WELL-NIGH(Francys Wagner) It's a summer night, spring or maybe autumn, but that doesn't matter, but what matters is being able to open the curtain of time and space for you to snoop into an episode that could take place in any capitalist city in the world...
"I know you..." she says, approaching him, while he is sitting on a stool along the pub counter. He turns awkwardly to the short woman beside him.
He is not an ugly man, but he is not beautiful either, in the sense of, “oh, what a Greek god”, or breathtaking. He has an ordinary face and doesn't call much attention, except for the clothes he wears, which are out of place, or better, of strange and doubtful taste. It's as if he randomly picked pieces of clothing from a thrift store, without caring about style or colour, but that only to fit him, to cover his nakedness.
Tonight, for example, he wears a pair of worn-out jeans, which look like they haven't seen a wash in a long time, with a long-sleeved striped shirt, which looks more like a pyjama outfit. As if he were at home, lying down or getting ready for bed, and suddenly had the urge to go out. Then he put on only his trousers and shoes. Anyone would believe it. After all, it's eleven o'clock.
“You're wrong, we don't know each other…”, he blurts out.
“I've seen you here before…”
“That may be, but I've never seen you, okay?”
He nudges her slightly as she's leaning into him, looking at him with eyes squeezed shut like a myopic's.
Somewhat off balance, she passes her arms across her body, striking an awkward pose, as she says in a slurred voice affected by high alcohol intake.
“My name is Barbara, but you can call me Barbie, you know, like the doll…”
She winks at him, balancing on her high heels... Petite, blonde bob hair, a crooked smile on her lips, in a dress of many colours that does not reveal the silhouette of her figure.
Barbie, the doll?, he mentally scoffs and lets out a giggle.
“What's wrong?”, she complains.
“Sorry?”
“You kind of scoffed…”
He tries to ignore it, dismissing her with his hand. She pats him on the back...
“Hey, hey ... aren't you going to tell?”
“Sorry, but I'm not up for talking tonight, okay?”
Barbie doesn't seem to take the hint, and he feels a little uncomfortable.
“I know you are Brad... you don't remember me?”
“I don't think so…”
“Bram… Bryce… Brett?”
She pauses with each name, looking disappointed as he says nothing, he rolls his eyes in annoyance, confirming no names...
He looks around the small and dimly lit pub, to see if anyone is paying attention to that embarrassing situation, and drunk as they are, they don't realise what's happening. Besides, the music overpowers her choked voice...
As he looks back at Barbie, he sees she is now swaying back and forth, a drunken grin plastered across her face.
All he wanted before she bothered him was to drink in peace. Alone, on that Friday night. To dull the monotonous and mediocre life he leads.
Tomorrow morning, he does not have to get up early for the bureaucracy of the public office, his work...
He leaves before the situation worsens...
He stands up quickly and ends up catching a foot on the crossbar at the bottom of the seat.
“I'm sorry, Barbie, but I really have to go. It was nice meeting you”, he lies, trying to get off.
Barbie reaches out and grabs onto his arm, trying to keep him from leaving.
“No, no, you can't go yet! We haven't even got to know each other…”
He gently removes her hand from his arm...
“I'm sorry, but I really have to go…”
Barbie leans in closer to him. “Come on, don’t be a party pooper. I can make it worth your while”, she whispers in his hear, her breath reeking of alcohol. He recoils in disgust. “Look, I already told you, I’m not interested. Please leave me alone” But she doesn’t listen and instead, she grasps his arm, digging her nails into his skin. He feels uncomfortable but, the truth is, he never was comfortable with women, be it in any situation…
“Please let go of me”, he says, trying to shake her off. The bartender notices the commotion and approaches them.
“Is everything okay here?”
He nods, relieved at the interruption, with his foot free from the seat.
“Yes, everything is fine…”
He quickly makes his way through the pub, grateful to have escaped the clutches of drunken Barbie. As he pushes at the door and out into the pleasant, cool night air, he takes a deep breath and lets out a sigh of relief.
