| A
Waste of Time
by Diane Harrison
Time seemed to stand still as I sat, perched on a box, in the now
empty silent room. It was the start of a new era for me but it was
an emotional day for all of us. My mum kept sniffing into a handkerchief
and looking as if the end of the world had arrived instead of just
her daughter going to Uni.
My dad made comments about the boys I’d meet, as if they were
a new species I’d never heard of before, and he hoped I’d
be ‘um’ careful.
I didn’t bother to tease him and ask him what he meant. That
would’ve been too awful, watching him squirm and try to come
up with an answer that didn’t include the words ‘boys’
and ‘sex’ in the same sentence. Dad always talked about
‘being careful’ then looked at mum to fill in the rest.
‘I can manage to put things away myself.’ I said finally,
taking my case from mum. I knew they meant well. They wanted to
help and didn’t want to leave. Then suddenly with a last frantic
burst of hugs and kisses they were gone and I was alone. A part
of me wanted to call them back, and the other part, the ‘look
at me I’m all grown up’ part, wanted to sing and dance
and celebrate my new freedom.
I did neither; I just sat on the box, and looked at the present
they’d left me.
‘My goodness you like your eggs well cooked.’ At the
doorway stood one of those alien creatures my dad was always warning
me to be careful of.
‘It’s not an egg timer.’ I said turning the glass
over in its wooden stand to allow the sand to run through from one
bulb to the other. ‘It’s an hourglass. My parents thought
it would help me revise. Like, do an hour, then rest and start again.’
It sounded slightly silly saying this to a gangly six footer with
a lop-sided grin. He moved from the doorway to sit on one of the
boxes.
‘My parents didn’t even give me a three minute timer.
They know my attention span couldn’t cope with anything that
long.’
‘Well I’m here to work.’
Did I sound as pompous to him as I did to my own ears? I quickly
amended my comment. ‘I mean it’s a great opportunity
to be at this university.’
‘Oh sure.’ he said levering himself up from the box.
‘Make time for other things though. Don’t forget to
enjoy yourself.’
I saw Mathew many times during the term. We waved and said ‘hi’
and went our own ways. His room, across the hall, was the one where
everyone went. He invited me occasionally but I was too focused
to want his lifestyle of drinking and parties, and, perhaps a little
shy.
Nearer the exams I noticed activities slowed in the room across
the hall and the light burned all night.
‘You all right?’ I asked the next time we met.
Mathew had dark shadows under his eyes.
‘Yes. Just wished I’d used even a three minute egg timer
occasionally. Should have revised.’ he said. ‘Not good
on the self discipline thing. Fancy coming out for a drink?’
‘Why don’t you come into my room? Take the smile off
your face. I mean to revise. And we can share some wine later.’
I added to appease him. ‘Go get your books.’
I pointedly put the hourglass in the middle of the floor and we
squatted down on the cushions to work. Neither of us moved nor said
a word as the sand ran through but as I reached out after the first
hour to turn it over again, Mathew’s hand grabbed my wrist.
‘Agreement was the wine after.’ he said.
‘Didn’t say how long you’d have to wait.’
I laughed but then we drank a glass of vino before doing some more
revising.
We spent a lot of time together.
When I moved back into the Halls of Residence the next academic
year I looked out for Mathew. There wasn’t a light under his
door and, surprisingly, I thought how much I’d miss him if
he hadn’t managed to get through the exams.
But he turned up the following week, having missed several lectures,
with the same lop-sided grin on his face.
‘Starting as I mean to go on.’ he said.
In his hand he held an egg timer.
‘Couldn’t aspire to your great heights but it’s
a start.’
He still partied. He even got yours truly to join in. Occasionally
we did study together, although when he got fed up he substituted
his timer for mine.
In our final year we were expected to move out and give up our cloistered
rooms to the freshmen who were starting their first year.
It seemed natural for Mathew and me to rent a flat together. I expected
my parents to object, even though we had single rooms, but I think
they were relived that I wasn’t doing anything worse than
sharing a flat when left to my own devices in the big bad world.
