Excerpt 2

This week is another excerpt from the novel. Is this laziness? I guess so, but I'm also writing more than I ever have and am just plain struggling to maintain this blog as well. This will probably be the case until the end of September. If these excerpts don't feel adequate enough a replacement then kick up a fuss and I'll try harder. Little context for this passage, Ahrun, the protagonist, is in a nightclub. Enjoy.

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I see many familiar faces of students from different classes. Their names escape me. I knew them only last semester, and now we know each other no longer. When their eyes meet mine they don’t register recognition, because all they see is a stranger. This is not true of all students though. Some of them can’t shake the fact that we no longer need to speak anymore. One such catches my eye, his name is Kevin and he has acne. He nods casually at me, I nod back, thinking nothing of this harmless exchange, but he’s misread my nod, he thinks I’ve called him over.

Clubs aren’t designed for talking. They’re for the wordless communication, the mating rituals that existed before chivalry and language.

“Hey,” he says, reaching me. His voice carries easily despite the deafening decibels that drown out all else.

I say hi back, but I can’t even hear myself.

“How’s it going?” he says, stepping forward. The fetid stench of wine breath punches me in the face.

I assure him all is normal, and return the question. Can he even hear me?

“Yeah, haven’t seen you around in a while,” he says this as if this is a great shame, but can he really mean it? Or is his insincerity so honed, so practised, it is indistinguishable from his sincerity? Can he even tell which he is being?

I return the sentiment, and make a wry observation about it being part of the uni experience.

He laughs politely, expelling clouds of condensed stink into my mouth. It wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t standing so close to me. Why is he standing so close to me?

I take a step back but he immediately presses forward, afraid he might lose me. He touches my arm to steady himself. He’s very drunk.

“What modules are you taking this semester?” I’m looking in all directions but directly at him to avoid the full force of his mouth funk.

I tell him my modules.

“Yeah, I was thinking of taking ‘Cornish Cinema’ but I didn’t have good enough grades from college.”

I start to edge away again, leaning and shuffling, making incremental and indiscernible movements to widen the gap between us. Kevin doesn’t realise on any conscious level what I am doing, but when it is soon apparent that there is now a foot in distance between us he becomes uncomfortable and closes the gap, almost stepping on my shoes. I can see the bristles of his fluffy moustache quiver as his toxic vapour spills out of his face.

“What are you up to?” he says.

I make like I can’t hear him, even though everyone within five metres can hear him. He moves closer and grabs hold of me, bringing his mouth to my ear, “What are you up to?” he says loudly. My eardrum shakes unpleasantly, but at least it has no sense of smell.

Drinking, I scream in his ear, hoping it hurts. This is it. This conversation has come as far as it can. He should know to leave now, that there is nothing to be gained by hanging around. It can only become more awkward. But he just stands there. The fool is smiling; he’s enjoying my company.

I close my eyes, pretending that this particular beat has sent me into dance trance. I begin swinging my arms wildly, as if they were possessed by the music; I let them crash into Kevin.

“Hey,” he says, taking a step back.

I do this for a while longer and then peek through my lids. He’s still standing there, watching in wonderment.

I feel hands clap on my shoulders, “Looks like you’ve pulled,” says Fraser.

Kevin is still standing there, watching both of us.

I introduce Kevin, saying, This is Kevin.

Kevin says, “I’m Kevin. Ahrun’s friend.”

“Fraser; I’m shit-faced,” they shake hands. Fraser says to me, “Where you been, mate? You need to get your drink on. You’re gonna get some minge tonight, I can smell it.”

I motion a goodbye to Kevin as Fraser and I head for the bar.

“Wait,” he says, “we should meet up sometime.”

Definitely, I say.

“Give me your number.”

No, I want to say. No, don’t talk to me anymore. I watch him for a while, and his face begins to fall. Did I say that out loud? OK, I say. He’s smiling again, but maybe he was smiling all along, anyway. He never stopped smiling.

I wonder if I’m really going to do this. My uncertainty rises when he passes me his phone to type my number in. I type the standard 07 and then make up the rest of the numbers.

“I’ll just prank you, so you have my number,” he says.

No.

He presses call and holds the phone to his ear, as if he were calling someone that wasn’t standing in front of him.

I get my own phone out and hold it, like I really believe his call is about to come through. He calls, he calls; my phone is tellingly silent. When will he realise that I gave him a fake number? I’m trying to think of an excuse when my phone comes to life, chirruping at me, and the name ‘Kevin’ comes up. Kevin cuts the call.

“I’ll call you sometime,” he says, before disappearing into the press of bodies.

I’m still looking at my phone. A cold heavy stone drops through me and lands in my testicles. Kevin has my number. I gave Kevin a false number, which at the same time is my number. Am I a false number?

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