1 post tagged “privacy”
three men sit in worn velvet armchairs, still dressed in fluorescent orange jackets and cargo pants crusty with paint. they drink beer and smoke, their conversation is loud enough to make a few others uncomfortable, and their voices are toned by the kind of reckless hostility that makes casual violence play on your mind. everybody else clenches their fists under tables and wonders how they would handle a fight, but the three men drink comfortably, curse bitterly and laugh occasionally.
one of them stands and makes his way to the bar, and the other two go silent. the focus lies with him, and in his absence the bitter violence drains from their interaction. they sit quietly and stare at empty bottles, cheeks hollowed out with worried eyes.
the one leans against the counter and orders more of the same, and while the waitress is busied with the bottle opener he says 'i got diagnosed with cancer today'. she looks up with a beer in hand, and he looks back at her, staring blackly and swaying slightly. then he stretches his lips into a grin and carries the drinks back to the others. they drink.
his friend forces a tone and says 'saw you chatting up that waitress mate, did she seem interested?', while the other friend snorts and puts a cigarette to his lips. the one sits back in his chair and holds up his hand with grease packed fingernails and a scratched silver ring. 'i'm a married man' he says, 'i wouldn't dream of it'. they have been sarcastic all night, it makes acid boil in their guts and their lungs are ragged from forced laughs. 'oh i don't know mate, i figure if the missus is getting a root tonight i reckon you should too'. they all go silent. nobody makes eye contact for a while, of course some things simply can't be made light of.
a while later he stands up and the others follow suit, swaggering on stiff legs to the door. he stares the waitress down on his way out.
the roads are empty and washed sickly gold by the streetlights. it's late, and they breathe mist and walk to the train station. with the crossing in sight, he says 'maybe i'll just throw myself in front of a train tonight.' the other two laugh grimly, but when they look up at him he's just staring up towards the crossing, thinking, then he starts to laugh, honest laughter. he turns to look at them. 'it'll be like the fucking great escape!' he starts to whistle the theme, and he picks up the pace. 'it'd be too easy, just lie down and wait.' one of them says 'why would you wanna do that, mate?' he's nervous.
'why would i wanna do that? what the fuck else am i going to do? wait for the cancer to do it for me? go home and sort out my divorce? mate, i'm done. i want out now, like this.' his voice is bright, the most like himself he's sounded all night. he laughs again. they keep walking. his mood, still infectious, spreads to his friends, and they warm to the idea of helping him die. more cigarettes, and they are all laughing with him.
when they reach the crossing, they stop and wait. even though they are quiet, he still smiles. 'sure about this one, mate?' reality is shimmering in the distance, testing its claws against the fabric of alcohol and bravado. 'never been more sure of anything in my life.' in the distance comes the resounding clatter and cry of a train. 'that's me!' last handshakes, slaps on the back. he steps onto the tracks, stumbling on the rocks before settling down between the rails, one running beneath his knees and the other behind his back. he makes a show of getting comfortable, lights another cigarette. one last thumbs up and a grin, then he is illuminated.
the train grinds him against stones and sends him spinning in different directions across the asphalt before he tumbles to a stop. they stand there, staring at him. his body settles and is still, his open wounds are steaming in the cold air. they start to walk the other way.
'did you see how he flinched at the last second?' one asks quietly.
'yeah, i did...'
