his hand on my knee, leaves it there for a moment and then slowly stands up. His cap has gone and now he's wearing a top hat and carrying some fancy-handled walking stick.
"I'll show myself out," he says. He tips his hat to me and leaves.
I ruffle my hair and sit confused in my chair.
"What was all that about?" I say. I shake my head and turn on the computer; the monitor sparks into life and shines bright upon my eyes. I upload this entry to my myspace space and then watch Big Brother, then bed.
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