Evenings and Weekends

by Oisín McKenna

Renée stares. Maggie is mortified. Renée is a serious woman, mother of Jackson, future marine biologist. Maggie is a woman who says things like ‘The sea is gay, you know.’

Maggie swells with love for her friend and wonders why she loves people best when they are at their most vulnerable.

So basically, she would say, it’s fine, and besides, it’s possible to support a political cause without your every emotional, sexual and psychological drive aligning precisely with the principles of that cause.

and he thinks: as soon as you’re awake enough to be kissed, I should kiss you on your chest, your eye, your back, your armpit, your chin, your elbow, your hand, your belly –

He said you should only ever get what you want for the most extraordinarily brief window of time. The rest of your life, you should spend in the pining.

standing in the queue for the self-service checkouts he thinks how strange it is that coffee and eggs on a sunny morning should be such a thrill (such an ordinary thing!).

He puts on a Hollywood accent as if he were Clint Eastwood or John Wayne. ‘You make me feel alive,’ he says, and she almost cries, feeling almost certain that the accent means that he’s embarrassed, not that he’s insincere.

She doesn’t want to be separated even by a mere few hours. She tells him how she wants to kiss him right now, and he tells her how the shape of her body in his arms makes him feel entirely whole. He tells her that it feels as if his body were a custom-made, bespoke container, specifically designed for holding this one rare, very precious substance, which is her. That’s how it feels. Like this is what he was made for.

evenings and weekends

they said the thing

She’d sprint across the city to find him. That’s what she’d do. She’d be an action hero. James Bond, Jean Grey, Joan of Arc. Leaping over every burnt-out bus in her way, all for the chance to cling to her boyfriend’s lovely back: she’d have her last street corner kiss.

That’s when she knew that she loved him: when she started thinking of his death. She knew she’d found something good when she knew she couldn’t stand to lose it.

They will be like that when they doze off and they will be like that when they wake up and he will bring her a cup of tea and say, ‘I love you,’ and she will say, ‘I love you too.’ There is no need to waste time saying ‘I will miss you when you’re gone’ and ‘I don’t want to go to a place where I can’t hold you any more’ because all of this is understood.

Most of us know in our hearts but don’t say aloud: we are living through a period of history during which certain kinds of queers have been granted certain kinds of freedoms, but those freedoms are precarious. They may not last our lifetimes.

Even when she wants something, her first instinct is to say that she doesn’t. Even when hungry, her first instinct is to say that she’s full. When she goes to someone’s house, she has to be offered food five times before accepting. The words ‘Ah no, I’m fine’ spill from her mouth with automatic ease.

The same as her son ;(

He thinks again: this is a significant event. He is so busy reminding himself of the event’s significance that the significance becomes abstract. He doesn’t feel much. A little tired.

He’s in love in that way which is simple and enormous. He’s in love in a way that soars, swells and bowls him over. It’s like there’s a spongy substance expanding in his chest. It causes a painful, forceful, pleasurable ache. It is lovely, and also, it is too much to take.

Why was it that her generation had to demand transformation, sex, adventure, comfort, stability, romance, conversation, intimacy, all from the one person? What’s so bad about settling?

It’s almost unbelievable to him that they’re allowed to sit here and be so obviously, desperately in love.