About two weeks ago a tumultuous argument spelled the end of my relationship with Jess. The details of this affair are best left unmentioned (surely I will remember them even in senility!).
Early in the morning after this particularly vicious argument, I noisily packed my bags (much to the chagrin of a certain member of the household) and left the house and got into the car with the intention of driving it somewhere. Anywhere, I thought. This was my chance to see this vast country with no limitations on my freedom.
The battery was flat. It was a remarkable piece of luck under the circumstances. I was certainly still drunk from the night before – I wouldn’t have considered such a foolhardy undertaking if I wasn’t!
At the time this was a bitter disappointment; my getaway was severely impeded. I had no real idea of what I wanted to do and was hamstrung with a set of golf clubs and a backpack. After I had sat in the car for a few hours Jess came out with a look on her face that I’ve come to know: a look that is tired and wants no more anger. In the past it’s an expression that has always worked and that always signals the end of our battles. This time I locked myself in the car and refused to listen, or even look at her.
Although I have been back to Erskineville for a short visit, I have not set foot in no. 58 since that morning.
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