Goodbye at the Little Marionette

Name?

Douchebag.

The waitress pauses, sighs and writes “sk cap Douchebag” on both lids.

You grab a blanket and the Good Weekend and we head across the road to the huge expansive park with palm trees, acacia bushes and play equipment, the backyard garden to the Little Marionette.

You put down the blanket, we sprawl out and wax lyrical.

So what’s it gonna be this time Caitlin?

I don’t know. Will you miss me?

Yes! Who will I check out when they are grooving to 4 seconds on Tuesday morning? Who will leave retarded gifts at my reception labeled “from Aunt Beatrice”?

Douchebag? Douche bag? Two cappuccinos for Douchebag.

I gesture and the waitress brings out coffees.

You open the Good Weekend to the quiz.

In the story of my life I’d be played by…?

Edward Norton. You?

The little black kid from Different Strokes. Too many cooks…?

Are all invited to my 30^th. I haven’t planned any food. I’m just ignoring the issue till it goes away. You?

Means a deregulated approach to the economy is not working. My greatest regret…?

I don’t have any. You think for a minute about whether this is a cop out or not and smile.

I’m always being asked…?

How do you work such long ours and stay functional. You?

Why did you do that. People are always asking me 'why did you do that?'  We sit silently for another moment. Hey, seeing as this weekend is my own farewell party I am emptying the cellars. You pull a bottle of champagne from your bag, unwrap and pop it without asking if I want any. It fizzes up over the top. You empty both of our coffees into the grass, wash the cups out with sparkling and fill them up.

Cheers.

Cheers I guess. We swill champagne and you get lofty, big picture-esque and hopeful. You talk about the new world, tell me you are looking forward to clear eyes, a clear head, a good heart. I tell you that your heart is already good.

Lets go for a swim.

Sure. We head up the road to my home and you fish around in my draws for the swimsuit you left there. You can’t find it.

Whatever.

You pull some more wine from the fridge.

Are you sure that’s a good idea? You pour 2 glasses and laugh to the tune of something hollow. It echoes.

Its my farewell to myself. Indulge me.

We head down to the pool and you unzip your white dress, slipping out into turquoise underwear, arms crossed modestly across your chest. Come on! You dive in, hands now holding sunglasses to your face before I can say anything.

Help me out? You stretch out a hand. I grasp your hand you pull me in. Fool me twice, shame on me. 

We splash like children for a bit. You take a mouthful of your wine from the blue plastic poolside glasses I found and come close to me. Still wearing sunglasses you kiss me on the mouth. I kiss you back for a minute, run my hands over your waist and then stop.

No Caitlin, not like this.

What do you mean?

You know I want to, I’ve always wanted to. But not like this. You are all over the shop and drunk and going to hospital on Monday. Not like this.

There will never be another this. If only.

You are hurt and offended but not so drunk that you don’t understand. You smile and wrap your arms around my shoulders, bury your face in my neck.

You always were a great friend. You pull your face back and look into mine. Here we are playing in the water, playing in the sun. Why are you crying?

Because I love you.

Then its time that I should go you say with a Bad Fairy smile. You kiss me on the nose and climb out of the pool, wrapping yourself in a towel. I feel scared for you, because I know your keeper will have been looking for you and will punish you. I want to see you free, from all of the prisons you are in. I want that girl in the sun, the girl in the pool sober and real, present by choice.