Conversations with Friends(73)

Instead of thinking gigantic thoughts, I tried to focus on something small, the smallest thing I could think of. Someone once made this pew I’m sitting on, I thought. Someone sanded the wood and varnished it. Someone carried it into the church. Someone laid the tiles on the floor, someone fitted the windows. Each brick was placed by human hands, each hinge fitted on each door, every road surface outside, every bulb in every streetlight. And even things built by machines were really built by human beings, who built the machines initially. And human beings themselves, made by other humans, struggling to create happy children and families. Me, all the clothing I wear, all the language I know. Who put me here in this church, thinking these thoughts? Other people, some I know very well and others I have never met. Am I myself, or am I them? Is this me, Frances? No, it is not me. It is the others. Do I sometimes hurt and harm myself, do I abuse the unearned cultural privilege of whiteness, do I take the labour of others for granted, have I sometimes exploited a reductive iteration of gender theory to avoid serious moral engagement, do I have a troubled relationship with my body, yes. Do I want to be free of pain and therefore demand that others also live free of pain, the pain which is mine and therefore also theirs, yes, yes.

When I opened my eyes I felt that I had understood something, and the cells of my body seemed to light up like millions of glowing points of contact, and I was aware of something profound. Then I stood up from my seat and collapsed.

*



Fainting had become normal for me. I assured the woman who helped me up that it had happened before and she seemed a little annoyed then, like: sort it out. My mouth tasted bad, but I was strong enough to walk unsupported. My experience of spiritual awakening had deserted me. I stopped in the Centra on the way home, bought myself two packets of instant noodles and a boxed chocolate cake, and completed the walk slowly and carefully, one foot in front of the other.

At home I opened the lid of the cake box, took out a spoon, and dialled Melissa’s mobile number. It rang, the ringing like a satisfied purr. Then her breath.

Hello? said Melissa.

Can we talk for a second? Or is it a bad time?

She laughed, or at least I think that’s the noise she was making.

You mean generally or right now? she said. Generally it’s a bad time, but right now is fine.

Why did you send Bobbi my story?

I don’t know, Frances. Why did you fuck my husband?

Is that supposed to shock me? I said. You’re the shocking person who uses bad language, okay. Now that we’ve established that, why did you send Bobbi my story?

She went quiet. I ran the tip of the spoon over the cake icing and licked it. It tasted sugary and flavourless.

You really do have these sudden bursts of aggression, don’t you? she said. Like with Valerie. Are you threatened by other women?

I have a question for you, if you don’t want to answer it then hang up.

What entitles you to an explanation of my behaviour?

You hated me, I said. Didn’t you?

She sighed. I don’t even know what that means, she said. I dug the spoon down into the cake, into the sponge part, and ate a mouthful.

You treated me with total contempt, said Melissa. And I don’t mean because of Nick. The first time you came to our house you just looked around like: here’s something bourgeois and embarrassing that I’m going to destroy. And I mean, you took such enjoyment in destroying it. Suddenly I’m looking around my own fucking house, thinking: is this sofa ugly? Is it kitsch to drink wine? And things I felt good about before started to make me feel pathetic. Having a husband instead of just fucking someone else’s husband. Having a book deal instead of writing nasty short stories about people I know and selling them to prestigious magazines. I mean, you came into my house with your fucking nose piercing like: oh, I’ll really enjoy eviscerating this whole set-up. She’s so establishment.

I wedged the spoon into the cake so that it stood upright on its own. I then used my hand to massage my face.

I don’t have a nose piercing, I said. That’s Bobbi.

Okay. My deepest apologies.

I didn’t realise you found me so subversive. In real life I didn’t feel any contempt for your house. I wanted it to be my house. I wanted your whole life. Maybe I did shitty things to try and get it, but I’m poor and you’re rich. I wasn’t trying to trash your life, I was trying to steal it.

She made a kind of snorting noise, but I didn’t believe she was really dismissing what I’d said. It was more a performance than a reaction.

You had an affair with my husband because you liked me so much, said Melissa.

No, I’m not saying I liked you.

Okay. I didn’t like you either. But you weren’t a very nice person.

We both paused then, like we had just raced each other up a set of stairs and we were out of breath and thinking about how foolish it was.

I regret that, I said. I regret not being nicer. I should have tried harder to be your friend. I’m sorry.

What?

I’m sorry, Melissa. I’m sorry for this aggressive phone call, it was stupid. I don’t really know what I’m doing at the moment. I’m having a hard time maybe. I’m sorry I called you. And look, I’m sorry for everything.

Jesus, she said. What’s wrong, are you okay?

I’m fine. I just feel like I haven’t been the person that I should have been. I don’t know what I’m saying now. I wish I had gotten to know you better and treated you with more kindness, I want to apologise for that. I’ll hang up.