Sorry, it's been a while. I was in London last week, which did nothing for my ever growing homesickness. Doom - we'll definitely have a coffee next time. I'm going to try to post twice a week like I used to, no matter how banal the post. We'll see. I've said that before.
Anyway, this is the end of She multiplies infinity.
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1.
So, there you have it. Frank went and topped himself. It was a three sentence story really.
The cunt fell in love. The kid they had died. He killed himself to make sure she was okay.
That's the simple breakdown of it. But, I knew Frank - impetuous fuck that he was. Right until the end, each moment of his life emanating backwards. I don't have much time for destiny, but Frank was a near convincer.
As far as I know he never let Angie know he was on whatever other side there was. Angie moved away - went abroad I think. I'm glad she did.
I could have dressed this thing in a web of metaphor, danced you around it, made heroes and villains. I could have walked you down ever darkening corridors, through unopen doors, robbed time, released you, put you in ornate carriages and so on. Fuck that. This story was about smashed faces, broken guts and obliterated souls.
I didn't even have to tell you this story. No one has to tell you any story. I could have punched you square in the stomach and kicked you while you were down. That's what I wanted to do really. In a way.
Anyway, I've had enough coffee. Lets go out.
2.
'So, where does it come from?'
'What? This story?'
'Yeah - why did you write it?'
'Well, my daughter was ill recently. It turned out to be nothing, but at the time she looked bad - really bad. She was getting stomach spasms, shivering all the time and repeatedly shitting herself.'
'Jesus!'
'I know. The doctor wanted to admit her and operate. I was shit scared. That's when the idea came to me. Like a fucking lethal shake through my skull. I asked myself 'what if she dies?''
'And what?'
'Well, I've always been into spirituality in some way. It's not something I talk about, but I have certain beliefs I suppose. And, the upshot was that I couldn't bear the thought of her wandering around on the other side - lost and not knowing what was going on.'
'So, you'd actually kill yourself to get to her?'
'Who knows? It's not something I want to contemplate too much, but I realised something. That she is a ticket. That's what kids are - a reason to die securely. She cured me a little in that way. Made me stop obsessing about death or at least calmed it a little. Kind of like taking paracetemol for a migraine.'
'Fucking hell RuK!'
'I know. I know. But that's it. I have this distinct, uncomfortable affair with death. I can't get my head around it, can't come to terms with it. The thing is, that sitting there, in that reception area in the hospital, signing papers that it was okay to cut open my daughter, was the closest I've ever come to saying 'okay - I can die.' Does that makes sense?'
'Maybe.'
'Aye - maybe. The great fucking, juicy maybe. If ever there was a blanket for everything, it was 'maybe'. Well, this one transcended 'maybe.' She made my dying okay, but not hers. Not before me. No fucking 'maybe' about it.'
'Alright! Alright!'
'The problem was that I felt like a total cunt about it. My daughter was ill and although I was worried to hell about it, I was sitting there thinking about a story to write on it. I remember squeezing my eyelids and telling myself to fuck off - an attempt to divert the wiring in my head. I mean, what kind of insane, mercenary cunt thinks like that?'
'Fred?'
'Yep. That's where he came from. From me. And I feel like a real shit about it.'
'We are all bastards RuK.'
'Yeah, and I'm a bastard with a blog, a few readers and a ego problem. Fuck me.'
'Welcome to the world mate.'
'Ha! There's the rub, eh? I belong here with the rest of you - no wonder I don't want to die.'
'Yeah, no wonder you keep having kids? Tickets, eh? You really are a bastard.'