Mathew bought girls home but hey, it didn’t matter because
we only shared. I had the occasional platonic boyfriend and I knew
from Mathew they called me ‘iron knickers’, but I wasn’t
interested in anyone.
In the Christmas term I went home briefly and did the turkey thing
and the pudding thing and pulled the crackers but I was soon glad
to be back at the flat. I think I’d outgrown my family’s
lifestyle and was happier in University.
Mathew was there when I got back and we had our own party and the
next morning I woke up beside him. I felt sick. I did love Mathew.
I realised that just before I lifted my head from the pillow and
saw him there. But I didn’t want our relationship to be based
on a drunken mistake. And I was sorry that the first time was so
forgettable.
I kept out of his way and thankfully he kept out of mine.
I suppose I noticed something was wrong a few months later. There
were no parties, no strange girls wandering around in the mornings.
With anyone else I might have thought it was about exams and studying
but with Mathew that didn’t enter my mind.
‘You okay?’ I asked as I pulled some folders from beneath
him as he lay on the sofa.
‘I need to talk to you.’ he said.
‘Later.’ I said as I rushed out to my tutorial.
I knew the conversation was inevitable. It was obvious he didn’t
want to carry on sharing. The sex thing had made us both uncomfortable.
As they say ‘another place, another time’ and in our
case, ‘another person’.
When I returned Mathew was still on the sofa, as if he’d not
moved all day.
‘Come on lazy bones.’ I said.
I opened a bottle of wine, got two glasses and placed them on a
tray with two forks, while I heated Spaghetti Carbonara in the microwave.
Mathew didn’t move until I cleared the top of the coffee table
with the toe of my shoe so I could place the tray there. He sat
up like a zombie and picked idly at the plate of food before turning
his attention to the wine. When he’d had two glasses and started
on the third he looked at me and spoke.
Here it comes I thought: ‘Wham, bam, thank you ma’m’.
‘I’ve had some bad news.’ he said.
I wasn’t prepared for this. I’d only thought of myself.
It was my turn to pour out the glass of wine.
‘I’ve got a disease.’ he continued.
I stared. What on earth was he talking about? The only diseases
I could think of were nasty ones. Like ones you had to tell ex-girlfriends
about.
‘You...’
I couldn’t find the words to describe my feelings. I picked
up my plate of Spaghetti Carbonara and threw it at him. Those girls
he’d slept with in the past...the results were coming home
to roost...and I would be paying the price as well.
Then I felt frightened.
‘Is it HIV?’
Mathew hadn’t bothered to wipe the food away from his T-shirt
and sat there with sauce dripping off him.
‘No. I had Leukaemia as a child. It’s come back.’
I’d thought Mathew had avoided me because he regretted the
change in our relationship, not because of something like this.
I kissed the sauce from his face.
Mathew didn’t return to Uni, his treatments took up to much
time and energy, but he wouldn’t let me miss any lectures
and always turned the hourglass over for me when I studied at home.
I passed my exams and Mathew responded to treatment and we talked
about me getting a job and he said he’d go back and complete
his final year. Then it got complicated when I forgot what dad had
said, over three years ago, about sex and boys, and I had to tell
Mathew about the baby.
‘What type of personality will he have?’ said Mathew
as he stood his egg timer by my hourglass.
“‘He’ could be a “she”.” I reminded
him.
‘No.’ he said placing his hand on my bump. ‘I
can feel him kicking me.’
Mathew caught a minor infection and soon after Mathew junior was
born I was alone.
I think my son has an ‘egg timer’ personality. I don’t
know any other baby who’s so fast or so bright. I think I’ll
have to persuade him to occasionally slow down and savour the good
things in life.
Sometimes when I look at the sand running through the hourglass
I wonder if there’s a way to tip it right over so time could
go backwards?
Then I could meet Mathew all over again.
And I’d not waste one minute of our precious time together.
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