Me, Myself and Them

by Dan Mooney

“Well, I could if you’d stick to the standard conversation.”

  “So what were the deviations?”

  “That’s not standard conversation,” Denis replied irritably. Of his friends, Ollie was definitely the more irritating.

  “Come on, just a little hint. One more tiny glance into the world of humanity’s finest weirdo. What happened?”

  “It’s hard to talk about.” That wasn’t a lie. Most things were hard to talk about for Denis Murphy. “I just couldn’t keep my own head today. Like it kept remembering things I didn’t want it to remember. I’m just a little flustered that’s all. You mind if we drop it?”

  “Denis, you are definitely the strangest person I know,” Ollie told him.

  “Ever considered the idea that everyone else is strange and I’m the only normal one?”

  “Briefly thought about that and then dismissed it on the grounds that I thought it was making me a weirdo too.”

  “Probably wise.”

  “Roisin wanted to come. I think she wants to be your friend too.”

  “I have a suitable number of friends.”

  “You have two friends, Denis. Two is not a suitable number. Give her a chance, will you?”

  “Ollie, this is not helping. Now are we going to return to standard acceptable conversation or not?”

  “Not until you promise to give my girlfriend a chance. You never know, someday you may find yourself standing in a perfectly straight and symmetrical line at an altar with me while I marry her.”

  Denis hesitated briefly. “If I promise to make more of an effort, you’ll get back to normal-talk?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “In controlled circumstances.”

  “Obviously.”

  “You promise?”

  “Cross my heart in exactly even lines,” Ollie quipped with a smile.

  “Very well,” Denis replied, resigning himself to having to navigate yet another awkward social event. “Now...”

  “Okay, sorry dude, but heads up. Rebecca is coming...”

  “What!” Denis exclaimed. His heart seemed to briefly stop in his chest, before kicking back into life at twice its normal rate. The panic must have been obvious in his face.

  “Relax, she’s... No, wait...she’s seen me. Panic...”

  “No way!” she exclaimed loudly, her voice floating to Denis from behind. It struck a note in his head. It sounded like wind chimes, but not the annoying ones. “Is that you Ollie? It is you. Oh my God, it’s so good to see you.”

  Stay calm. This is a good thing.

  There was a warmth in her voice that Denis would have taken more time to appreciate if he wasn’t in the grip of a full-blown war against an impending panic attack.

  “Hey, lady,” Ollie said, rising from his seat to hug her.

  By some perverted logic, Denis figured she may not see him if he remained perfectly still.

  Rebecca and Ollie continued hugging and exclaiming their disbelief at seeing each other, mere inches from the side of Denis’s perfectly still head. In his periphery he could make out just enough of her features to bring sharply painful memories crashing back into his head. Her smile. How she tilted her head to one side when she was reading. Her singing voice and the way she looked at him while she strummed on her guitar. The way her lips pursed and her brow furrowed during debates—pub arguments really, but she was the undisputed champion. He could smell her perfume faintly. Still, the complete stupidity of believing that by not moving he could avoid a potentially painful reunion had not occurred to him, and so he was still sitting bolt upright, eyes forward and almost totally motionless when she spoke to him.

  “Denis? Is that you...?”

  “DENIS,” Ollie shouted to snap him out of his reverie.

  “Uh, yes. Hello.” He tried to smile. He failed horribly, the result looking like a kind of half grimace that a lizard might make after eating something unpleasant.

  “Give me a hug, you!” she told him, leaning forward, her arms extended.

  “Please don’t,” he almost shouted.

  And there it was again. For the second time in an increasingly worse day, Denis Murphy broke someone’s heart. He would have cried if he could have figured out how. She looked beyond hurt. Before he had become what he had become, their entire lives together had been based on contact, often intimate, but always present. Holding hands, kissing, hugging, her arm falling lazily over him as they slept in their bed together. Her world of experience with Denis had been built on that constant contact. He rejected her cruelly with his revulsion, and he could expressively see the hurt it caused her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, trying desperately to compose himself. “I’m not the hugging type.”

