“Never again,” I moaned over the side of the bed. “Never, Rich. I swear it. I’m not going to drink anymore.”
“Me neither,” he replied, although in his words I had slightly more faith.
“I’m really sorry. It’s already lunchtime and we’ve just slept the morning away; I wanted to take you round some of the colleges today.”
“Well there’s still time” he replied optimistically. “I mean, I’m already showered and dressed.” At this moment Rich was in bed, duvet pulled up to his neck. I assumed he’d just woken up.
“You mean you’ve been for a shower got dressed and then slipped back into bed?”
“Yeah,” he said, “Your house is cold.” It was cold. We never put the heating on. I lived with four other guys and we all agreed that turning the heating on was a waste of money when we all owned woollen jumpers and coats.
“Fair enough.” I answered.
***
Cowley road, Oxford´s answer to gentrification, because the rest of the city wasn´t already expensive enough. Walking down towards the centre you could almost see a moustache sporting, bicycle riding pixie, waving her guitar shaped wand, as grimy bars and kebab houses became sparser, making way for hipster cafés, quirky bistros and the occasional shisha bar. It was in this central end I chose to plonk myself, ready for the only food acceptable after a vomit inducing night such as the previous one: Eggs, beans, bacon, sausages, and all the rest.
“Pass the brown sauce Rich,” I grunted, nodding my head half-heartedly towards the bottle. He handed it across the table and then took a sip from a glass of orange juice. I had opted for a glass of coke and a large cappuccino. Caffeine would be my saviour, whatever the health experts might say about its dehydrating effects. Plus, there was a slice of lemon in the coke that had to count for something…
“So, I figure we go down to Christchurch College, it’s the most famous because of the dining hall they used to film Harry Potter in.”
“Ok,” replied Rich. “Whatever you suggest, I’m easy”.
“Maybe we’ll bump into the girl from last night in there. Do you know Rich she asked me to exchange numbers with her? I asked gloomily, “but instead I threw up on a taxi and blew my chance”.
“What kind of numbers?” He said, innocently.
“My mobile number.”
“Oh. Well I gave her mine.”
“What?”
“Whilst you were on the floor with those two big guys, she asked me for my mobile number and said she’d text me her mobile number. I said Ok, but that I was going home tomorrow.”
“Rich?”
“Yes” he answered, obediently.
“I love you.”
We went at a steady pace for the rest of the day sauntering through colleges and cobbled alleys. I tried to sneak us in through the back of Christchurch College, but Rich’s bewildered expression, coupled with a bum bag and a nifty pair of trainers, meant that the doormen saw right through my confident stride and resulted in a hurried apology and a garbled question as to where we could “perhaps, maybe find the entrance to the college”. It didn’t matter though, nothing could bring me down. I couldn’t stop thinking about the girl, Her - mee - oh- neh. I really wanted to text her, but I felt it was a bit premature. Shouldn’t I wait at least a day or two? I´ve fallen into an episode of Friends? Perhaps in a year’s time I’ll be on a break… am I Ross?
Something had cracked inside me. In a good way. Like breaking an egg. Can’t make scrambled eggs without breaking a couple of eggs, right? Isn’t that the saying? And now I was making scrambled eggs. On the inside. Egg, crack, sizzle and stir. Over and over, throughout the day I could feel the process repeating itself in my stomach and as I got to the sizzle part I’d smile until my scrambled feelings were just about ready to be put on a plate and I’d start the process again. Yes, something had cracked…
***
Hi Hermione, it’s Sebastian 575Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeykqcZUwWK
the guy from the other night
in the pub.
No, that sounds like I’m some sleazy drunk, I can’t text that.
Hi Hermione, what are
you doing next week?
I’d love to meet up and
do something again… 575Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmAKrVhvl3d
it’s Sebastian here by
the way.
No, that sounds too clumsy and forward and insincere; ‘I’d love to meet up’ you’re not in a Meg Ryan flick.
Hey it’s me, the vomiting575Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLVzOjXHNFF
guy, Sebastian to some.575Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7SKe2mNnYt
I really enjoyed last night575Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡw3AJyvGsT5
(not so much the morning)
and it’d be great to go for
a beer, or maybe just coffee,
again sometime.
That sounds good. It’s funny, it’s honest, it’s self-deprecatory. It’s very me. Ok send…575Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡC0bP6w9wCu
No. That was idiotic. I’ve forever given myself the name, vomiting guy. You fucking idiot… oh God why? 575Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEKO36ucQ5c
I jumped onto my bed in anguish and let out a moan into my pillow. My phone buzzed.
Sure, beer sounds good.
Meet me at Magdalen
College Friday at 7.
Hermione575Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9HxcFRKR8B
Holy crap it actually worked.
ns 15.158.61.42da2
