Water for eyes

We pass a melody back and forth, through the empty space between us. 

'Goodbye my lover’.

'Goodbye my friend’.

'You have been someone’.

'I think it's ''the one’'.

'You have been someone for me’.

We giggle. It is an eruption of glee. When we’re together we are a volcano about to spew out love. Although Theia is metres away from me, pretending to be dragged away from the cafe I work in, I feel the glow of her company as if she is koala bear hugging my side. She is mid-way out the door and I am imprisoned behind the counter in my worn out apron and bright yellow top that cries 'Have a sip of love' to everyone who reads it, or who casually takes a peek at my breasts.

'Get off of me Mr Richards' She bats the air as if warding off our English teacher. 'I know you are gorgeous but I can't kiss you, it would be rude'.

'Slap him' I urge her. She slaps the air and to my surprise, and mock horror, she is slapped back.

'He hit me’.

'I didn't see anything' I turn away.

'It's like I'm the invisible one in this relationship' 

I laugh. Mr Richards was a very naughty invisible fake boyfriend who wouldn't leave Theia alone. In reality, the stimulus for her imagination was a male teacher in his late 40's who wheezed when he spoke, had a slight weight issue and always kept digestive crumbs in his stubble for safe keeping, one can only assume. He became quite the obsession of ours when we discovered his facebook profile and found his status updates to be quite riveting. Our top pick was the one that detailed his 'Best day ever' whereby he took his girlfriend to the park, bought her ice-cream, they chucked a ball around and he almost lost her in a game of hide and seek. He often posts updates about what a 'good girl' she is. So many aspects of this information was fascinating to us. We were endlessly entertained by the prospect of his romantic life and couldn't wait for English to ask him all sorts of questions: Is your girlfriend's hair shiny? Does she like it when you tickle her tummy?

After awhile his gruff responses got boring so the fake him came to life before us and follows Theia around whenever we need a good laugh. This version of him has developed quite the fascination with her now.

'Do you want a coffee for the road?' I ask her, after the domestic abuse situation is handled.

'No I'm fine thanks' she responds. I am curious as to why she is still hovering like a little bee.

'Then why haven't you fucked off yet?' I say it with a smile but she does not reciprocate. Instead she looks out to the dull sky that is threatening a rainy afternoon.

'What?' I ask her. 'Did he hit you too hard? Are you brain damaged?'

‘No, he's gone now. He forgot to put clothes on today so ran away all embaressed’.

'Honest mistake’.

'That's what I said’. 

She stands there, staring out, like a statue. Why is my gleeful girl suddenly glum? I throw a muffin at her. She yelps as it collides with her tummy.

'Go home' I shout at her in a monster voice. 'You've kept me entertained whilst my shift was dead, but I'm fine now, you can leave’.

'I am... I will' She says 'But I just wanted to tell you that...'

‘What?!'

She finally looks at me.

'I'm engaged'

'Mr Richards popped the question?'

She locks gazes with me, wide eyed. She looks hard, her features seemingly glued on all of a sudden and the ease between us seems to ebb a little. I wait for her to continue, make a joke, but she just stands there, halfway out the door.

She repeats herself, as if I'm deaf 'I'm engaged’.

'You what? No you're not’.

'I am. I didn't want to tell you, I still feel a bit weird about it’.

'Stop fucking around’.

Her eyes are large opals, the colour of sea mist storming a dark black rock. It's not long before the sea starts to leak from her eyes.

'I'm so sorry' I say. The air between us becomes tighter all of a sudden. It's like I could suffocate in it. I try to fight back: 'We could try to fight it, we could go somewhere, or talk to your parents or something’.

'He is a nice person, he seems kind and funny, and apparently he likes guitars’.

'Will he come here?'

'No, I'll go to India, I'll live there with him’.

'But, you're only 18. I thought they were happy to wait? They seemed so relaxed about it’.

She shakes her head. I see a strand of dark brown hair slip from her messy ponytail and fall into her eyes.

'No, they can't do that. They can't marry you off to some stranger. You're not an object'. The word vibrates between us, plunging in and out of the mist her words have created.

'They don't think that! My parents aren't evil’.

'Then why are they making you marry someone you don't know?'

'I don't want to talk about this again. It's happening now. I just wanted to tell you, before you went on holiday’.

'When are you going?’.

'Soon. I'll meet his family in two weeks, over there’.

'How long have you known about this... When were you going to tell me? How are we going to-' I realise now why she had popped into my work unannounced. Why she had brought sweets and spent the morning showing me cat memes and offered to clean the period bin In the women's loos for me, even though she doesn't even work here.

'Oh... so I guess you weren't just ''being a mate’’ when you unclogged that toilet.You felt bad. Some friend you are’.

'I wanted to tell you sooner. I just didn't want our last moments here to be sad, you know? You can visit me, I can show you where I live, be like a holiday’.

'I don't want to go to India. It's not you, honestly, I just hate the food’.

‘Hey that’s silly-‘.

'No, I'll be hungry and I won't be able to sleep properly because it's hot and I'll be moody at you and we better just say goodbye now because we probably won't see each other again’.

'Hey! Shutup alright. You're going off to Uni, we would only have been able to visit each other on term breaks anyway! His house has got a pool’.

'I'm not coming'

'Well... Sorry sir I-'

She hurriedly wipes her eyes and moves out of the way of an old man who comes hobbling in. We both stare at him as he walks up to the counter and squints to read the menu.

'What's an... amuse bouche latte?’.

'A latte with a cinnamon moustache on top' I respond through clenched teeth. Through the corner of my eye I see Theia's figure still standing by the doorway, I hear a sniffle, but my eyes stay fixed on the customer.

'What's an... apple delight cream chocolate?’

'Hot chocolate with apple flavoured angel delight on top. It's maybe a bit wrong for you'

'Oh?'

'Yeah...'

He is wearing a crumbled button up shirt and thick rimmed black glasses. He can’t be younger than 70. 

'Have a bitter orange mocha, my dad likes it' Theia's voice chimes through the air. Her light chirp discordant with my sullen mood.

'Okay, that sounds nice, thank you, I'll have that' the man smiles at me and I turn around to make the drink. After I finish I pass the mocha over to him and he pays. As he struggles with his wallet I look to the door. She is gone. The yellow framed doorway looks sickly with her absence. The man passes me a ten pound note and tells me to keep the change. He looks at me slightly too long and smiles too kindly. When he turns away the sea falls from my eyes and I pretend to clean the coffee machine.