  “Okay,” she replied slowly, looking at him, the hurt in her eyes pronounced.

  “So...ah, you gonna have a seat?” Ollie asked, trying to break the awkwardness.

  “That okay with you, Denis?” she asked, confused.

  “Er, yes, er, of course,” he replied, feeling himself break out in a sweat. “If you two will excuse me for just a couple of minutes, I’d like to use the bathroom.”

  With that, he practically jumped from his seat, and almost, but not quite, ran to the bathroom. At least now Ollie would have some time to explain things to her. Tell her all about him and his personality issues, and then maybe she’d just move on. Leave. Head somewhere else. Oddly enough, the thought of her leaving didn’t make him feel any better. He splashed some water on his face and washed his hands repeatedly. It would be better if she wasn’t here, he decided. With any luck, she’d be gone by the time he had finished drying his hands for the sixteenth time.

  JUST EAT IT

  She wasn’t gone. She was sitting there when he returned to the table, directly opposite his seat, one hand idly playing with the single lock of hair with its many yellow beads. The rest of her long dark brown hair tumbled down her back and over her shoulders. Her loose-fitting, long-sleeved T-shirt had slid down one arm, leaving a beautiful tanned shoulder exposed. She was listening intently as Ollie talked in hushed tones. Undoubtedly he was catching her up on several years of compulsive behavior and trying to warn her of the pitfalls that come with conversing with Denis Murphy. He sighed bitterly as he walked back out to the covered smoking area. She would inevitably talk to their other old college friends and recount in half-horrified tones how Denis refused to hug her, and how his only remaining friends trod on eggshells lest his fear of odd numbers drive him from their company.

  You know who’s to blame for that, right?

  Denis took his seat without a word. The conversation between Ollie and Rebecca cut off as he approached the table, confirming his suspicion that he had been the subject of their discussion.

  “Sorry about that,” he said, carefully positioning his seat across from her, while briefly lamenting the lack of symmetry that Ollie had caused. Cursed odd numbers. Had it been Frank sitting there, the three of them wouldn’t have felt so odd, but in her company, it needled Denis. He wondered about inviting the café’s other regular customer to his table for balance, and then discarded the idea on the off chance that the man would attempt to engage him in conversation.

  “That’s okay,” Rebecca replied, studying him carefully. “It’s been a while, eh? How are you doing?”

  “Very well, thank you,” he said, shooting her one of his patented courtesy smiles. “And you?”

  “Good. Just back from traveling. Six years living out of hostels and on beaches. I don’t think I’ve done a day’s worth of Event Management since college.”

  Denis suppressed a shudder at the thought of living in a hostel and sleeping in a bed that someone else had slept in the night before.

  “Very nice,” he lied.

  “I’m not sure it would suit the new you,” she said, laughing, not unkindly.

 
“I’m certain it wouldn’t,” he said, smiling genuinely for the first time since she walked in.

  “Now there’s the smile I remember,” she said, her face lighting up in response to his.

  “Yes, well, just because I’m orderly doesn’t make me a robot,” he replied, still smiling.

  “Jury’s out on that one, dude,” Ollie chimed in.

  “As it is on your questionable sense of fashion,” Denis replied critically with a withering glance at Ollie’s bright yellow hoodie.

  “Score one for you,” Ollie said, faking a look of hurt.

  “What brings you home?” Denis asked Rebecca, more for the excuse to look at her again than out of interest.

  “Visa ran out,” she replied. “It’s not so bad really. I was getting a little tired of it anyway. Was thinking of maybe trying China for a while, but a festival organizer has offered me a job here. Kinda too good to turn down. I left here because I was sure that there was no hope of a serious gig in this town, then I travel most of the world looking for one, and it turns out to be waiting for me back where I started. Typical.”

