The Quiet Man

Erosion

“Are you sure you want to do this?” She’s wearing a white dress. There’s a veil over her face. We’re walking down the aisle together. Her father is with us.

“Yeah, are you sure?” he asks me. They’re on either side of me, escorting me toward the front of the church. I’m still in my dressing gown.

It would be embarrassing to say no. “Of course I’m sure.” I would really like to take a shower before I get married. How did I manage to miss taking a shower before I arrived at the church? I must have slept in. “Definitely,” I assure them both. “I’m definitely sure.” Is this dressing gown nice enough to get married in? I guess it will have to be.

"I never liked you," her father says. He says it in the most jovial way you could.

"I know that." It's nice to get it out in the open like this. Maybe this could work after all. "I noticed that right away."

He laughs. "Now we're getting married!"

That's true. I'm marrying both Mary and her father. That’s legal now. It was my idea. They're both wearing rings I bought them. The church is full and the music is playing.

The dressing gown is all right, but shouldn't I have shoes on? It feels strange to be barefoot in church.

*

“John.” His voice. It can only be him. Don’t turn around; I don’t even want to open my eyes. He’ll vanish. He always does.

“John.” He’s behind me, curled up against me. It’s Baker Street; it’s my bedroom. I can hear the traffic outside, the ticking of the clock on the wall. It smells like Baker Street: old plaster, clean sheets, old toast, plastic sheeting, the varnish on the headboard of my bed. I know where I am.

He moves closer, he drapes an arm over me. He shifts his leg over so that it’s nestled between mine, his knee against the back of mine. The oddness of his form, his skinny legs, his hard bones jutting out, presses so easily against me. Like he belongs there.

Let’s just stay this way, Sherlock. How about that? Let’s just stay here. I can take your hand, pressed as it is against my chest, I can stroke your fingers and you can doze off like this, curled into me. Nothing can hurt you here, and nothing can hurt me.

“Stay here,” I whisper into the pillow. “Stay here with me.”

“All right,” he says. I can feel his breath on my shoulder. I can feel him falling asleep.

*

There’s a glass of water on the podium, and my book. It’s pinned open to the page they want me to read. The room is full; there are people standing in the back. They’re waiting. I’m late, and they’ve already been waiting for hours. They are impatient now; I’d better be good. I’m terrified. I’ll stumble over my words, I know I will, is there any way out of this? There are no doors in this room. I can’t get out. I signed a contract; if I don’t do the reading, they’ll kill me. Mary is standing beside me, she looks proud. She nods to me.

My feet feel so heavy I might break the stage, fall through it and down into the sewer below. I have to walk very carefully, and I nearly tip over with every step.

My hands are sticky; I can’t touch the pages. I’ll only ruin them, they’ll stick to my fingers. The audience is quiet. I want to start by apologising to them, but my tongue doesn’t work.

“Read,” Mary whispers in my ear. “I’ve already picked out the page for you. Just read it.”

I start at the top of the page, and the words come out of my mouth and into the microphone. They echo down through the long room and come back, so I hear them twice. One after another, word after word. This isn’t my book: this is all the things I don’t want people to know. These are all my secrets, and now all I can do is read them out loud. I want to slam my mouth shut, but I can’t; now that I’ve started I can’t stop. My mouth moves without my control.