Loop The Loop

It’s 6pm on yet another unremarkable weekday evening.

Trent can feel the sun on his back as he walks down the road. A road that is not busy, but neither is it quiet. This is a town that may sleep, but if it does Trent has never been around to witness that slumber. The nearby train station is tucked discreetly betwixt office buildings and pub. At this time of day it regularly vomits a throng of commuters out into this part of the world. Half of them march to the car park and drive off to somewhere they consider better than town. The remainder trot off to their flats and small houses. They can neither afford to live in the city nor stomach its desensitising effects. A greedy radiation that transforms youthful energy into passive aggression. The price of a wage in the city is far more than labour.

The day is lukewarm and yet Trent feels a trickle of sweat run down his back. There is something cloying about that warmth. Now he’s conscious of his sweat, he becomes uncomfortable and this puts him at a disadvantage when he requires all the advantages he can get right now.

Today is pivotal. Or it’s not. Some moments in life are all or nothing. Come what may, he knows that he will give it his all. This will make the victory all the sweeter, or the loss will crush him with the weight of his hopeful expectations. There is no middle ground. He can give no quarter. This is an audition. He has to win the part. That is all there is to it. Rejection is tantamount to disembowelment. The words of his encouraging mother ring in his ears faint heart never won fair lady.

And she is fair. There is something about her pale skin which is extenuated by her red lipstick. He suspects that there is more make up than the obvious crimson on her lips, but he has no clue as to how all of that works. Perhaps if he did, he would see her differently. He does not want to see her any differently than he does as he enters the hotel and finds her sitting at the bar chatting to the bartender.

Glancing at his watch, an affectation when the time is broadcast on his phone so that he has become a slave to smaller and smaller increments of his own existence, he sees that she’s early. This shifts things away from him and he feels a lurch in his stomach. His stomach is the centre point of things now. There is a fluttering there as he takes her in. He wants her. This is the clarion call that drowns all else out. He dresses up his intentions as he undresses her with his eyes. A conquest of imaginings. Feverishly rushing his analysis of her, even as he pores over every part of her body. The animal in him has risen up and as much as he thinks he's keeping it in check, it dominates the rest of the evening and all the time he will spend with this woman in the coming months.

The sound of her laughter charms him even as he watches her with the younger man behind the bar. She’s playing with her glass and there is no mistaking her intent. Leaning forward. Pouting. Putting on a show. Trent should be jealous. Perhaps he is, but his overwhelming feeling is desire laced with a competitive rage. He will take her and he will deprive the other man of these spoils.

She does not acknowledge him as he draws near. She’s not finished with the other man. When they meet again, this pattern will be repeated, as will many others. If it isn’t another person, it will be her phone. Her phone will often come between them. His need to trust means he never questions what she’s gazing at and where she is when she’s there, but not with him. Never with him fully.

When she turns towards him and presents her smile he lights up. A shallow victory that he accepts greedily. They remain at the bar with the other man hovering throughout that first date. Trent’s suggestion of sitting somewhere more comfortable met with a simple rebuff, “I’m fine on this stool. It’s comfortable enough.” He’s pinned in place by his reluctance to show weakness by bringing attention to the real cause of his discomfort. He’s deliberately unaware of how much he wants to please her. Of how he’s performing for her from the very start.

There is the promise of a second date. Trent is elated that he has passed muster and won this game. They hugged and kissed before parting. The kiss was a promise of far more. Her body against his, a subtle foreplay. A taster of what he may have if he stays the course.

Negotiating the next part is tricky for Trent. He has heard all the dating war stories. Men are lumpen things. They make brutal demands and behave poorly when rejected. They send sordid selfies and expect these will seal the deal. Trent thinks there must be a success rate for this strategy, but he’s not like that. He’s better than that.

And so he waits for her to let him know when they can meet again. She was open with him during their first date. He’s not the only candidate. There are others. Some already on probation. He clutches on to his being different. Knows that they have a connection that will win through.

He waits and he convinces himself that waiting suits him. The time afforded will allow him to see more clearly. He does not want to rush in. He has been hurt before. Then there are the times when things have not worked out and he has inadvertently hurt others. He’s being careful now. He will make this work come what may.

