Ataxia Part Four: Relationships from the Perspective of Bedroom Lights and One Car Light.
The energy efficient bulb meandered its way into life spraying the room with an easy orange haze. Shelves of childhood tat rested illuminated and collecting dust, almost in a way a museum of a life. In this case Jacob’s. Sol stood tentatively in the doorway as Jacob strode to a dresser table. A black instrument case atop it.
“Ah the famous trumpet” Sol joked.
“Yes, my only personality trait.” Jacob smiled. He reached into the dresser pulling a small projector out and propping it against the case. Sol gently made her way into the room. The bed took most of the floor space besides a small writing desk pressed into the alcove above it the aforementioned shelves. Jacob connected the projector to his laptop, as it sparked into life, the blue light projected onto Sol. She looked at her shadow seeking the kink in her spine. She quickly turned to stand face on as Jacob looked over to her enamoured.
“What do you want to watch?” he asked. Sol shrugged.
“You chose. Your house.”
“Yeah, but I’d rather not scare you off with my awful tastes film.” He smiled.
“I’m already planning my escape don’t worry.”
“It’s a long drop from the window.” Jacob smiled.
“I was hoping to use the door.”
“Smart choice. Safer that way. Have you seen little miss sunshine?” Jacob asked holding the DVD case up to her. Sol shook her head. She stood awkwardly before Jacob walked over and took jumper from her folded arms and threw it over the back of the chair, sitting down in his bed. Sol tentatively followed suit. The projector spraying onto the wall across from them. From the bird’s eye vantage point of the bedroom light Sol sat on the nearside to the screen, bolt upright. Her view locked as the opening sequence played. Jacob sat awkwardly his view obstructed mildly by Sol’s head. He didn’t mind. He’d seen this film before. The film played uninterrupted. Jacob watched Sol as the light from the screen shone from the projector and through her and onto him. She glowed. Sol let her hands drop from her stomach into the space between them. Jacob looked at her hand, he slowly reached across taking hers in his. Sol tentatively looked back first to his eyes then to his lips. A car in the distance stalled and started then stalled again. He leant in hesitantly slowly closing the distance between them. Sol held her ground making her come to him. Jacob lunged in for the kiss as Sol rolled away pulling him on top of her.
“Sol! Where did this come from?” Brit laughed as she shot around the room.
“What? I didn’t just sit alone in my room for three years.” Sol smiled wryly.
“So? What’s next for you two then? Y’know?” Brit asked.
“Yes.”
“How many times?” Brit asked.
“A few. Why do you care?” Sol said wryly.
“I don’t. Hold still.” Brit gestured for Sol to hold still as she drew. “Well, I do but- “
“I’m just joshing lass.” Sol smiled mischievously. She sat atop a stool hugging one knee. Brit sat across from her sketching crudely. Sol became conscious of her posture trying to sit up straight as to not give away the tell-tale curve of her spine. Which on reflection seemed somewhat pointless to her as there were more obvious symptoms like most prominently her warbling drunk walk even when sober. She thought it might be best to clear the air. ‘Maybe having a drinking problem was more socially acceptable than having Friederichs ataxia’ she thought.
“Wait!” Brit stood back up quickly and shot across the room. Ripping a photo from her inkjet collage that was plastered on her wall. “Hold this. Please.”
Sol took the photo seeing it was a photo of herself a few years prior. Her eyes scanned the photo looking for an early warning sign to her condition. It was there certainly.
“Why the interest in painting all of a sudden?” She asked.
“Character development, I guess. Well, it’s what you do when you graduate uni innit. You take up a hobby and make it your identity for a bit. I’m trying painting first then I’ll move onto photography. Then when I find out art isn’t for me, I’ll take up chess or something.” Brit smiled at her own joke from her slim lopsided wonky jaw. Sol smiled fondly at her friend enjoying the warmth of her company. ‘Maybe now would be a good time to tell her.’ She thought.
“Brit?” Sol’s lips moved faster than her brain could catch her.
“Uh huh.”
Sol’s brain caught her runaway mouth before it could continue any further.
“How many condoms is a normal amount to have when you start dating someone?”
“I don’t know five. Six. It’s up to him really. I don’t know do I.” Brit laughed.
“Is twenty too many?”
“Why did he have twenty?”
“Yeah, he keeps them in his bedside table.” Sol said dismissively
“Guess he’s just being safe.”
