Bringing Home The Bacon

The day was wet and grey. The promise of cold came drifting into the house and made Polly Trentham shiver. That sudden and unwanted gift reminded her of her loneliness. Being alone had become her preference. She found the presence of many of the people she encountered caused within her an asynchronous reaction. They carried with them a communicable discord that cast her adrift in their very midst.

Polly struggled to find her people. Couldn’t discern between those who convincingly masqueraded as genuine and the real deal. She suspected that the imposters drowned out those who she should have been gravitating towards. Formed a line of defence to keep her from forming healthy bonds.

She absently explored her loneliness as she pottered around the kitchen. Her kettle emulated the hollow people. Impossibly loud, impersonating a jet engine. She walked to the other side of her kitchen for respite. Finding herself at the fridge, she opened it to retrieve milk. Disappointed to feel a lack of weight and substance that would require a foray out into the cold, wet world in order to secure provisions.

Remaining at the open fridge door, she spied the pack of bacon and decided that a bacon butty may in some way dispel the sadness and depression that her loneliness insistently foisted upon her.

The kettle gave up its shouting and Polly poured the dancing water over the Assam tea bag. She smiled at the line she sometimes used privately to herself, I like my tea like my men, strong and hot! In the aftermath of that thought her depression dipped and her legs almost buckled with the weight of it. Too long had she been searching and alone. The dark ghost pulled at her once more and reminded her of past hurts.

“Fuck this,” she whispered the words and felt ashamed at their lack of lustre, “fuck it all!” she spat this at the rain dribbling all over the world outside. Dribbling like a damaged idiot. A cruel reflection of how she had felt for far, far too long.

The bacon was, she knew, a distraction, but a welcome one at that. She needed to eat. Wasn’t eating as regularly as she should. Hadn’t noticed any weight loss. Didn’t know whether her lethargy was as a result of her failing to refuel, or an allergic reaction to her environment.

Cutting the pack open, she no longer bothered trying to peel it. Had never succeeded in prising the film away. A frustrating design fault that she felt was deliberately inflicted upon her. The bacon slice she help up looked limp and unappetising. In this form it hid its delicious secrets. As it was, it was poisonous to her. She would wash her fingers once she’d dropped three slices in the frying pan. The first satisfaction she experienced was the sizzling. Hot butter meeting the meat and beginning the magical transformation.

Soon there was the familiar aroma of cooking bacon. An invitation to feast upon one of the best meals imaginable. Once the bacon had been turned she sorted a plate and HP sauce. Some would opt for ketchup, their creed was no deal breaker for her, but she pitied them missing out on the full culinary experience.

More butter on thick slices of white, farmhouse bread as the bacon continued its seduction of her taste buds. Her preference was for her back bacon to have some colour. There was no crispness to it. That was tantamount to burning perfectly good food. Decanting the bacon, she also poured the small amount of buttery juices over the opposite slice of bread. Applying the HP sauce like sun tan lotion, she then tucked the bacon up in its bread bed and sliced it down the middle.

Polly considered taking a seat. Looking over at the chair in question. Her chair. There were others. She had never been seated in any of them. Rules and rituals secretly insinuated themselves into a life and never did they explain their actions. She opted to remain standing and took her meal at the kitchen work top, turning so she could watch the world weep for her. Vicarious tears that had no sense to them. A pointless dance unaccompanied by music. One half of a whole that could only speak the language of emptiness.

It was as she bit into the second half of the bacon butty that she relaxed into the moment and truly tasted the food in her mouth. Seldom did she add salt to her meals and thankfully this bacon was not overwhelmed with the stuff. She moaned appreciatively as she chewed her next bite. The flavours spilling out over her tongue. And that was when it happened. A connection of acceptance was made in her brain and she was transported to another time and another place. Wafted away from her current state of being as readily as a feather in the air.

Last night replayed in her mind’s eye. The subtle saltiness of his skin as they lay together. This was a revelation. The way the taste of him fanned a flame within her. And now it was happening again. Something beyond the physical. Consuming a part of him, yet remaining hungry for his embrace and his companionship. The act of her consumption consuming her also. A feeling of safety and comfort arose in her, her loneliness now forgotten. She was warmed by the fires of her recollection of him.

Savouring the rest of her butty she found herself smiling. Riding a wave of emotion she thought long lost to her. Seeing him more for what he was. What he was to her. His masculinity creating a space for her and only her. She could almost feel his skin against hers. She placed her free hand upon her chest and felt the soothing beat of her own heart. Remembered her head on his chest. The almost womb-like state of the moment as he held her. She had cried then and he had silently turned his head and kissed the tears from her face. Eventually finding her lips. Progression after progression until they had gently made love. Made love in a way she never knew possible. A connection that grounded her and made her feel more than she ever had been.

Now, as she finished her breakfast and embraced the warm mug of tea in both hands, she looked out upon a new world. A world full of promise and opportunity. Soon enough, the rain was cleansing her as she took a walk and considered his arrival in her life and their unexpected union. A dream she had not dared to harbour coming true even as she’d held back and waited. Creating unrequired obstacles and boundaries. Pushing back in the fear of being hurt yet again. Delaying and procrastinating. Feeling undeserving of his warmth and attention. Risking everything as his presence and the little hope she had left to her made her panic that this time the hurt would finally take the last of her and destroy any chance at a future. Fighting herself in an insane act of defence.

But this time it was different.

This time it was real.

He was real.

There was no act.

Only him.

And she had responded in kind.

Finding herself again.

Returning to herself at last.

Later, when she returned home and fired up her work laptop, her phone would ping. A message from him:

Last night was lovely. So different. I want that again. When can I see you again? X

She would smile and the only delay to her reply was to reread the message and allow herself to enjoy it for what it was. Then she would reply:

Tonight. X

Always tonight.

The quality of her loneliness was already changing. A yearning for him that she knew was readily reciprocated. She had found the chief member of her tribe at last. She found that she was looking forward to being all she could be. Looking forward to truly knowing him and walking at his side along life’s path.

She sipped her second mug of tea.

“Strong and hot,” she whispered to herself, smiling as she drew in a deep breath and savoured the lingering aroma of bacon. She could almost taste him. Later she would. Her appetite for him growing as the day unfolded.