He takes a short cut across a nearby park and sits down on one bench along the winding path between the trees, hoping to clear his mind before he walks home. Shortly after, with his head down, he hears approaching footsteps.
He can distinguish without looking directly that they are from a woman’s high heels.
He looks up. It’s Barbie.
She approaches, a sad expression on her face.
“Hey”, she says softly, “I’m sorry if I was a bother back at the pub. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble…”
“That’s fine”, he mutters.
“Can I sit next to you?”
“You can sit down… the bench is public, anyway…”
He makes a point of getting up.
“Hey, hey… what’s your problem?”, she exclaims.
“Never mind, I’m going home…”
“Are you afraid of me?”
“Afraid of you?”, he chuckles with disdain, as if to say… look at you, at the state you’re in…But he’s also a bit intoxicated…
“Oh I see. You don’t like women, that’s it…”
He gets angry.
“What are you saying? Are you crazy besides being drunk?” She collapses on the seat.
“You ran away from me at the bar and now want to again… I can only understand that you don’t like women… You’r not a man, are you?”
He puts his head between his hands, huffing, sitting up.
A malicious question, which he had heard at other times being asked of those who do not behave as people expect. There is an established pattern, learnt since childhood, that a man has to be bold and sometimes daring, because he runs the risk, if he does otherwise, of being misinterpreted, as he does not follow the established rules.
Yes, rules, norms, that only determine, but do not define, what it is to be a man.
On an impulse, driven by a ridiculous feeling of a sweeping need to prove something, he invites her to his flat, which is near to there.
They walk without talking...
The flat is on a narrow side street on the third floor of an old building.
It is a well-organised studio apartment, but there is no emotion.
From the light he turns on, the walls appear pale, for there are no pictures or coloured shapes painted in frames. The furniture of different materials, fighting among themselves, competing for attention. In a corner of the room, there is what she reckons to be a little antique piano... Her eyes flit across the room and land on the padded sofa, an undefined colour, looking grimy, which he points for her to sit down as he disappears through a door, which is surely that of the bedroom.
She finds it strange and as she waits for him; she feels intrigued by what he is doing inside.
What a weird man, she thinks.
It doesn't take too long. He appears in the ajar doorway and beckons her…
There is no dialogue. In the room illuminated by two table lamps, she finds him naked, standing beside the bed.
His body so white that it seems never seen the light of the sun on any day of his life.
His cock, long and straight, ready for action, reminds her of a magic wand, but more full-bodied.
He draws her close to him and her dress is removed, uncovering a body that is not particularly alluring... Next, an awkward synchronicity happens on the narrow bed, between sounds without words…
The door is closed. If you want, you can see what happens in that room, but there is no need to report it, right? Better keep a little discretion here…

Sometime later, both are lying naked, sweaty... No, not so much. There wasn't that much effort, and it wasn't even a long act. But they are there, exposed, vulnerable, while thinking about each other, asking anything about their lives…
When he was younger, he recalls hearing someone talking about their experiences with women and that with some of them; they had no pleasure, because it was the sensation of diving into a lake…
At the time, he didn't understand it very well, but now maybe it made sense…
The sex that just happened could be described like this... senseless…
Could it be that the gauge was not the ideal circumference to fill the space?
He hadn't had many experiences with women, but he can swear that the region there had already been explored, and probably many times. If not by a stiff, hot, pulsating instrument, then a stiff, cold, and perhaps vibrating rubber…
Or who knows what caused that slackening…
He compares it to a screw going into a wall, where the hole is wider. It goes in, loose, wobbly, with nothing to tighten it or hold it…
Meanwhile, she thinks about his performance; the magic wand didn't work very well…
She laughs quietly...
"What's wrong?", this time he asks.
"Nothing..."
