This writing was accepted for publication in the 96 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book... “a Creative Journey” Down in the Dirt (v125) (the Sep./Oct. 2014 Issue) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book:

Order this writing in the book What Must be Done (a Down in the Dirt July - Dec. 2014 collection book)		get the 372 page July - Dec. 2014 Down in the Dirt magazine issue collection 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Just Friends

David Hutt

    Sometimes it’s all about putting the kettle on, making a cup of tea and forgetting that it has all happened. I was working for the Brighton and Hove council and my job was to talk to people in debt and advise them how not to be. I went into the office to check my calendar for the day. I went to my first appointment with a single mum at her house. She had housing debt, and catalogue debt, and debt to a loan shark, and debt to the gas and electricity companies, and debt to the local shop. She said she would put the kettle on. She made two cups of tea.
    I sat there in her living room with all these debts, trying to work out how much money she had coming in – which was almost nothing – and trying to work out which debts to prioritise and which debts could be paid off later, and all the time she was telling me about her bladder problem which means she often goes out of the house and pisses herself – like last week when she went to Sainsbury’s with her daughter and pissed herself on aisle three and a man came with a wet floor sign for her yellow puddle.
    I told her which debts to pay first and made a list of companies she owed money to so I could write letters to them explaining her situation.
    After work I went to a pub by myself and drank five pints of the cheapest beer before two friends turned up. We talked pub talk. I cannot remember what exactly.
    The pub closed at eleven and I left drunk enough to call a friend and ask if I could come over to hers for the night. From the way she answered she must have been sleeping.
    “Are you drunk?” she asked.
    “Not quite.”
    “Okay”
    I said goodbye to my friends and started towards the bus stop. When the bus came I spent the rest of my money on a single ticket and sat at the back. It was quiet and warm. I opened a window to let some air blow across my face.
    To my right a couple were sat next to each other. Every now and then they leant against each other and kissed and smiled. The girl laughed at some private joke that only they knew and only they thought was funny. It was such a sweet laugh. Both their hands were stamped and they must have gone out together, to get drunk together, to dance together, to just have fun together. And now they were returning home, smiling.
    In front a middle aged man was by himself with his back to me. His hair was greying, unkempt at the back. I couldn’t see if he was smiling. But I imagined that he was also travelling to see a woman of his, who was staying up late for him and would have her bed all warm for his arrival.
    Her bedroom light was on. It was the only bright window on the street. I walked into her room and she was wearing a bathrobe, held across her body. I asked her to take it off. She did. Then we had sex. Twice.
    I think it was nice. I was just happy to be doing something. Afterwards I sat by the window. She asked if I wanted a cup of tea. Sometimes it’s all about putting the kettle on, making a cup of tea and forgetting that it has all happened.
    In the morning she went to get us coffee and croissants from a café on the same street. When she came back I was dressed. I told her that it was all a mistake. “I shouldn’t have come last night. Sorry. You know, I’m sorry.”
    “Oh,” she said. That was it. She led me down the stairs to the front door of her house. Outside her flatmate was arguing with the landlord. He was saying they were a month behind on the rent. He was ugly – the kind of man who enjoys licking the envelopes of bills. I left them to argue – the landlord, my friend – two people who life has opened it palm flat for all to be seen.

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...