She excites him. He texts her and eventually she replies. And when she does there is a thrill to her messages. Nothing overt. Not yet. But there will be. He knows this. She’s the real deal. The One. His lobster. He’s seen the rest and he’s not interested. Many of the potential dates he has seen appal him. People can be so stupid at times. Ignorantly aggressive. Dating profiles screaming unsuitability, desperation and anger. There are those who appear again and again having been burnt by their chosen type. Never looking in the mirror and asking themselves whether they have any part in their many romantic demises. Never reflecting. Never changing.

They meet in the same hotel bar for their second date. And the same bartender is working that night. Trent would not have known him were it not for the look he exchanges with her when he collects their empty glasses. There is an intimacy present that Trent dismisses as the man wanting what he can never have.

Before the bartender leaves them, she smiles in a way that makes Trent’s insides flip and begins to talk about intimacy. The things she likes. How she yearns to be touched and kissed. He sees her through a tunnel now. There is only her. A prize that he cannot yet touch. He’s dizzied with desire for her. That wanton smile continues to play upon her red painted lips.

As they leave the hotel she kisses him. They are in plain sight of everyone in the bar including the bartender. He feels uncomfortable at this display, but quickly he loses himself in the urgency of her. They kiss like that several times as he walks her part of the way to her flat. The final kiss could so easily lead to more. Almost does. That is the point for both of them. A physical statement of intent.

Again, she makes him wait. Days without texting and then a bout of intimate texts that leave him in no doubt as to what is on offer when next they meet. She’s going to cook for him at her flat. They agree on the meal, but not on a date. Waiting is good, he convinces himself of this by repeating a phrase that has little meaning as is the nature of so many phrases. Excuses used so readily to keep the blindfold in place. Only fools rush in.

And so the courtship evolves. The meal is exquisite. Living up to the anticipation that builds within him. She’s the dessert and he feeds hungrily and eagerly. All the precedents are set now. She presents herself and he ignores his gut which speaks out against the constantly expanding gap between them. A gap she uses effortlessly. Because it’s him all him. Only ever him.

Everything progresses as is the expectation in any and every story such as this. There is a script both written and unwritten. Mostly the scripts of two people in love align. But she’s not in love. She calls it love and she knows the words that he must hear. Her script is a game that she has co-opted him into. Her game and only her game.

There is him and there is the game. And that is all there is.

Trent sees what he wants to see. She barely has to present anything to him. He fills in the gaps. But he can never fill the gap between them. He makes it up as they go along. As long as they both get what they want, they think they might be happy.

They live together. They become entwined. Just as the snake wraps itself around its intended prey. Squeezing the life from it.

All life has moments. Some good. Some not so good. A love story is really a series of love stories. People forget themselves and fall in and out of love with the person they have chosen to commit themselves to. As long as Trent plays his part everything holds together.

He rewrites her script often. It’s the only way forward. One Christmas, they visit neighbours. The drink flows and for once she’s drunk and she involuntarily lets go. She plays with a single man. Trent trusts her. All he sees is her having fun. After all, she’s coming home with him and they are making Christmas dinner together. The rest of Christmas is theirs. And Christmas is a time for games.

Convincing her to come home is a chore. She really is drunk and he finds her angry infantile responses endearing. At home they fall into the routine of preparing a meal. He pops out of the kitchen to fetch her a hoodie and hears the sound of breaking glass. Running back he stops her from clumsily gathering up the shards of broken bowl for fear she will cut herself. Christmas Day in A&E holds little attraction for him. She uses the opportunity to fall out with him. Tells Trent that he’s controlling. She becomes hysterical in no time at all. Storms out of the house to clear her head.

Some years later, Trent will look back on that episode and suspect that it was a ruse. An excuse finish what she’d started with that neighbour. If only he could have seen her watch him leave the room. A sudden look of sober calculation before picking up the glass bowl and dashing it to the tile floor. Her waiting for him to return before she began this performance.

There were many transgressions. Her need for attention surpassing all else. Work trips and events presented easy opportunities. The nature of her work allowed for a dynamic where men wished to influence her. All the while she influenced them. Seeing them at lunchtimes and evenings. In their marital home, hotels and the backs of cars. None of it meant anything to her. Satiation in the immediacy. And so Trent could never detect a guilt that didn’t exist.

