Hard To Love

Vol. 138: A short story about the horrors of being a romantic

#7 in The Scary Songbook Collection

Inspired by “Turn To Stone” by ELO

Things seemed to be going alright. At least I thought so. We was having a great time, me and ‘er, a few drinks, some laughs. We was enjoying ourselves and since she seemed like a goer, I suggest we head to ‘ers because my place is all the way in Clapham. Also, me wife and kiddies are there, but I didn’t tell ‘er that.

Despite ‘er strange wig, she were prettier than a lot I been with, though that’s not sayin’ much. She gave me a glass of wine. I drank it without complaint even though I prefer a bitter, and then we starts snogging on the sofa. She pulls away and asks if I think she’s attractive. Right away I says yes, and kissed her again. Then she pulls away and asks if I likes ‘er. Again, I says yes, yes. She likes that and starts kissing me hard, but after a minute, she pulls back again and asks if I love her. No, you silly cow, I says, I just want to-

I grab him by the feet and drag him through the front room and into the kitchen. My linoleum is so badly scraped that it won’t hold up to much more of this.

I throw open the cellar door, and standing him upright, I give him a good heave-ho down the stairs. He topples face first, hitting each step, and smashes into a thousand pieces at the bottom. I’ll sweep tomorrow, when I feel better. For now I just want to drown my sorrows in the good Port, not the rubbish I gave him. I get a large one and sit on the sofa, feeling sorry for myself. My lovelies are still agitated but will settle down once I begin feeling tipsy. Alcohol makes them sleepy.

I click on the telly and Parliament is howling at each other over childcare tax relief. Everyone is very angry. That makes me feel a little better.

I’m down the cellar with a broom the next morning. What an ungodly mess. Chunks and bits of busted stone everywhere because I’ve ignored sweeping up for months. I actually have to pick up the bigger pieces by hand and I can’t help but turn them every which way trying to figure out who it was. It becomes a game, trying to fit a face back together. I think I’ll put some of the better-looking pieces out in my back garden. Sort of like gnomes.

I tell myself over and over, you go too fast, expect too much. The professionals all agree that love at first sight almost never happens. Instead, one should concentrate on building a friendship first. Having things in common leads to something that lasts. I want to have that, but I fear I never will. I’m so impulsive that I tend to lash out when I encounter disappointment, and then I ruin everything.

I’ve been reading Dr. Candi Cameron’s book, Wham Bam, You’re Married, Ma’am!, and I believe my problem with men is that, as the doctor and some old American singer agree, I’ve been looking for love in all the wrong places. I’m not a pint kind of girl, and I’m not a football kind of girl, and I’m not a darts kind of girl, so why am I expecting to find love with the kinds of men who are in those places? Daft! So today I’m taking myself off to The British Museum because I’m definitely an Ancient Antiquities kind of girl.

I massaged olive oil into my scalp, which is very calming, then arranged a tidy bun and tied a pretty scarf along my hairline. I’ve put on a smart dress and heels. My plan is to wander around while keeping an eye open for an intelligent looking man to be somewhere about. I will effortlessly start a conversation about the great art representing my old life and see if sparks fly. You steer your life to your destiny, as the doctor says. I don’t mind making the first move. Those educated males can be timid.

Sigh. Once again I’ve come up empty-handed. It was a rainy dark day, so not as crowded as usual, but I did meet a good-looking professional type just after I arrived. In fact, I spotted him while I stood in line at the ticket counter. He was at the Parthenon Marbles, looking sexy in those thick corduroys favored by academics.

I practically charged through the security check, hurrying over to stand before the winged female torso. Oh yes, I pretended to admire the broken old thing. Needs must.

“Isn’t that wonderful?” I whispered, as if in awe.

“Absolutely!” he said with enthusiasm. “The drape of the fabric, the stance that conveys she’s in mid-stride. It’s glorious!”

Alright, Coeus, no need to be nerdy about it. But at least the conversation was on its way.

“Yes, I see it now. You’re right.”

The man beamed at hearing this.

“You must know a lot about these things. This is my first time here,” I lied.

I actually used to come here quite a bit to wallow in my depression. Looking at the familiar faces in the rooms of Ancient Greece used to make me feel a little better, and then a lot worse, because I couldn’t stop myself from adding up how many years it had been since I’d lived my best life, and then I’d weep in front of the facsimiles of my...well, not friends. Let’s say “missed acquaintances”. Anyway, I became known for causing a scene so I haven’t been back in a few years.

“Yes, I come here often. Part of my continuing education,” he chuckled.

“Oh, and if I may ask, what do you do?”

“I’m the Uni Art History Professor. Down the street, you know.”

“How very interesting!” I gushed.

“It is. Come with me and I’ll point out my favorite pieces. I mean, if you aren’t here with someone.”

“Oh, no,” I smiled. “It’s just me.”

“I’m William,” he said, putting his hand out.

“Em. Wonderful to meet you.”

We spent two hours together going through the Ancient rooms on the lower floor. He pointed out his favorites from Africa (my feelings are neutral), Egypt (primitive and based on fantasies) and Rome (the work of thieves). I’ve always admired the work of Ancient China, so delicate and intricate, but entering the rooms of Ancient Greece is like chewing mother’s cooking. It brings me as close to home as anything can.

