Oisin
gone but not forgotten
This is written in the first person cos I find that easiest but it wasn't me - honestly - I can't afford expensive watches. 8)
TIME SPENT WITH MARIA
The sun burning my eyelids caused me to turn uneasily in my pit. The pain of the glued lashes breaking apart brought a whimper to my dry lips. Instinctively squinting at my left wrist I was confronted by nothing more than a white bracelet of flesh where my Omega had been. Double-checking, I cast an arm out to my left. Nothing. The sheets were cold. I gazed at the blue tadpoles, with their brilliant red coronas swimming around the room. Through them, I eventually focussed on the LED of the clock/radio spelling out 7:13.
The vague hint of perfume left on the pillow urged me, as hard as my aching brain would allow, to recall the whole episode. It was no good. I couldn’t concentrate. My tongue was welded to the roof of my mouth and there was something like Black Sabbath echoing around my cranium.
Despite my condition I knew, sooner rather than later, I would have to take the bull by the horns. I sucked in a deep breath, threw the covers aside and my legs over the edge of the mattress. More by instinct than anything, I lurched my wobbly way to the bathroom. The rush of the shower worked a miracle. My amnesia began to clear.
We met while waiting for a table in a small restaurant just around the corner from the Adelphi. With her dusky Latin features she appeared more like a flamenco dancer than a nurse. But that’s what Maria told me she was - a nurse. She was in Liverpool, attending a specialised course in orthopaedics. Her colleagues had deserted her for the evening in favour of a film she had already seen.
‘Anyway,’ I remember her telling me, ‘I usually work, eat and sleep with them. So, tonight, I’ve decided to make a little space for myself by at least having a meal away from them.’
I was immediately drawn by those wide brown eyes and imagined Maria as just the sort of person I would relish setting a broken leg for me.
For my part, I was in town commissioning some plant and machinery for one of the only large manufacturers left in the area. It seemed the ideal situation: The restaurant was busy. I was alone and at a loose end, so I went for it:
‘Instead of cluttering up the place why not share a table?’
‘I’d love to.’ Her smile had a warm comforting effect that I imagined would serve as a great asset in her profession.
Over the meal, we chatted easily. Then the drink began to flow (more into me than her). During the two weeks of my stay in Liverpool, this was the first evening I had not felt miserable and lonely. Maria was the sort of woman anyone could easily relax with. Soon my taste buds were titillated into the need for more – more drink and more of Maria’s company. It was then I suggested we should return to my hotel, where they served as long as you had a thirst. She agreed and we took a cab.
I was delighted when one thing led to another and she accepted my invitation to stay. She was wonderful – one hundred percent a woman. The intimate details? Well, suffice to say, at one stage I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.
But where had I lost my three hundred pound Omega? It had been one of my few extravagances - as was the meal with Maria, which turned out to be a little O.T.T. - a treat to myself two years previously. So, where was it? I could remember glancing at it in the taxi. And, I recalled, there had been a mildly embarrassing moment when a lock of Maria’s hair snagged in the bracelet when we were...
Maybe the clasp had come adrift in the bed? No. A shakedown proved negative, as did a detailed search of the rest of the hotel room. The only clue to its disappearance was the discovery that, either the meal had been even more expensive than I recalled, or about forty pounds in cash was missing from the dressing table. Objectively, it was a simple conundrum – wherever the cash was, the Omega was with it.
Still, I suppose, if I had a watch to turn back, I’d do the same again. This was a small price to pay for the memory of Maria. The scent of her perfume left on my pillow alone would’ve been well worth a Rolex!
THE END
TIME SPENT WITH MARIA
The sun burning my eyelids caused me to turn uneasily in my pit. The pain of the glued lashes breaking apart brought a whimper to my dry lips. Instinctively squinting at my left wrist I was confronted by nothing more than a white bracelet of flesh where my Omega had been. Double-checking, I cast an arm out to my left. Nothing. The sheets were cold. I gazed at the blue tadpoles, with their brilliant red coronas swimming around the room. Through them, I eventually focussed on the LED of the clock/radio spelling out 7:13.
The vague hint of perfume left on the pillow urged me, as hard as my aching brain would allow, to recall the whole episode. It was no good. I couldn’t concentrate. My tongue was welded to the roof of my mouth and there was something like Black Sabbath echoing around my cranium.
Despite my condition I knew, sooner rather than later, I would have to take the bull by the horns. I sucked in a deep breath, threw the covers aside and my legs over the edge of the mattress. More by instinct than anything, I lurched my wobbly way to the bathroom. The rush of the shower worked a miracle. My amnesia began to clear.
We met while waiting for a table in a small restaurant just around the corner from the Adelphi. With her dusky Latin features she appeared more like a flamenco dancer than a nurse. But that’s what Maria told me she was - a nurse. She was in Liverpool, attending a specialised course in orthopaedics. Her colleagues had deserted her for the evening in favour of a film she had already seen.
‘Anyway,’ I remember her telling me, ‘I usually work, eat and sleep with them. So, tonight, I’ve decided to make a little space for myself by at least having a meal away from them.’
I was immediately drawn by those wide brown eyes and imagined Maria as just the sort of person I would relish setting a broken leg for me.
For my part, I was in town commissioning some plant and machinery for one of the only large manufacturers left in the area. It seemed the ideal situation: The restaurant was busy. I was alone and at a loose end, so I went for it:
‘Instead of cluttering up the place why not share a table?’
‘I’d love to.’ Her smile had a warm comforting effect that I imagined would serve as a great asset in her profession.
Over the meal, we chatted easily. Then the drink began to flow (more into me than her). During the two weeks of my stay in Liverpool, this was the first evening I had not felt miserable and lonely. Maria was the sort of woman anyone could easily relax with. Soon my taste buds were titillated into the need for more – more drink and more of Maria’s company. It was then I suggested we should return to my hotel, where they served as long as you had a thirst. She agreed and we took a cab.
I was delighted when one thing led to another and she accepted my invitation to stay. She was wonderful – one hundred percent a woman. The intimate details? Well, suffice to say, at one stage I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.
But where had I lost my three hundred pound Omega? It had been one of my few extravagances - as was the meal with Maria, which turned out to be a little O.T.T. - a treat to myself two years previously. So, where was it? I could remember glancing at it in the taxi. And, I recalled, there had been a mildly embarrassing moment when a lock of Maria’s hair snagged in the bracelet when we were...
Maybe the clasp had come adrift in the bed? No. A shakedown proved negative, as did a detailed search of the rest of the hotel room. The only clue to its disappearance was the discovery that, either the meal had been even more expensive than I recalled, or about forty pounds in cash was missing from the dressing table. Objectively, it was a simple conundrum – wherever the cash was, the Omega was with it.
Still, I suppose, if I had a watch to turn back, I’d do the same again. This was a small price to pay for the memory of Maria. The scent of her perfume left on my pillow alone would’ve been well worth a Rolex!
THE END
John
