Tara (snippet 2)

 

Monday

 

Armpits. Monday armpits. The stench of the weekend still hasn't washed off some apparently. Tommy wonders what his own odour is, maybe people can sniff the sadness on him. Either way his headphones ring out grunge that is loud enough that if people know the song they will be able to make it out. 

His stop. 

Tommy recognises some of the impatient faces on the platform, so eager to race to a profession that many of them moan to their friends about. His slightly dandruff-y shoulders squeeze through the bobbing tide of impatience and soon enough he is tapping out of his journey.

Historically, Monday mornings are supposed to suck but this one is really taking the biscuit. Tommy feels weak and hollow opposed to all the apparently recharged souls that go about the early stage of the week’s business. At this juncture envy fills him. He was one of those mammals just a few weeks back, wondering how he and his love would fill the upcoming weekend. At that point, little did he know that his compassion for her was long doomed. How hadn't he spotted the signs? 

Before he knows it he is standing at the foot of the building that he has probably long overstayed his welcome at. Graduate to twenty something to this. He almost turns around and sprints as far away as he can from the social awkwardness that is no doubt about to follow. 

How was your weekend?

Do anything nice with your lady?

We should double date some time!

 

Human life please feel free to go nowhere fucking near me today.

 

Coffee room. Silence. 

 

Bliss is soon broken though. 

 

''Tom! Happy Monday, how was the old weekend-o?'' The overly enthusiastic guy he can never remember the name of, great.

''Yeah fine...'' Tom thinks about telling he who shall forever remain nameless the truth but then swiftly regains his sombre rigidity.

Instead they simply go through the motions, fleetingly exchanging vague enough weekend activities as to not to develop their acquaintance any further. 

See you next Monday mate or maybe even a random Wednesday, depending on how crazy things get. 

With a mug of coffee in hand, Tommy wanders over to his desk, his little place in the world, hopefully he will find some bliss here. As he sits and stares at his screen he breathes a sigh of relief every time a semi-familiar set of footsteps walks past his desk.

Soon enough he goes through his usual morning routine leading to his phone soon finding his desk next to his mouse mat. Usually this wouldn't stir anything inside him yet as he looks at his device he thinks back to what Luke had barged in on before his fairly unsuccessful 'cheer up overly down in the dumps mate' drinking mission. 

He wonders if what he had experienced was just a dream or just the last sting of an awful hangover. Either way he goes to pick up his phone to automatically check to see of the sports news had changed from before he got on the tube, as he does a shiver of anxiety strikes his core. 

What is going on?

 

Ignore.

 

Football news. Right, that'll sort me out. 

 

Currently overachieving usually mid table team: can they defy all odds? 

Tommy doesn't even read the article; his mind is still in bed nineteen hours or so previous. He returns to the menu and his thumb right hovers over the round button at the bottom, just like his hand is hovering mid-air ready to knock on a somewhat familiar door. 

Reality snaps in. Sort yourself out.

Tommy places the phone back on the desk and continues his normal routine, shaking his head as he does so. Soon enough he is logging into the software program that has and no doubt will pay the rent for the foreseeable future and Tommy actually has absolutely no problem with that. He wasn’t one of these 'fuck nine five' guys, in truth he likes the structure of his day. During and after the recession he had found himself unemployed a few times and once the novelty of mid-afternoon masturbation sessions wore off, he found himself desperate to get back on the work wagon. 

He often wonders how he will fill his days when he retires, spoil the grandkids and become a pub regular supposedly, the thought of that terrifies him. A day without structure isn’t freedom to him, it is a short road to insanity. So despite some of his fellow co-workers being a tad weird he doesn’t really have any complaints about his work. 

Hence the continual head shaking this morning confuses his fellow programmer Gavin who is positioned just a couple of feet behind Tommy ready to strike. 

The spiky haired predator positions himself into flick formation and his right middle finger soon finds Tommy's right earlobe. Funny how people attempt to cheer people up by simply annoying them further. 

Yet more head shaking. 

''Fucking hell, what's wrong with you? Monday blues?'' Gavin's query no doubt mimicked across the country on this grim winter morning. 

Tommy lets out a deep sigh wondering whether to slowly tip the beans at his friend's feet. Is this what life will be like now? Having to sit everyone down and talk them through why the girl he claimed was the 'actual one' has now vanished in a beautiful puff of smoke. 

A bare fisted fight with King Kong followed by three courses of a month out of date cauliflower cheese platter seems more attractive. 

''Gavin...I...it's...'' Gavin's facial expression switches from excitable scamp to been holding in a foolish vindaloo-night-the-before shit for an hour. 

 

''Me and...well...we broke up.'' Tommy's hands almost frantically try to the grab the words mid-air and stuff them back into his mouth before Gavin's brain registers the news. 

 

''Ah...mate...that's ah man...shit.'' Something is amiss to Tommy in his friend's reaction, it feels a little rehearsed and the shock factor doesn't seem to register as it should have.

