Should I just listen to myself?

Even though my eyes were on my big screen TV for Renee Fleming's Concert, but my mind were thinking about Lawrence.

It had been nearly a week since Lawrence had allowed me to take him for a coffee after our encounter in our local newsagent’s and yet he’s still very much in my mind. I frequently found myself thinking generally about what he might be doing or saying at any particular moments: occasionally these thoughts were tempered by cogitations on what he might be wearing when he was saying or doing the various things that I imagined. This evening however I had excelled myself and was debating what he might be thinking about when he was wearing what he imagined he was wearing when he was saying or doing the various things that I imagined he might be doing or saying. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt this way about a boy. Admittedly I had been keen on boy before but in a more acquisitive way, not in this precise manner where I felt breathless and giddy about them, willingly allowing them to occupy various corners of my mind when they weren’t actually there standing in front of me.

How good had our ‘coffee date’ been? Amazing. Initially we talked about our various jobs but then the conversation had fitted ‘this way’ and that from school days to current affairs and from current affairs through to the current plight of our city (which was a surprise) but for me, the real thing, is the real moments, the tipping points at which this ceased to be a battle to make a theoretical change of heart and when I actually thought seriously about kissing Lawrence in the way that I might have kissed a hot-looking boy in a very tight t’shirt, was when he told me he really had to go and I realized we had been talking for an hour and that Lawrence possessed something I had never encountered before in a date prior to this moment: a personality. From that moment forward I was officially smitten.

Groaning at the thought that I was suffering from an overdose of oestrogen. I decided to take action. Reasoning that even the right-kind-of-boys observed the ‘wait three days before re-establishing contact’ rule. I had opted to add an extra couple of days into the mix just to make it clear that I was a busy man with busy life, and now there was nothing stopping me from making the call.

I dialed Lawrence’s number and waited. Lawrence’s phone rang out for half minute or so before clicking on to voicemail. I didn’t really do voicemail on the grounds that it was seriously uncool but it would be far less cool for Lawrence to see my number as a missed call and draw the conclusion that I was the sort of person who worried about leaving voicemail messages because they were uncool.

‘Hi Lawrence, it’s me George... you know.. from school days.. you know just in case you know any other George and you’re finding this message confusing. Anyway I just wanted to say that I really enjoyed that coffee the other day and would love to catch up with you again when you’re free sometime. Hope all is good with you. Let’s speak soon. Oh.. do you like tapas? I am pretty sure everyone does. Anyway if you do there’s a new menu at La Bodega in Bangsar Shopping Complex (BSC) that had a great review in the Star newspaper if you fancy that.. and no offence if you’re not a tapas friend.. after all each to their own, right? Anyway .. this is turning into a bit of an epic message... I am worried that this thing is going to run out of space.. Anyway.. whatever.. hopefully I’ll see you soon.. Oh, by the way this is ... was... George... as in George from school. Bye.’

As I pressed the end call button on my phone and placed it carefully on the table I pushed my chair back to make space for myself to get down on my knees, curl up into a ball and with fists clenched let out a loud groan that was sixty per cent pure anguish. How could a universe exist in which a man as impossibly cool as I was could leave an answerphone message of such buttock-clenching awfulness?

Had I entered a parallel universe where the laws or normal human interaction didn’t apply? Didn’t the people of this parallel world know who I was? That I had a plaque on my mantelpiece the inscriptions ‘the second best-looking bloke in Hartamas’? Didn’t they know that I was definitely not kind of bloke who left rambling voicemail messages? What was wrong with this world? And more importantly, what was wrong with me?

I got to be my feel and stared at my phone as thought it might ring at any second. When it didn’t I went to the loo but in the process of washing my hands I imagined that I heard my mobile and rushed to my room with wet hands only to discover that it was just my imagination. As I was about to leave the room for something to eat my mobile actually did ring but it turned out to be a cold caller trying to sell me a new insurance policy.

Annoyed and more than a little agitated I went in search of food and once again found myself thinking about Lawrence and what he might be doing/thinking/saying. I created a scenario where Lawrence (little realizing that his life was about to change) was microwaving his evening meal while looking forward to an hour or so of work to fill his empty evenings before setting down for glass of wine or two while he watched repeats of ‘sex and the city’. I imagined the look of delight on his face when he retrieved my message, heard my voice and realized (probably for the first time) that his life was about to change forever.

The phone rang.

Dashing back into the living room I grabbed the phone and looked at the screen. There it was: Lawrence’s name.

‘Lawrence! How are you? I am glad you’ve called back.’

A short pause. ‘Really? Er... thanks.’

So how have you been?’ I asked him, trying to temper my earlier enthusiasm.

‘Good, thanks. How about yourself?’

‘Great.’ I said breezily.

There was a silence.

‘Listen, George... ‘ began Lawrence. ‘It really was lovely to bump into you the other day-‘

‘I know.’ I interrupted. ‘It was really good, wasn’t it?’

‘Still, I think what I am trying to say is that even though it’s always nice to bump into people that you went to school with there’s not always a need to take things further. If you know what I mean.’

‘Further?’

‘Yes, further.’

‘I don’t understand.’ I said. ‘Are you saying that you don’t want to meet up?’

‘That’s exactly what I am saying.’ He replied. ‘I just don’t think it would be a good idea.’

‘Because... you’ve got a boyfriend?’

‘Erm... well no, actually. As it happens I am single but...’

I was incredulous. ‘I don’t get it. You’re saying that you’re single but you don’t want to go out for a drink with me? How does that even make sense?’

‘It wasn’t just me, was it? The two of us did have a moments the other day when we went for coffee, didn’t we?’

There was a long silence. I knew I ought to let this go but I couldn’t. ‘Look, just so that we’re both clean: you do realize that I am asking you out on a date?’

‘Oh, George,’ he sighed. ‘Do we really have to do this?’

‘Yes.’ I replied. ‘Yes we do. Because I’ve got a terrible feeling that you’ve not fully grasped the fact that I am asking you out.’

‘Will you listen to yourself? Anyone would think that you’ve never been turned down for a date the way you’re acting. But as clarity seems to be something of as issue for you: one, no we did not have a moment the other day: two, I only agreed to have a coffee with you because I thought it was the easiest way to get rid of you: three, you seem to have forgotten the small fact that you made my life hell when we were at school: and four, even if points one, two and three weren’t true I still wouldn’t go out with you because one thing that was abundantly clear in the short time that I spent with you in the newsagent’s and talking over badly made, overpriced coffee, is this: you, George, are completely and utterly thee wrong-kind-of-guy for me.

Ouch.............!

That make me had sleepless nite....

Till then