Unicorns On Wheels [Petekey]

27. Thursday.

2016/03/17 Thursday

When I was a little kid I really, really hated the idea of any kind of romance at all. I hated romance novels and I hated romance films and I just generally hated it. But despite this, I still managed to watch my parents with wide, wondering eyes every time they kissed.

They'd had Gerard a year into the relationship, not really a good time for them to end up with a kid. But they married nonetheless and people can say what they want about their marriage: my dad was so in love with mom that, if anyone is looking for an idea for a film, I could sell you my parent's story.

My dad could sing - just like Gerard – and he could dance too. But my mum didn't really have those kind of talents. She was a good painter, I guess, but she refused to sing for us. Not even as lullabies. But they had this song – I Want to Hold Your Hand – that he could coax her into singing.

And one day it came on the radio, in the kitchen while they were cooking. And my dad grabbed my mom without even asking her and they were pressed together, dancing an off-beat version of the Waltz to a Beetle's song playing on a shitty radio in our kitchen.

And he convinced her to sing then – in front of us and everything. They turned it into a duet that was, I guess, not as good as it could've been if they were better singers. And their dancing was complete rubbish on account of the fact that mum couldn't dance at all and dad hadn't done it in years.

And when the song had ended, and we were forced to listen to the voice of an obnoxious radio presenter, she leaned into him and whispered I love you. And then he'd kiss her, dipping her and pulling back to say and I you.

This felt relevant to me after what happened yesterday: after the way I told Pete softly that I loved him. I couldn't even focus on anything else – only the memories of my parents waltzing in our kitchen while singing an off-key duet.

I was trying to study my chemistry but all I could possibly imagine was dancing with Pete like that despite the fact that I couldn't dance with him (shout out to my Useless Logs of Fat™) and he couldn't either (a courteous fuck you to Pete's Huntington's disease).

In fact, I drew a pile of stupid cartoony sketches all over everything of us dancing. I'd thought about calling him at least a million times but I'd managed to go on with my life without annoying him at all. That is, until I had to go to therapy with Dr Stump.

I managed to get into Gerard's car all on my own, without falling. But I did move my chair ever so slightly and I almost fell on to my face. But, the good news is, I didn't. Gerard took me to Dr Stump, pushing me all the way in and shaking Dr Stump's hand before ruffling my hair which was in desperate need of a cut.

I stared at Doctor Stump from the other side of his desk and he stared back at me. I didn't know what to tell him, didn't know how to describe what I'd seen and what I'd done. I told Pete I loved him. I said. I say Dr Stump scribble something on the clipboard.

And? He said, tilting his head and pursing his lips at me like that would make me more likely to give the answer he wanted to hear even if I didn't want to know what it was.

He said it back. I said, keeping my voice emotionless and my face smooth. I was proud that he'd said it back, that he'd told me he loved me. But I wanted to cry – I wanted to scream. I texted him the morning with some stupid cover story about worrying whether he was cool enough in the heat when I was really wondering whether he'd made it through the night.

He hadn't texted back before I'd gone to Dr Stump's office and I didn't want to dwell on it too much but there was a part of my mind that constantly kept reminding me. I fought off the urge to turn on my phone to see whether he'd responsed.