new pack of smokes...

Sometimes we come across someone we once knew intimately, only to realise that now we don't know them at all. That the memory we have carried of them is just that. A memory. Frozen in that period where our lives failed to connect.,went on in different directions, in absence of each other. What makes us aware of this can be the smallest detail. It can be the tiniest thing. And yet still ever so jarring.

I met a woman once, in a bar most likely. I don't remember much about her, or about how we started talking. but I will never forget when she told me that every time she ended an affair, ended a relationship, she would get another tattoo. The reason she did this was to have something of hers, something intimate on her body, that the other lover would never know. I was inspired by this. It has always stayed with me.

And if I think of those three tattoos on my body, the second and third definitely occurred not long after major relationships ended. I have the inclination now to mark myself, to claim myself for myself again. To have a part of me that he will never see. For her she saw it as a way of cutting off he who had come previously, but i always liked to see it in two ways. not just something to be kept from the other, but a new part of yourself to give.

.........

In the first moments of seeing one another again , he asks about my upcoming trip to budapest. asks if i'm going alone. when I say i'm going with someone I am seeing , he actually dares to correct me, says,

You mean you are going with him...

I say no, and say again,

with someone I have started seeing.

And then our friend starts asking me questions about my recent travels, and i'm telling stories, and trying not to slip on the icy pavement, and meanwhile the other is silent. He says nothing until we enter the bar, sit down, raise our glasses, toast the upcoming new year, and the moment the conversation reaches another pause he says

so you broke up with...?

I say yes. he asks what happened. I say it didn't work out. And though that may be some kind of gross understatement, it suddenly feels perfectly accurate. all the back story and back and forth of it, all covered in those four words.

It - didn't - work - out.

The conversation moves on, plans are made for the weekend, we talk about films we've seen, albums we're listening to, mutual friends, future plans. Our friend tells me how much he likes this guy i'm seeing, how happy he is that i'm happy. The other catches his name, repeats it. At every chance is inserting question after question. Where is he from? Does he live here? What is he doing here? How long ago did we meet?

I ask him about his girlfriend. I know her. She and I used to be friends. Maybe we still are. But she seemed distant the last time I saw her. Since they started seeing each other. The dynamic between her and I had changed. After we said goodbye, I walked home, understanding but not understanding. It upset me.

And our friend is unaware of all of this. Misses the eb and flow of the subtext. And towards the end of the night, before we leave , the other asks me for a light. My eyes drift down to his cigarettes. Something not right about the pack. I can't work out what it is. He lights up, and then it clicks. I say

Since when did you smoke these...? He shrugs.

I started liking them. He holds up my pack of Marlboros. Stopped smoking Gaulouise then?

Oh..yeah....I don't know why i stopped smoking them...

Yeah it happens like that sometimes. he says.

I nod, and staring at his pack of cigarettes, I remember...they are her brand.