an eighteenth new story...'biting into limes'

Miles opened the bedroom door with a jolt, then with the deliberate actions of a drunk attempted to close it behind him quietly. And then he stumbled over Judy’s shoes, arranged neatly by the bed, cracked his head on the bedroom wall. Judy closed her eyes. Miles cursed in a harsh whisper. And when Judy broke, rolled over, turned on the bedside lamp, Miles was on bended knee trying to rearrange her collection of heels. He looked up, blinking, like a big racoon caught red-handed stealing whatever it is racoons steal or try to steal. ‘Alright?’ he said dumbly.

In the end neither of them could sleep and Miles suggested they watch a video.  ‘How’s your head?’ asked Judy, touching the throbbing lump erupting from Miles’ scalp of matted hair, dried blood? ‘Gnnn’, said Miles in stoic code.  ‘What do you want to watch?’

Judy didn’t know, didn’t care, never did – films were Miles’ thing, documentary films, man-eating bears, serial-killers, climbing accidents on Mount Everest; Judy would watch the first five minutes, doze off on his chest. Although Miles always offered her a selection and when she said ‘you choose’, he often chose Into Thin Air. ‘Frostbite can be deadly’, he would tell her, Judy half in a blanket of sleep, ‘Snow blindness too’.

‘What did you see out there?’ she had asked once shortly after Miles’ return. Picked a bad moment: noisy city basement bar, among people they knew, several drinks down. Miles had simply wandered off to the gents, saying nothing. When he returned he bought shots for everyone – breathe out, lick salt, down tequila, bite lime. Then they went home. Next morning Judy cuddled up to him said, ‘that was a generous thing you did last night’. Miles looked non-plussed. ‘The shots … for everyone’, Judy said. ‘Oh’, said Miles, ‘it's nothing, the military pension …the military sort you out alright’.

A police siren came and went somewhere outside. ‘I was a bad kid at school you know’, said Miles, reaching around the back of the television set to check if the VCR was plugged in. Judy was propped up on one arm watching his back.  Miles was a big, strong man, running to fat, the drink, the not working – ‘only one true friend in the world’. And Judy.

The light on the VCR showed.  ‘It’s on’, Judy said. Miles came from the other side of the television set, gut hanging out from underneath his grey T-shirt. ‘It’s on’, he repeated, pausing for a few seconds as if something hadn’t properly registered, or was registering. All fours he looked up at Judy again. ‘Don’t go to sleep this time’, he said, 20th Century Fox appearing on the screen behind him, searchlights left, right.

‘It’s late’, Judy said, yawning.

And then, taking her hand from her mouth, ‘so, we’re starting at the beginning?’