Tuesday, February 21, 2006

Winners

A normal Friday night, at the begining of the month so everyone had money in their pocket. We went to one of the lazy louche bars that work hard to give that impression of effortlessness. Drank a few beers, then pushed the boat out a bit and bought cocktails. Through each rainbow filtered glass I watched them all, my friends, my lover, as the evening began to unravel as it always does. People sucked down into their depressions, or hyped up on their high horses, speaking over everyone else, trampling them down in the clamber for the throne at the top of the castle. Someone leaves and inevitably the conversation turns to them. Concernedly, reservedly, well, actually and then full scale into the bitchery. Doesn't matter who, it's like we're lancing a boil, sucking poison out of some wound.

I have too much of this poison in me. This crowded space has become toxic, these whispers and lies eating into my mind like parasites.

My lover took some persuading, to go through with this. It was only when I showed him how we could do it without losing the things we wanted to keep, along with the things we needed to get rid of. I'd always joked about it, and when the opportunity arose, I realised how serious I had infact been.

The dinner on Sunday was nice. I was glad. There was enough of the bitterness there to strengthen my nerve, but also enough of the good times to remind me why we were doing it. Why those memories deserved protecting over the quagmire of politics and anxieties that our lives had become. Much wine was drunk, games played. I managed to fend off too many problems when I said that no one could stay over, as they usually would - it would be better if they all shared a taxi home.

And finally the door closed on the last one, and we quietly did the washing up together in the middle of the night. The car pulled up just after we had finished, and within about half an hour we had bundled the cats into their boxes, filled the boot with the suitcases, and locked the house door behind us for the last time.

The letters of resignation, complete with cheques to compensate for the absence of a notice period, should land on their desks tomorrow. The movers would come and take everything from the house before it sunk in what was happening and anyone came to look around. The house belonged to the local hospice now, for them to auction as they pleased. The confidentiality request of the donors would be honoured.

Our parents would also receive letters, telling them we'd let them know where we settled. All that mattered was that we got away. New life for the new life I found out was with me the day before the numbers came up.

It's up to us now not to make the same mess all over again.

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