219th email

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Monday August 17th, 1999 20:31 PM
Subject: My new home

Okay here I am back in my parent’s house. It feels weird to be back. I’ve been out of home a couple of years and I’m fighting this feeling of failure as I sit at my old desk, looking at old views and smelling the residue of old dinners.

My mum was sweet about the whole thing however. She bought some comfort food – Custard Cream biscuits and bacon for some sandwiches tomorrow morning. There were clean sheets on my old bed and a Goblin Teasmaid set up so I can wake with a hot cuppa. Now there’s luxury.

My dad was sweet too. He suggested we watch some old films like we used to do when I was younger. So ‘Von Ryan’s Express’ is teed up in the machine and ready to go when I finish this email. If we’re really lucky we might even get a chance to watch‘Where Eagles Dare’ too.

To their credit, my parents have been discreet. They haven’t talked about Elsa or Crisps at all. I appreciate that.

They did ask about Oftenbark and I told them he was staying with a friend.

They hoped that maybe he could stay with them. They love Oftenbark, see.

And I imagine it’d be easier for you too.

So would it be okay if we picked him up tomorrow?

I understand he gets under your skin but you’ve done so much already and I’d hate your Real Estate to find out about him and jeopordise your home.

Now you might have noticed I called you ‘friend’ a few paragraphs up. As in ‘he was staying with a friend’—

Let me explain—

I contemplated telling them about us. But I don’t think they’d understand and though I feel a little cheap about accepting their sympathy it is nice to have the odd parental ‘there-there’.

And to be honest I know they’d judge us. They are quite old parents – now sixty. They had me late in their lives. I am their only kid. And they’re quite conservative – you know - standard bearers of the synthetic fabrics, pinapple, ham and benzadrine suburban set.

But I also know they are kind and protective and if we reveal ourselves at the right time they will embrace you. I promise.

So please don’t take it personally that I’m keeping our connection clandestine still.

You’ll get rewards in the end. Mum will introduce you to the convenience of tuppaware: So handy for little blue pills. And Dad will seduce you into some kind of rotary club while never taking off his hat. Except indoors.

So with this in mind, will it be okay if we pretend to ‘just be friends’ when we pick Oftenbark up?

I know I will find it difficult because the first thing I will want to do is kiss you. It’s been a week since I last saw you and all I want is to touch your cheek or the soft lightly freckled section between your shoulder blades. I so miss that part of you.

Anyway call me or email me back if it’s cool to pop ‘round tomorrow.

And when this is all sorted out here, I’ll fudge an allnighter excuse and defect to your apartment with a stolen toothbrush.



Miss you

Dom



PS Forgot to answer your question you asked on the phone. Yes I did end up seeing Elsa yesterday. It was awkward. She was apologetic about everything. Even us. Though she did say she still hit me if the moment happened again.

What she said she would change was how she revealed her affair with Crisps and understands that our shared friends will more than likely side with me.

I did ask her how long it’d been going on with him. She told me it had been on and off for over a year. But since your birthday they’d been seeing more of each other.

That stung, strangely. She asked about us and for some odd reason I said the same; since your birthday party.

Not sure why.

I guess I’ll never see them again. I guess that’s what getting older is all about; a training ground for losing people. They all fall away in the end, I suspect.

45th email

----- Original Message -----
From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Saturday, May 22nd, 1999 6:27 AM
Subject: RE RE So sorry

Stacey, what a harsh email.

I’m not quite sure how to respond. I feel kinda betrayed. I mean not betrayed in a Gangster or Tudor King battle-for- the-Crown kinda way.
I just feel hurt.

I feel raw.
I feel unprotected.
I feel the world got a little darker.
I feel like a child.

I feel I want to be looked after.
And I know I should look after myself. I know that.
I know that when it all comes down to it, we only have ourselves.
I know I’m an adult.

But sometime don’t you want someone to hold your hand?

Someone to check your temperature.

Someone to ring you on your birthday.

Someone to buy you a book.

Someone to write a dated personal inscription in that book.

Someone to share a piece of toast with.

Someone to gently correct the song lyric when you sing it incorrectly. (I’m talking about Warren Zevon’s Werewolves of London which I thought was Werewolves Abundant for a good three months)

Someone who won’t ever wear a matching track suit with you.

Someone who will read the Saturday papers with you.

Someone who will steal your pillow.

Someone that will cut off the fat before making you a bacon sandwich.

Someone who will laugh at your jokes even when they’ve heard them before?

Someone who’ll not laugh at you even when you’re foolish again.

Someone to say the odd there-there

Someone that will cut off the fat before making you a bacon sandwich. (I said that already, didn’t I? I think I really want a bacon sandwich.)

Someone who’ll tell you ‘actually it is a bad haircut.’

Someone who’ll tell you ‘actually that colour doesn’t suit you.’

Some who’ll tell you ‘actually leather doesn’t suit you.’

Someone who’ll tell you ‘though I support the idea of complete corduroy outfit, I think when it comes to the waistcoat you should reconsider.’

Someone who has enough regard to lie to you?

Someone who’s willing to leave out some of the details.


Dom

20th email

----- Original Message -----
From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Saturday, May 8th, 1999 13:43 PM
Subject: Please ignore the last e-mail

Good morning.

Gulp.

Okay I’ve had a cup of tea and bacon sandwich. I’m hung-over but lucid. I turned on the computer and looked in my sent box. To my horror I saw I’d sent you three e-mails in the wee small hours of the morning.

I read them.

I felt sick.

Please ignore it.

I’m a dick.


Dom

PS have you looked closely at the title of the last drunken email? I mistakenly called it ‘I’m so sorry prat 3’ how apt.

PPS and I’m not the only one embarrassed this morning. I had a chat with my dog, Oftenbark. He agrees. I am a dick (‘cause that tilt of the head and that look says a thousand woofs). He suggests, that for penance, I should give him five walks a day and 100 choc’ drops. My dog is so opportunistic. But I love him.