Even all bad things come to an end. And you always reap what you sow. Sometimes you also reap what another sows. Like God, karma works in mysterious ways. It’s not for us to witness the karma of others, only to keep the faith and know that the job is always done. A twisted reality eventually snaps back and exacts its revenge upon someone who did not respect the rules of the game of life.

When she left Trent, the discard was brutal. She left without reason and without redress. Soon, he discovered that she’d found someone else. This hammer blow ensured that he knew that there was no way back. That he meant nothing. That he was nothing.

Trent had given her everything and as he at last saw the total lack of reciprocation, he collapsed in on himself. A star losing its light and becoming a black hole. Just like her. A fatal gravitational pull into the darkness of oblivion.

Somehow, he’d awoken to that grim pending eventuality and survived. Then he’d picked himself up and started to rebuild. Finding a hidden reserve of strength to propel him away from the very worst of outcomes.

And he’d gone again.

He knew he had to try again. He deserved better and he would find better. Just as long as he avoided anyone like her, he’d be OK. Everything would be OK. He’d find happiness out there. Everyone deserved to be happy.

It’s 6pm on yet another unremarkable weekday evening.

And Trent won’t wake up to the fact that he’s dead. For cycle upon cycle of the same lesson he retains his blinkers of obliviousness. Fear keeps them firmly in place. Even in his altered state he clings onto the familiarity of patterns that hurt him, in favour of a release that could afford him peace.

Trent repeats the same old pattern of behaviour, doing nothing about the lessons he undoubtedly learns. He’s scared and he’s stuck.

When at last he starts to see more, it begins with her patterns and he understands how hurt she must have been as a child. Then he sees beyond her, to the patterns of others. The bartender. His single neighbour. Work colleagues and business associates seeking validation. Running away from life because they were once hurt and chose to blame life itself for their pain.

Sacrificing authenticity for attention. Never growing up from that. Never holding the line. So far, and no further. Failing to have the same respect for themselves as they had for others.

In the end, he thinks he sees it all. So many sad people forever going around in circles to perpetuate a pain that sits there in plain sight but forever eludes them all. A tragic dance of coping mechanisms that prevents any of them from ever living.

As he goes back around in his very own circle he realises that this is hell. His very own hell.

This is when Trent wakes up to himself. And he remembers. He recalls his solution to enduring the same old heartbreak all over again. In a moment of clarity that he now understands was madness he can only see one solution to his plight. The ultimate coping mechanism in the face of all the hurt she deliberately inflicted upon him.

And now Trent is in his very own circle of hell. He should never have tried to break the cycle by killing himself. He knows that now. As he laments the consequences of what he thought would be his final act, he considers the darker alternative. To give up and sacrifice himself another way. To become like her. To feed upon unwitting victims. To embrace a hateful existence. An addiction to hurting others.

Trent accepts the choice he has made. As he does he at last breaks his cycle of pain. He never wanted to hurt anyone in the living of his life, but he forgot one person in this wish of his; Trent.

Even in hell, it’s possible to love. Love transcends all. Trent began to love himself truly and in the light of that love, everything changed.

It’s 6pm on yet another unremarkable weekday evening.

Trent can feel the sun on his back as he walks down the road. He smiles at how good this simple moment feels. He’s grateful. Happy in the day that he has been gifted. His gratitude lifts him. He sees so much more as he walks towards the hotel. He’s absently humming as he enters the hotel bar. Sees her sitting there. Observes her for a short while. Knows that she has seen him but has chosen not to acknowledge him. Testing him. Playing a game. He gives it enough time, but no more than that. Then he turns away.

He's still humming as he turns to leave the bar.

“I know that song,” says a woman who is entering the bar on her own, “it’s a favourite of mine.”

He stops and smiles his smile. The smile that we all learn as a small child. The smile that shows the world who we truly are, “it’s a favourite of mine too.”

The woman responds with her smile and a true connection is made, “I’m not usually this forward. But…” she points at the bar and a completely different outcome in Trent’s life, “do you want a drink?”

He grins, “I do, but I know a cosy little place just around the corner where they sometimes play our song.”

She pauses at this. Scrutinises him. This is not how she has ever done things. Circles are falling into disrepair and chains are being broken. She slips her arm through his like it’s the most natural thing in the world to do. And that’s exactly what it is.

They walk to the pub in a companionable silence and their song is playing as they open the door to their next, shared chapter…