THE DISAPPEARANCE: Part Four. ‘Sarah’ by Clair Wright

I didn’t think I would ever see you again. Not after all this time. I thought you’d left me, and all this, behind you. What made you come? Why now? Funny that you knew I would still be at the flat, our flat. Did you know I wouldn’t move on? Not like you, Steven. You, with your nice job, nice home, nice life – all very settled, all very safe. Is that why you came? Is it all getting a bit boring for you?

Did you want a reminder of the old life, the old you? Was it strange to be sitting in our old flat, on our old sofa? It hasn’t changed much; there’s still a bit of damp in the corner of the bedroom, the tap still drips in the bathroom. I keep it tidier now, of course. But then, I’m not smoking as much as we were then.

It was nice to see you. You looked different - fatter, comfortable in your cord trousers and your chain store jumper. You look like a father, a family man. Are you a father Steven? You didn’t say, and I didn’t want to ask.

You seemed sad though, Steven. Are you sad? Is that why you came? I wanted to reach out, to touch you, to kiss you again, but I was too afraid that you would push me away. You seemed to be on the edge of something, and I didn’t want to push you, one way or the other.

You didn’t tell me anything about your life now. I think you’re with someone, maybe you’re even married. Why didn’t you want to tell me?  Do you talk about your old life, with her? Do you talk about me? Or do you want to pretend you’ve always lived like you do now, a neat and tidy life, without chaos round every corner?

I bet your Mum’s proud of you now. You always wanted to put on a show for her. You never let her visit the flat, kept her away from the overflowing ashtrays, and the empty wine bottles.  You would go home for the weekend, in your one shirt, and come back angry and silent, to roll another joint and fall into bed, with me. She must be pleased that you’ve settled down, that you’re living the kind of life she approves of.

But we used to laugh at those people, didn’t we Steven? Those dull-eyed zombies getting on the same train every day, to their dull jobs, then home again to their dull lives.  It wasn’t what we wanted for us. We wanted to do it differently. 

Don’t get me wrong. I admire you. You did well, straightening yourself out. I sometimes wish I could have done the same. Maybe then there would have been a future for us, together.

We were happy, weren’t we? Looking back at that year, it’s all a blur, a haze of smoke and red wine and sharing a line on my birthday, a fog of fighting and crying and making up again.  We couldn’t have carried on forever like that; we would have ended up as middle-aged dope-heads, or worse. It always had to end, one way or the other. Maybe the two of us together were like the stuff we were experimenting with; always on the edge of being toxic.

I wanted to tell you how much I’ve missed you, even now, after so long. I wanted to tell you how much I loved you. I still think about you, Steven. Is that why you came?

I always thought we would be together, in the end. I never thought you would leave me. I couldn’t believe it when you’d gone. I waited for you to come back, for days. I just sat in the flat, and smoked and waited.

And then, after all this time, you came back. And you said you would come again, that you’d call me, but you haven’t, yet.  Did you have second thoughts? Did it scare you, seeing me again?

I hope you’re okay, that you’re happy, where ever you are.