Matte visits
Last Saturday, I went downstairs to meet her by the piano in the main hall of the hospital. Apparently, one of the amateur pianists had been coming for years; then, one day, he started singing.
We cuddled together on a bench and she gave me a copy of her latest zine. We cuddled on another bench in the park outside under the very hottening sun. She said that I was wearing my white t-shirt again and I said I was. The stickers on my chest and Monty the heart monitor’s wires showed through. I also had on my blue stockings and Ariel Schrag shoes and had my loose Levi’s hanging off my ass.
I told her about what the surgeon is going to do on Monday and she sat silent and then said it was going to be OK. I curled myself around and snuggled my face into her neck.
We went to the posh new cafe in the hospital and ate yoghurt-covered apricots that tasted like warm ice-cream and Sweet Chilli crisps. We sat on the wall looking over the Thames and watched the couples and children walk by. I had my hand tucked up inside the back of Matte’s t-shirt and my hand on her thigh with her hand over mine. A group of young lads approached, taunting the people they passed. But, all they gave us was a few high-pitched shouts of, ‘It must be love,” and blew us a few kisses. A large family went past and the daughter smiled at us and said they should take a picture.
On the way back into the hospital, I suggested we go into the toilets and fuck. We went in, but both became shy. Then, unexpectedly, we were alone and I walked to a cubicle that was down a little corridor and she followed. She closed the door and we pashed. Each time someone came in, we’d grind to a halt. However, after a while, we got hotter and hotter and cared less and less. I put my hand around and under her breast and stroked her with my thumb and kissed her neck and she squirmed. I undid the zip of her trousers and put my hand inside her pants and spread around her wetness and pushed one and then two fingers inside her.
The rest of the world went away. All I felt was my fingers inside her and her open-mouthed kisses that muffled the sounds she made and the pressure of her thigh between my legs. After a while, I grabbed her hand and put it against my cunt to tell her it was OK to touch me and she slid her fingers into my pants and stroked me round and round. I put my mouth to her ear and said, I want you inside me, and she sort of shuddered and then fucked me with her hand. She came and her knees bent and I faked it and we stood smoothing each other.
There was a break in the crowds of people in the toilets and we snuck out and then stood side by side and washed our hands. We came back upstairs to the ward and sat very close holding hands, her in the chair and me at the head of the bed.
We started talking about Monday and she said I would be fine because she had sprinkled fairy dust on me and I melted and loved her even more. Throughout the rest of the day, whenever I looked panicked, she just said, Remember the fairy dust.
We talked about old people. She had told me in a letter that she thought they are stores of wisdom, even though this wisdom comes from the past. She told me that they keep themselves alive by telling stories, and maybe keep us alive, too. Yesterday, she elaborated by saying she thought that old people’s stories are like those memories of childhood that you sometimes take out and look at. I thought that was quite convicing. However, to me, telling stories fucking kills people because they are using the past to fulfil the present.
Matte went and bought us some noodles from Ned’s. We guzzled them and then had syrupy banana fritters for afters. And, then, she had to go and get her train back to Bradford.
I walked her outside and put my hands around her ribs and kissed her. I was terrified that I would never see her again.