This was one of the few times I had been accompanied as I looked at my old life. William ruined it by gushing like a horny little rabbit over the Caryatids. These are sculptures of women who are holding a building up with their heads. Full-sized and badly broken, this didn’t stop William from declaring these to be the jewels of the museum’s Greek collection.

“Do you really think so,” I gently asked. Consider a difference of opinion to be a chance to learn more about a person, Dr. Candi says. Alright, I’ll listen to the art professor.

“Oh, yes. Look at the figures, so graceful, so self-assured. Exquisite!”

“And what about this one over here?”

“The Medusa? It’s a masterpiece. The tangle of snakes is so lifelike. See how they move? Even more than that, it really captures her pain and despair.”

His empathy nearly brought a tear.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I see too. Thank you.”

It had been a very long time since anyone had considered what my life was like. It was more common for people to laugh at me, as if my situation was a joke. I have feelings.

Giddy from his kindness, I pointed towards my friend.

“I like this beauty over here. The Sphinx of Lanuvium. She ate rats like there was no tomorrow.”

“Pardon?”

“Er, I know I read somewhere that she ate rats. Liked to chase them down and swallow them in one go. I read that.”

“Well... I don’t believe I’ve ever come across that information.” He turned to look hard at the Sphinx. “But I can believe it. She’s hideous.”

I gasped and felt my scalp wriggle. When I get angry my temperature spikes, and that makes them angry...it’s always an ordeal.

“She’s wonderful!” I corrected him. “Look again.”

He did.

“I agree that it’s a beautifully accomplished work, if that’s what you mean. The artisan was a master, certainly. But the Sphinx itself is a monstrous creature. Look at it. The body of a starved lion, the claws of a bird of prey. And look at that face.”

Oh, my hair was going mad!

“Her face? Her face? Yes, I’ve noticed that you seem to appreciate the women who are missing their mouths and eyes and their whole heads!”

“No, no! Don’t imply misogyny-”

“The Sphinx was wonderful! Her name was Chloe and she was funny and smart. Do any of your school books mention that she was an amazing drummer? Or that she invented murder mystery game nights? And for your information, she didn’t just tell riddles and kill people. She gave travelers the choice between answering riddles or telling her a joke. If they made her laugh they went on their way, so don’t tell me she was a monster!”

William’s eyes were bulging as I whipped the scarf off my head and tore out the hair snaps that kept my lovelies contained. They felt my rage and raised up, hissing in their own rage. As one, we looked William in the eyes. He gulped a few times, trying to get air down his hardening throat to the lungs that were turning to stone. His coloring changed, his flesh and clothes draining of their pinks and browns, the blue eyes, the purple vein on his forehead, all of it becoming the dark gray of stone.

I left him there to be admired by the patrons who would come along. I went to the Ladies and I got my lovelies calmed down enough to bind them once again. As I fixed my lipstick, I couldn’t help but see the sad woman in the mirror. Sigh.

I was pretty down, so I stopped at a wine bar just to delay going home. I ordered a glass of Port and leaned against the bar. I fell into my maudlin thoughts, as I knew I would, but this is encouraged by Dr. Candi. Examine your behavior. Are you doing something that puts people off?

Sigh. Yes.

Things had been going so well. So what if he was full of himself? He was somewhat intelligent and good-looking. And he was interested in me.

Last week I went to a make-up counter at the department store, and as the assistant brushed Burnt Toast eye shadow on me, she told me that she had never been on a date. Never. She must have been twenty-five years old, and alright, the poor dear didn’t have a chin, but her skin practically glowed with good health.

Has everyone stopped falling in love? I guess that’s where we are now and I should just be happy with my three thousand years of memories. I’ve had a lot of boyfriends and this poor girl hasn’t had one.

I stood there looking into my Port and thinking these dreary thoughts, and when I looked up, my eyes met his. Red eyes. Red lips, red hair, red skin, all created from the ancient clay of the land of Hebrews. I hadn’t seen a Golem in a thousand years, and never one so handsome. He wore a smart, button down cabana shirt and a pork pie hat, and as we continued to lock eyes, I couldn’t help but smile. He smiled back as well as he could and I watched as he stomped to my corner of the bar. When he leaned against it the wood creaked, but he didn’t seem bothered.

“Heeyuh. Mah buh ya think?” he asked.

He had an adorable grimace. Between the clenched teeth and Scottish accent, many would have been confused, but I had been waiting for this creature for a millennium. I accepted his offer of a drink and we called for ouzo. We talked until the wee hours, until the manager got up the courage to tell us the bar had closed long ago. Then we sat in the park and talked as the morning sun came up, and we stayed, talking the entire day about ancient times and ancient lands, and how we live now.

We went to my place and he told me that he would be mine. All I had to do was to write a wish on a scrap of paper and slip it between his teeth. He would do my bidding, whether it was tidying the garden or strangling a neighbor.

I unbound my head and showed him my lovelies. All of us looked deeply into his eyes, and he smiled. My stare would never hurt him. For the first time in my long, lonely life, I had someone who really saw me.

Did you click on that ELO video at the top to enjoy a few minutes from an era in which hairstyles were measured by weight? I believe my neck can hold up forty pounds, thank you very much.

Next week: our Creep Club will get my true crime glossary, and on a related note, we’ll meet the most infamous executioner in British history. Good guy, good guy… You can be a major Creep for just $5 a month or $30 for a whole year!