Just Be

Midnight, she sat cradling the last gulp of Merlot; Miranda cast her eyes over this lissom adroit man. As yet he hadn’t lurched under the influence of the grape; nor had he pawed at her, only to flounder like so many before. The three month hurdle loomed ahead; when would she have to grapple with the weekend away, the seaside pub, the long walk, and the parents.

He had placed the small leather bound box where it could be seen; blithely ignoring any furtive glance she cared to cast its way. She had noticed a gradual slide in his composure as the evening wore on: a gentle landslide, they were nearing that moment when the vase topples from the table.

It was written all over his face, she had not taken the bait and he quivered with anxiety. The sex was good; no complaints there, but, the initial rush had subsided: he had begun to ask, how was it for you? : Well, if you have to ask…… The flowers were waiting; they formed a colourful gang alongside a bottle of champagne and a gaudy box of chocolates. Their companionable silence became weighty and intolerable, ‘Oh is it midnight already?’ She did her best to look genuinely surprised. ‘Miranda…..I, well, I love you and I, want to be with you. He grabbed the box from the table and displayed his talisman; she noticed the well hidden bald patch as he turned to pick up the box: a brief glimpse of decline, as yet unseen. ‘Will you marry me?’ Not quite a beggar’s face: at least he managed to smile.

Australia, thank god for Australia, that country had rescued her so many times; ‘Oh, Philip, what can I say, I….I have taken a research post in Australia, I simply can’t turn it down.’ A tidal surge of consternation swept across his face: he began to melt and crumble like sand on a beach. Finally he croaked, ‘Australia?’ At last, driving away she looked at her castaway, captured in her rear view mirror: marooned on his doorstep, waving, hopelessly lost, she let loose a great sigh: he would get over it, men, why can’t they just be?

©Stephen Pullman 2011