Was he nervous or is he lousy in bed? Part of her felt a sense of pity for him, while another part couldn't help but feel a little turned off. There is something sad in his eyes... Without thinking, she reached out and gently touched his thigh.
"What are you doing?"
"Touching you..."
"Look, I'd rather you go away..."
"Why?"
"It was a mistake inviting you here..."
"Oh, I thought we could talk, find out more about you and me..."
"It's not a good idea?"
"We could be friends, at least..."
"No, I'm not looking for a friend... not with a woman..."
"Why not?"
"We can't be friends..."
"I don't see the reason..."
"We had sex..."
"You call what happened here, sex?"
"What was it then?"
"You have a lot to learn..."
He stands up, with an angry expression drawn on his face.
"It's not my fault if you are a..." he trails off.
"Say what's on your mind...", she snaps.
"I don't want to be rude..."
“You prick"
"Leave my house, please..."
"Okay, don't need to shout..."
Annoyed, she picks up the clothes thrown on the chair by the bed and puts them on in quick movements, her eyes flicking down his back as he puts on his underwear and white old T-shirt, with two holes in it...
Even though upset, she chuckles in debauchery, then hurries out, slamming the door...
Being friends, she said, as if he was a stupid. How to be friends with a tramp... he snorts, reaching the window, and sees her arriving at the poorly lit pavement. But perhaps what he imagines of her is not exactly what she is. If he had been curious enough to know more about her, he would have found out she is lonely and disillusioned in love, just like him. The difference is that she hasn’t given up finding someone to fill her void...
Had he known that, he would have said… “She’d need something really robust to fill that…” How rude...don't you think?
If you peek now, you can see her, shoes in hand, cursing, swearing… words that are not worth transcribing, while she waves to a taxi that takes her away. And so she disappears into the night, before your eyes…
Why does he need a woman in his life? To upset him? To take away his freedom?
He never married, because he knows he is not fit to be a husband...
He almost was, when younger, in a burst of passion that he believed to be love. But she gave up on him with no explanation and since then, life has been a series of quasi events...
Well-nigh a whole that was never completed. He was well-nigh a lawyer, but shyness wouldn't let him. He was well-nigh an engineer, like his father, but his deficiency in numbers and calculations prevented him.
He was well-nigh an athlete, but laziness got in the way. He was well-nigh an adventurer, but fear stopped him...
He could have been a musician, but his dexterity was not efficient, although he sometimes played the organ inherited from his mother...
Plans, projects not realised. They almost led him to be a man without dreams…
Certainly, after-effects of the trauma caused by the woman who discarded him...
He never fell in love again, never got involved with anyone.
He is afraid to take risks while time passes and does not forgive. Live an unpretentious life...
He's not so young anymore. His forties are walking by leaps and bounds...
He goes back to bed and turns off the light. Tomorrow is Saturday, he can wake up later.
On Monday, he starts his routine. The monotonous work and no prospects and at night, he eats while watching television. Sometimes, he reads a book and then goes to sleep.
The next day, the scenes repeat themselves, like a rerun of the same film. With minor variation. He occasionally switches up his tie, but his outfit remains mostly the same - trousers and a blazer, what makes it like a uniform for him. He chooses to wear, almost invariably, a suit in a serious-looking colour. Nothing that denotes liveliness...
The most certain variation is the weather… Sun, rain, snow, wind...
His routine is broken when he visits or one of his few friends visits him. Other than that, always alone, in the company of his personal frustrations and his unfulfilled dreams that inhabit his head…
Returning to the subject of women, when he misses them, he solves it by paying a visit to a place he has frequented for some years, calling ahead to make an appointment to see the same person. There, for a few moments, just an interaction with no feelings involved.
A paid game of commercial pleasure that attends to the appeals of the mind but not of the heart. That satisfies the body, but not the soul...
Then life goes on. Boring, repetitive and with no perspective.... Perhaps, deep down, there is a glimmer of hope that everything can be changed one day...

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