Gavin meanwhile just stands there, trying to act surprised, shaking his head and muttering phrases of disbelief. He is soon put out of his misery.

''You're not one bit surprised are you?!'' Tommy rises from the pits of self-agony to the attentive balls of his feet. Soon the situation is a referee away from a bell ringing in the corner of the office.

Gavin squirms like no man before, desperately trying to win back the crowd, but the damage is done and the boos soon ring out. 

''Furrrckkkkin…elll Gav!'' Tommy breaks out of his ‘work voice’ for the distressed outburst, things are getting serious.

His stomach starts to ache with a fusion of wooziness and embarrassment. Not the greatest cocktail, even for a gloomy Monday. 

''I mean...how long?'' Tommy asks with more intention than he has managed to stoke up in a while. So much so that Gavin decides to take the gloves off his punches and deliver the bare knuckled truth of the matter.

''A long time mate. It wasn't exactly difficult to see.'' A wave of guilt spreads across his face as the words register. Not the sort of the statement that can be rescinded easily. For better or worse, the cold, hard truth is now out there.

Tommy gulps as he struggles to the words in whole. He had been an even bigger idiot than he previously thought, an impressive feat at this point of proceedings.

''Tommy I'm sor...'' The predictably paced words are snapped back almost as soon as they emerge. 

''DON'T. Please don't, I'll be OK.'' Tommy's voice grows croakier with every word. And soon enough he turns his back to hide the welling of tear ducts.

Gavin stands still for moment, gesturing to reach for a shoulder but declines and is back at his desk by the time Tommy fights back at those incoming watery eyes and gets on with his day. Though in truth the cold fuzziness he feels disallows him to do much beyond practice various techniques of self-pity and loathing.

He opens his operating program and his fingers start to tap against the various keys. Words and numbers materialise, morning coffee and lunch passes. And before he knows it Tommy is back sniffing even sweatier armpits, wondering how on earth is going to fill five whole hours when he gets home. 

 

Could just go and get drunk at the Nags, chat up the barmaid who definitely gave me extra attention a few weeks back.

 

Instead, an hour later Tommy is in bed, hungry yet without the motivation to fuel his body. He is a Smiths playlist away from rock bottom (though getting back into melancholy indie artists will probably be the best thing about this whole episode). Happy, dance-y fucking la de da everything is going to be OK songs are a million miles from his mind, something that consoles him a touch. 

Her. 

What is he going to do about her? His gut instincts say call her and lay it all out on the line. Could that be a first sign of the 'emotional connection' she feel is null and void inside him? Yeah that seems to make at least some sense. 

OK, so ring her, tell her how you feel. Easy, she is near the top of the call list anyway. Not an issue, done it a thousand times. 

Eight minutes later and Tommy is inviting the rest of his directory down the pub, some of these people, who haven't heard from Tommy in a good while, take the out of the blue social invitation as confirmation that she has finally left him. A couple had started to think that she never would. 

Thus, instant responses are halted by the evaluation of how fun a catch up with a man who has recently been stripped of the kind of person that he probably didn't deserve to be near in the first place. Plus, it's Monday night, even for some of the more socially active recipients of Tommy's group text, tonight is a stretch.

A dribble of reluctant responses do little to cushion the blow of outright non responses and soon Tommy regrets his socially productive decision. Instead, the back of his head buries itself hard into to the pillow, marking the cover. 

He can't even distract himself from the grim reality before him. As he lies there, occasionally checking his phone, he sees Gavin's tell-tale facial expression from this morning and soon begins to realise why his phone isn't buzzing as he had hoped it would with messages akin to 'Mate it’s been a while, be great to catch up!' 

The condensation of the windows in front of his eyes begins to clear. Cold droplets of truth set against the window pane rock his soul. Raw sadness rips through him. Tommy has never felt so alive. This is him, now. This is his story. And it hurts, it really hurts. He prays for his grotty bed sheets to acquire quicksand like properties and swallow him away inside the stiff mattress. He tenses his back to aid the process. Nothing doing. 

No Monday night booze session, no becoming intertwined with the tightly knotted fabric beneath. There is apparently no escape from the torment before him, nothing to do but face it. 

 

Swipe right, pin code. Messages. Her name.

 

Tommy's thumb trembles as he drafts text after text, some ranging in the essay range before finally giving up on anything remotely romantic or endearing.

''Can we meet?''

 

Practical. Nobody can take that away from him. 

 

Eight minutes feels like eighty.

 

''OK. Coffee tomorrow lunch time? I won't have long.''

 

No kiss and already she's trying to get away. Better shave and do some press ups in the morning. A few hours later as Tommy sets his alarm, feeling that same strange fuzz from when his over eager flat mate burst into the room yesterday afternoon. Though any curious pangs of emotion are soon washed away by the giddy nervousness striking at his core. 

 

Coffee. With her. It feels big. 

 

Fuck it. twenty-five press ups not twenty in the morning.