issue66doyouloveme

                                                      ZYGOTE IN MY COFFEE.COM

***BIO*** Digby Beaumont has worked as a professional writer for more than 20 years, with numerous nonfiction publications. His fiction work has appeared in Leafing Through, Barfing Frog Press, Slingink Magazine and The Shaggy Dog Review, and more is forthcoming in "Small Voices, Big Confessions", the Spoiled Ink 2006 print anthology. He lives in Brighton on the south coast of England.

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Do You Love Me?

by Digby Beaumont

I had the hots for Laura, one of the nurses at the hospital where I’d started work as a security guard. I knew she was married, though in the month or so I’d known her I’d never seen her wear a wedding ring and she’d let me know she was interested. I could tell by the way she acted around me and always stopped, wanting to talk, when she saw me on my rounds. Then there was the time she came up close to pick a loose thread off my shirt, holding my gaze for just a little too long. This was our first date. It turned out to be the only one we ever had.

When I walked through the reception at 8.00, she was waiting for me outside. I stood and watched her. It was a warm July evening and she had on a crisp white cotton shirt and blue jeans. After a while, she saw me, so I waved to her and went on out. We got into a hug and she kissed me on the lips. “What do you want to do?” I said. “Like to go for a pizza or something?”

She pulled me closer. “Why don’t we go back to your place?” she said.

My flat was a ten-minute walk away. I could feel my heart pounding as we set off. That ‘Why don’t we go back to your place?’ was all I’d needed to hear. I took her hand and squeezed.

Up ahead was a row of telephone boxes. From behind the last of them, a young man appeared and blocked our way. He was tall with a wiry build and a mop of unkempt hair, and he was shaking with rage.

“Do you love me?” he said.

Before I could think, my right arm went out to stop him getting closer to Laura. Who was he asking? Me, her, both of us?

“Do you love me?” he said again, louder this time, and he raised both fists.

Stepping in front of him, I put Laura in behind my back. “It’s okay,” I told him. “Everything’s all right.” But I winced when I saw the red welts that covered his face and head. Had he been in a fight? Or were the injuries self-inflicted? Up close he smelt of pine. Not a cosmetic scent. Real pine kernels. The energy from his body crackled. It was like standing next to a live electricity pylon.

He screwed up his face and I thought he was going to scream or maybe burst into tears, then a fist came up in front of my face. I saw the blood and torn skin on his knuckles.

“Come with me,” he said, “and pray in the woods.”

I took a deep breath and a strange thing happened. It was like that sensation top tennis players describe: being in ‘the zone’, when they feel in complete control and everything slows down and they see the ball bigger somehow.

“Okay,” I heard myself say, “but first, you see that hospital over there?” I pointed to the building and he turned to look. “That’s where I work. Why don’t we go there? You could meet some of my friends. Have a cup of tea, sit down and chat. Would you like that?” I could see his body start to relax a little so I turned to Laura and said, “Isn’t it time you were leaving?”

She looked at me and understood. “Right, okay. Yes.”

I nodded to tell her everything was going to be okay.

“Well, see you, then,” she said.

I watched her walk away before looking back at the young man. “So, shall we go inside, then?”

But he didn’t answer. He put his hands on his head and frowned. After several seconds, he looked at me as if he were searching for something in my face, then his eyes seemed to lose focus and he turned and ran off. I saw him dodge in and out of the traffic as he crossed the road before he disappeared into the evening crowd.

I didn’t go straight home after that. I went for a walk along the seafront, took in some deep breaths of salt air and thought about what had happened and what could have happened with Laura.

I didn't normally drink spirits, but that night I called in at a bar and had three shots of brandy, one after the other. While I was there, I called Laura on her mobile to tell her I was all right.

“That poor guy,” she said. “What do you suppose was wrong with him?”

“No idea,” I said. “He seemed pretty deranged, though.”

Back home, I ran a bath and got undressed. Then the doorbell rang. Holding a towel around my waist, I went into the living room and peered out of the open window into the darkness. What looked like the shadow of a tall figure lay across my doorway. Then my grip weakened and the towel fell to the floor as I caught the smell of pine.

Aug. 2006