“They are ‘ribbed for her pleasure’ ones as well.”
“Does it help at all.” Brit baulked slightly.
“Not really.”
Jacob sat up sweating, exhausted and breathing heavily. Sol adjusted herself wiping a small amount of sweat from her chest. She wasn’t entirely sure it was hers. Sol looked at Jacob, sweaty and out of breath, she was sure there were better ways to spend your Sundays.
“Do you mind opening a window.” Sol asked. Jacob nodded and stood up to open the window. Sol taking the opportunity to roll onto her side. Facing the projector, she quickly picked up the plot of The Grand Budapest Hotel. She wagered they were about an hour or so in. Jacob re-joined her in bed pressing himself up to her, scooping an arm around her waist. Sol felt something rubbery and slick press up into her back.
“Are you going to take it off?” she asked.
“Oh shit.” Jacob stood up and quickly pulled the condom off throwing it into the wastepaper bin. Sol slightly cringed at the prospect of the cleaning of that bin, he seemed to throw almost anything and everything into it rarely with a bin bag. A more worrying thought crossed her mind ‘he probably never cleans his bin’. Sol frankly was somewhat surprised she hadn’t caught some new form of viral disease from Jacobs room. For all his talent and how lovely he was she couldn’t help but think he was hopeless at tidying his room and cleaning. Not a job she revelled in the idea of, if this became relationship became a long-term prospect. Jacob pressed his chest against her back he gently kissed her shoulders. She felt the sticky sweaty warmth of his sweat against the kink in her spine. She squirmed internally from the discomfort.
“Oh, I got something to show you” Jacob said and sat up. Sol joined him sitting up and throwing her shirt over her head. Jacob reached down under his bed pulling out a battered old copy of the Kamasutra. “I got it from a charity shop can you believe it was in a Sue Ryder” Jacob laughed opening a page and showing it to her. Sol fought to repress a sudden urge to slam the book or laugh or scream or just run the fuck away. “I thought we could try some of it sometime if you want to.” Jacob said shyly. “It might make it more pleasurable for you I don’t know.”
Sol could not find the words to express how much she hated that idea not only did her body not bend in half the ways suggested but simply the proverbial juice that Jacob squeezed was not worth the effort. The only response she managed was a small acquiescence.
“Yeah, sure I guess.”
“Fuck off!” Brit gasped. “You’ve got to be joking.”
“I wish I was.” Sol sighed. She was again on the stool in front of Brit. She watched as Brits eyes darted from her subject to canvas. “Why do you want to draw me so much?”
“You have a sharp face.”
“Thanks.”
“No, I mean. You have a nice face. It’s…well shaped. I know it well.” Brit stumbled.
“Thought you might not recognise me in the pub.” Sol sighed.
“Don’t worry. I’ll always recognise your big moon head.”
Brit stood up and leant in towards Sol’s face looking her in the eyes, her gaze burning Sol from the inside out. Sol took in her wonky face. Brit’s familiar and friendly eyes intensely looking through her.
“What?” Sol challenged Brit.
“I saw something on your face.” Brit said.
“What is it?” Sol blushed red.
Brit quickly flicked the paint brush in Sol’s face spattering her with painted freckles to match Brit’s own.
“Fuck!” Sol gasped. She leapt up to try wrestle the paint brush from Brit’s grasp.
Sol sat in the driver’s seat gently drumming the steering wheel in the stop start traffic. Jacob sat silently in the passenger seat chewing his cheek. Sol glanced over to him and smiled he smiled back through pursed lips. Sol could see he was steeling himself for a question. He sat and chewed it over. His mind followed down his seemingly logical paths and the apparent lack of enjoyment. Picking apart his interactions with her dissecting them and reconstructing them. Sol watched the cogs whir in his head.
“Are you gay?” Jacob blurted out.
Sol looked at Jacob shocked. She paused for maybe a fraction too long not to consider it.
“No!” she replied slowly albeit unsure of the truth of her answer to herself.
Sol slammed the front door of the house waking Terry up who slept on his dog bed. She threw the car keys onto the table and negotiated her way towards the kitchen. Water dripped onto her as she passed the table. She looked up at the cancerous ceiling bubble pushing the aertex out. It dripped on her again.
Written by George Trueman
I am a 20-year-old poet & writer from Bradford. Originally wanting to join politics, I pivoted to create art as it was the quickest way for me to express my thoughts and feelings about complex matters in a succinct and confident way.