  Rebecca had earned a degree in Communications and Event Management. The university had given her tens of thousands to throw fund-raising parties and student events. She had a knack for it, a skill for organizing and a way with people the likes of which Denis had never seen in anyone else.

  “So you’re home for good?” Denis asked, his heart beginning to speed up again. He wasn’t sure if he was frightened by the prospect or excited.

  “Looks that way,” she said. “Crashed with Mom and New Dad for a few weeks, and then came back here. Living in a hostel now till I get set up. Kinda suits me, really. I’ve been doing it for so long now, it’s becoming second nature.”

  “To hell with that!” Ollie exclaimed. “Me and Ro have a spare bedroom in our place. It’s not huge, but it beats the crap out of a hostel.”

  “No, I’m good, thanks,” she replied. “It’s only for another week or so while I find a place to stay full-time. It’s a renter’s market out there, so I get to pick and choose a place. Was thinking about sharing, but I don’t want to end up living with weirdos.”

  “No. No, you don’t,” Denis agreed, thinking about the weirdos he lived with. He wondered what they were up to. In his head he imagined them playing hide-and-seek as they so often did. Badly. He had once found Deano hunkered down on the fireplace, holding a large vase in front of his face.

  “So what brings you to town on a Sunday?” she asked.

  “Denis is trying to reset his weirdness. I don’t think it’s working,” Ollie told her.

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, you see, there’s three of us. Three being an odd number, Denis is unquestionably wondering if there’s a polite way of making one of us leave. Three is only acceptable when it’s me, him and Frank. Any other day of the week, three is intolerable.”

  Denis shot him a flat, unfriendly stare.

  “I see,” Rebecca said, taking Ollie’s lead. “Any other odd numbers bothering you today?”

  Denis cocked one eyebrow at her, but said nothing.

  “Come on. This is my first time meeting the new version of somebody that I used to know. I want to know you again, Denis. So spill. What other odd numbers are annoying you?”

  “There are three birds sitting on a gutter at the top of a building across the street. There are five small flowers on your T-shirt. Ollie has deliberately selected a bright yellow hoodie with the number seventeen inexplicably printed on the left shoulder. Don’t look so offended, Ollie, it signifies nothing and you know it. Seventeen what, exactly? There are seven empty beer glasses on the table behind me, and there are thirteen condiments of various types in that ramekin—three mustards, five ketchups and five mayos.”

  The two of them stared at him, half impressed, half horrified.

  “Also, you have thirteen beads in your hair.”

  She regarded him silently for just a few seconds before reaching into her bag. She produced a safety pin and carefully pinned back the T-shirt to cover one of the flower designs. Taking out a scarf, she draped it carefully over Ollie’s shoulder to cover the unsightly number. She reached out and grabbed a small pack of mustard, one of ketchup and one of mayonnaise and stuffed them into her handbag, and then with delicate, beautiful hands, she carefully untied her plait, slipped off one of the beads and handed it to him.

  “Unfortunately, I’m not the boss of pigeons, so you’re going to have to deal with the birds. I don’t work here, and I’m not feeling very energetic today, lots of fun last night, so I’m not collecting beer glasses, so unless you feel like doing that yourself, you’re going to have to live with that too.”

  The smile he shot her was half wondrous.

  “He can’t collect the glasses,” Ollie told her. “Someone else’s mouth has been on them.”

  He nodded dumbly, still bowled over by her gesture.

  For a second she just smiled, and then she burst into gales of laughter. Ollie couldn’t help himself and joined in. For a few seconds, Denis tried to resist the urge, but there was something contagious in her melodic laugh. He chuckled in spite of himself.

  “Thank you,” he told her seriously after they’d collected their breath. “It’s not easy, dealing with me. I know. So thank you.”

  “I have some bad news for you, Denny,” she told him, using the nickname that only she used, once upon a time in a previous life. “I’m back home, and I’m not going anywhere, so I’ll get used to you, if you’ll get used to me.”

