Borrowing Videos

by Tristan Cox

Graham had been engaged for a decade, and after numerous threats had now decided to set a date for the marriage. He eloped to the north a few years ago to bunk up with his beau, Alice; a harmless face, nothing worth getting jealous about. Since their tryst Graham made infrequent cameo appearances in our town, none of which justified the entrails of text alerts, emails and bubbles of expectant chatter that preceded them. Each time we found a little bit less to say to one another and as the months dragged on his visits diminished in regularity. We were meeting here today to discuss the recent email and what it all means.

‘Right’, announced Charlie. ‘I trust you read the email.’
‘Yes’, I said. ‘What do you think it means?’
‘Well, it was a typical Graham email’, Charlie sniffed.

I nodded knowingly. A typical Graham email is built up from three lines of monosyllabic efficiency, bereft of any punctuation or feeling. The result is a thin grey blur that could be easily reconstructed by eating a pate sandwich and then wiping your finger across the screen. If the recipient makes it to the last word, they’re left with that same cocktail of confusion and emptiness you get when repeatedly putting on a T-shirt the wrong way round.

‘Well, I don’t mind being best man if you don’t want to,’ I said.
‘Really?’
‘I guess so. I still remember some of the things we used to do together. Some of the fun times.’
‘See, that’s my problem’, said Charlie, looking intense all of a sudden. ‘I can’t remember any of them because whenever one comes up I just get angry that we don’t have them anymore. Since Alice came along Graham is no fun to be with. No more fun than a…a shave. I think Graham will break down if he hears about some of the stuff we’ve got up to since he left.’
‘Yeah…some wild stuff.’
‘Now he just sits in his rented hovel in the city, reading instruction manuals with Alison, and arguing about bread.’

Charlie’s was cut short as a girl with white jeans crossed the road in front of us, talking on the phone and jangling her bracelets.

‘Listen’, said Charlie softly, turning back to face me and checking his watch. ‘…I’ve got to go, dinners going to be ready soon. You don’t have any videos or anything I can borrow, do you?’

We walked down the road to my house and talked about Graham some more, reincarnating him through past quotes and mannerisms, like how he’d go to cross his arms and then decide not to, or that day in the swimming pool when he looked us in the eyes and said that he hated tomatoes. ‘If anyone puts one on my plate’, he insisted, ‘I won’t eat it.’ Anecdotes and memories that lay rotten for years ripened again, falling around us like pieces of apple tossed from a cage, and although my road was very short, it was as if Graham was fun again, bringing the apples to his forehead and pretending they were eyebrows.

‘OK, there we go Charlie’, I said handing him his bundle for the weekend.  All of his bundles followed the same formula; a comedy DVD he had already memorized, a film of my choosing that I think he should like but will invariably gather snow, and an old porn video that has been passed around so many times the performers greet us when we put it on.

‘Thanks’, said Charlie with a wan smile. Rarely does Charlie produce such an expression.  For a second I worried that he was going to renege on the best man deal, but he never did.

‘You can keep them for as long as you want. My brother won’t be home for weeks’, I said.
Charlie gave me a limp thumbs up and walked back along the road with the package under his arm. I waved to him enthusiastically but he didn’t notice until he reached the neighbours’ conifer tree. By the time he waved back I’d already shut the door.

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~ This piece was posted on Monday, October 27th, 2008 and was filed under Short Story, Writing. You can make comments on it below. ~