The State of Me. Nasim Jafry Marie
Christmas ball.
I stayed in bed all day to make sure I could go, even though I knew I couldn’t. I was cloaked in nausea, my head felt inflated with a bicycle pump. My fairy godmother whispered, You shall go to the ball, while the ugly sisters stuck the boot in, Sick people don’t go to balls, you’re going nowhere!
In the middle of the night, while Gail was tempting Ivan in her black cocktail dress, I was dreaming about bluebells: Ivan was an old man in a wheelchair. He was wearing a red leather jockstrap and I was pushing him through the bluebells in the park.
In and out of the dusty bluebells. I am the master! Helen’s getting a bit dull, isn’t she? She was hoping she could go back to France after Christmas and have an affair with one of those young Moroccans, put Ivan in his place, but alas she’s going nowhere!
She’s staying put.
It snowed on New Year’s Day. I liked the way the snow blanked everything out. Ivan and Rez had gone to a friend’s parents’ cottage in Tighnabruaich for a few days. They’d invited me but I couldn’t go. They got in a fight with some neds who called Rez Kunta Kinte, and Ivan ended up in Casualty with a broken nose. They’d been planning to visit me on their way back to Glasgow but the roads were too bad.
Jana had stayed with Jean-Paul over the holidays. She’d phoned me on Hogmanay. Abas keeps asking when you’re coming back, she said. And your Frank Zappa compilation tape got mangled in the tape-recorder. I told her that I had an appointment to see Professor Pivot after the holidays. And Myra’s doing more tests, I said. I’ll write and tell you what’s happening. That reminds me, she said, a letter came for you from the university health centre. I’ll forward it with your other mail.
I didn’t tell her that I’d sent her a poster of The Orange Blind by Cadell, one of the Scottish colourists. I thought she could do with a replacement and I wanted it to be a surprise.
Rita ran me up to Glasgow and waited in the Grosvenor Cafe while I explained my return from France to Professor Pivot, the Head of the French Department. (He was very angular and pivoted along rather than walked.) It was pissing down. We were late because of the slush slowing down the traffic.
I got drenched walking from the car and was dripping all over the professor’s floor. He offered to get me a towel. His head was small compared to the rest of him.
I told him they hadn’t found out what was wrong with me yet but were doing more tests. I hope I can re-do my year abroad next year, I said. I’ve sent this term’s grant cheque back.
You’re young, he said. Take time to think about things. We’ll have another chat next term. You might know what’s wrong by then.
He was so understanding that I was tempted to list my symptoms.
On the way out, I went to look at the noticeboard. I wished it was this time last year and all I had to worry about was an essay on Baudelaire.
The Grosvenor was packed as usual. It smelled of wet coats and smoke mixed with coffee and fried onions. The geology lecturer, who was always on his own, was there.
Rita looked worried. Well, how did it go?
He was really nice, but I was dripping all over his floor.
Can you go back to France next year?
I think so, I said. He was quite vague about things.
Ivan was dropping in before his three o’clock lecture to give me the keys of his flat. I’d hardly stayed with him since coming back from France. We’d only had sex once. Afterwards, I’d cried because I felt so crap and because I felt I was letting him down.
That guy over there’s always in on his own, I said to Rita. It makes me sad, seeing him with his hamburger roll. I always want to invite him over.
You’re being ridiculous, said my mother. He’s probably quite happy eating on his own.
I don’t think so, I said. He doesn’t look happy.
I just ate on my own, and I was perfectly happy!
But you’ve got a husband, you’re not on your own. That guy’s not married.
Here’s Ivan now, said Rita.
The rain was sliding off him. He squashed himself into our booth.
You’re soaked! I said, kissing his cheek. You look like a hamster with your hair clapped round your head like that. I wished Rita wasn’t there so I could kiss him properly, then I felt guilty for wishing she wasn’t there. I squeezed his hand tightly under the table.
How’s your nose? I asked. You said it was squint. It doesn’t look squint.
It’s okay, he said. It wasn’t actually broken.
He’d just sat down when someone tapped me on the shoulder – a mature student from my English tutorial, whose name I could never remember. She had terrible facial hair. I thought it was you! she said. I thought you were in France doing your year abroad.
I was, I said, but I’m home for a while. I’ve been ill.
That’s a shame. Well, I better go, my car’s on a meter, I just thought I’d say hello. I hope you get better soon.
Thanks, I said.
Who was that? asked Rita.
She was in my English tutorial last year. I can never remember her name.
By the way, said Ivan, I got the Ian Dury tickets.
I hope I can come, I said. I’ll be gutted if I can’t.
Rez and his new girlfriend are going. Rez was saying he thinks you should get tested for brucellosis.
What’s brucellosis?
Something you get from milk.
Myra’ll batter me, I said, if I even think of suggesting it. I’m having soup, do you want anything to eat?
Nah, just hot chocolate.
I’ll have another coffee, said Rita.
So what did your Prof say? asked Ivan.
I think he just thinks I’m anxious, but he was so nice about it.
So you’re not chucked off the course?
I don’t think so, I said.
The camp ginger-haired guy came and took my order. He’d fallen off a wall last year when he was drunk, and broken his back, but he was fine now, fully recovered.
He brought the soup straight away. I loved the comfort of being here with the two people who could make everything okay. I wanted this scene to play forever. I didn’t want my soup to finish.
I have to go, said Ivan, I’m really late. He kissed me on the cheek (still shy in front of my mother). I’ll see you later. Here are my keys.
I wanted to be like him, downing hot chocolate and going back to a class.
Normal.
When he’d gone, Rita said she’d have to be making tracks too. Are you sure you’ll be okay?
Yes. I might go to the bookshop. I want to look at French dictionaries.
Could Jana not send yours back?
It’d probably cost less to buy a new one.
My mother frowned. Okay, I’m away. See you tomorrow. We’ll pick you up from the station if you want. And don’t be filling your head with what Rez says. Medical students are known for being neurotic.
She hugged me and left.
I sat there for a while wondering what to do next. Choices were: go and look at dictionaries and pretend to be normal, or go to Ivan’s and lie down.
I chose to pretend.
It