  Oh that’s nice.

  His heart started hammering again. She muddled his head, over and over. She had always done that to him, even when he was someone else. He wasn’t sure if he was going to laugh or cry.

  “So. I’ve got to get some shopping done. Then go back to the hostel. How do you guys feel about some dinner tonight?” she asked.

  “Smashing plan,” Ollie replied.

  “Ah, not me. I’ve got something planned,” Denis mumbled half-heartedly, trying not to look either in the eye.

  “No, you don’t,” Ollie said firmly. “I’m bringing Ro, and Frank, and he’s bringing Tash, and your date with your DVD player or your TV can wait. You promised to make more of an effort, and that starts now.”

  Denis could feel his face crumple. This was quickly turning into the worst Sunday ever.

  “Wear something nice,” Rebecca told him with yet another stunning smile. How could one person smile so beautifully? It didn’t really seem right.

  “I’m going to scoot. I promise I’ll wear a perfectly even number of flowers this evening,” she said, as she gathered her belongings. “Oh some phone numbers.”

  She reached into her bag and began pulling things out. Denis felt his muscles tighten up in discomfort as she produced an array of bits and pieces. Was there no end to this bag? Ollie spied his discomfort and tried to cover a smile.

  “Quick,” he told her, “get that phone and get moving, I think you’re giving Denis a heart attack.”

  Denis breathed deeply.

  She took the numbers as Denis tried to compose himself, and left with a laugh. If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear she had done that on purpose.

  Ollie was looking at him, an odd expression on his face.

  “Time for you to start living life again Denis,” he told his old friend. It sounded suspiciously like a threat.

  He made his way home. It was more reeling than walking. He tried to compose himself.

  Back at the house the four housemates were still in the middle of the worst game of hide-and-seek that anyone had ever played. For starters, none of them were actually seeking, which meant that all four had gone their separate ways about the house and were hiding. Unfortunately, their hiding places were every bit as atrocious as Denis imagined they would be. Penny O’Neill was stretched out,
facedown, in front of the living-room fireplace. “I’m a rug, I’m a rug,” she was whispering, over and over. Deano was headfirst into the cabinet under the sink, his hairy lower back, legs and his inexplicably hairy feet blatantly obvious to anyone who may have taken the time to look.

  Plasterer was in the bath with a washcloth over his head, and the Professor stood at the top of the stairs, his face locked in an expression that could only be described as his “hiding face” while holding a book. “I’m a bookcase,” he whispered at Denis as he walked by.

  “Of course you are,” Denis replied.

  “PAUSE GAME,” came a roar from the bathroom. “The Boss is home. Action Four News Team Assemble.”

  There was general panic as all four scrambled around and past each other en route to different rooms. On reaching one room, and realizing there was no one there, they would bolt, at top speed, to a different room, usually passing each other on the way. Denis sighed to himself.

  “I’ll be in the living room,” he called out. “Join me when you’re done.”

  It took fifteen minutes for the crowd to calm themselves before joining him, during which time he was able to assess the damage done during his absence. Surprisingly, the break from the standard Sunday routine hadn’t affected them too badly. The milk would have to be thrown out, as it now had most of a bag of frozen peas floating in it. The butter too, which had peas mashed into the top of it in a kind of checkered pattern. Several of his ties had been nailed to the door that led to the utility room, and a wash had been put on. One of them had evidently decided that several of his books needed a good, thorough cleaning. He set about making things right again as the four slowly wound themselves down from all the running and stair-climbing. Deano, who had made his way to the living room first, was obviously not done yet, and was rolling back and forth across the carpet.

  “Mind your hair,” Denis shouted to him.

  Deano froze in place. Then shook in what Denis assumed was a laugh.

  By the time he had finished tidying the mess, all four were waiting in the living room.

  “How did your day go?” Plasterer asked, his tone unpleasant. “It’s a Sunday, and you went for coffee. Fucking coffee on a Sunday.”