A Weekend with Jeremy Schwartz. Mexico City, 1980

A fire crackled warmly in the fireplace. Jeremy and I sat on armchairs. Jeremy started humming contentedly. I sank back into my chair, reading the newspaper and enjoyed the heat radiating off the dry logs. It was winter here in Mexico. Settled in our cosy apartment, I was finally happy. 

Jeremy continued to hum a tune...it sounded a bit familiar. A national anthem? He’d been humming a lot. Sometimes it annoyed me. 

"Jeremy?"

The humming didn't stop.

"Jeremy please-"

He hummed even more loudly. Just to rub it in, I supposed. At this stage of our relationship, 5 years in, we both knew the old days of decorum between us were mostly gone. I suppose we'd soon be farting in each other's presence.

"JEREMY ST- (I caught myself)  Look, please stop humming!"

"I like to hum, what else can I do for fun in my extremely old age, Colin?" Jeremy mused in his rather peculiar accent. European, I think? 

"Play solitaire?"

"No"

“Write a book?”

“I’ve done that”

"Go for a walk?"

"...I'm bored of Mexico City"

"How can you be bored of Mexico-?!" I exclaimed "Hmph… I guess it's for the best, you always leave the bloody front door open."

"One time I did that!" Jeremy stood up and yelled the words at my face, spittle flying from his lips.

I recoiled, the man I respected, liked… had shown the monster that lurked within him. Within all of us?

“Jeremy, I was just making an observation!” I countered, hurt at this outburst of anger.

“I don’t need ‘observations’! I didn’t need them 40 years ago, and I don’t need them now! Get out! I need to think!”

“But Jeremy!”

“OUT!”

I got up to leave. Maybe a walk to clear my head would do me good, anyway? At the front door, I stopped. I thought about Jeremy. I liked him, maybe more, but what did I truly know about him? I tried a bit of sneaky questioning. 

“Jeremy…”I turned to him. “Where did you live as a young adult?”

“Vienna, mostly” He said gruffly. “Why?”

Then it hit me. The early years spent in Vienna! The familiarity with 30’s European politics! The Hitler moustache! How had I not seen it, sooner? After 5 long years, living together? 

“Oh my God!” I stuttered, terrified. “It’s you! Him! Sigmund Freud!”

“What?!” Jeremy, (well, Sigmund) said, incredulously. “I’m not!” He ranted in his Austrian accent.

I backed away. I couldn’t take it. The betrayal. For 5 long years, Sigmund had hidden at my flat with me. Mocking me. Probably judging my life and sexual encounters. I had to go. But first, I had something important to say. 

“A Cigar is sometimes NOT a cigar!” I shrieked, as I bid him good day. Forever.

FIN