Learning to Walk - 1. Ghosts

I instinctively flinched as Clara slammed her glass down onto the kitchen counter causing whatever foul concoction she was drinking to slosh over the surface. Tendrils of garish, pink liquid inched languidly towards the edge and began to drip onto the floor. She didn’t seem to notice. “Are you even listening to me Owen?”

No. “Yeah! Of course.” I yelled over the loud music and hastily took a sip of my beer. I was still on my first one. I’m not a big drinker. At least, not anymore. Admittedly, there are a lot of things that I’m not anymore. She looked at me suspiciously, narrowing her eyes and drumming her fingernails on the kitchen counter. Her nails, or more accurately her talons, made a sharp clicking noise as if punctuating her impatience. I wondered whether I’d be able to fake a convincing seizure in order to get away from her. Probably not.

I was saved from her hawk-like eyes when a rather gangly-looking guy accidently bumped into the back of her. His shaggy, blonde hair was mostly hidden under a brown beanie and his somewhat angular face was softened by a sweet smile. It didn’t take long for that smile to vanish, however, under the indignantly arched eyebrow and scathing glare that Clara sent his way. He muttered an abashed apology and then practically sprinted out of the kitchen. I was jealous of his escape.

By the time Clara had turned back around she had already forgotten him and had reverted to being sickeningly sweet. ‘Where was I?’ She tapped her full lips ponderously with her manicured nail. ‘Oh!’ She exclaimed excitedly and then continued to tell me her irritating and mind-numbingly boring story. I continued to picture her being stung by a swarm of angry wasps. I was going to murder Nate for forcing me to come to this party.

The kitchen, like most student kitchens, was grimy and cramped. With well over ten drunken revellers packed into the tight space, I was beginning to feel a bit claustrophobic. Somehow I had managed to become trapped in between the kitchen counter and Clara’s irritating personality. I’d only asked her if I could borrow the bottle opener. What I had got instead was a series of ill-disguised come-ons and a blow-by-blow account of an argument she had recently had with her best friend.

‘…and then she, like... totally blanked me!’ She exclaimed resentfully. Objectively, I could appreciate that Clara was an attractive girl. At least she would have been if she was mute. I inwardly cringed at the amount of attitude she managed to inject into every syllable and had to stop myself from counting the number of times she could cram the word ‘like’ into one sentence.

‘… which is, like, completely ridiculous because I heard she had sex with Craig in the library. I mean, like, how skanky is that?!’ I mumbled something noncommittal and wondered how she had gotten to be such a disturbing shade of orange. Whenever she coyly pressed against my side or grabbed my upper arm I couldn’t stop myself from checking for fluorescent fingerprints.

‘So, Owen. Do you have a girlfriend?’

I really hated that question. It was the type of question that was never innocuous. I almost wished that she had never stopped her tedious monologue. Almost. ‘Um, no.’ I answered hesitantly.

‘Would you like one?’ Clara practically purred as she pressed against my side.

I choked on my beer and spluttered an incomprehensible reply. Thankfully, I was saved from having to clarify any further when a girl yelled Clara’s name from across the kitchen. She was unremarkable looking and quite obviously drunk. With about as much grace as an elephant on ice skates, the girl drunkenly zigzagged her way over to us and then threw her arms around Clara’s neck. It was difficult to tell whether she had intended to hug her or had just grabbed onto her for support.

Seeing an opportunity, I deftly manoeuvred around the two of them and then snuck out the back door. I wondered briefly if the girl that Clara was currently supporting was the same girl she had been bitching about for the past ten minutes and then promptly decided that I couldn’t care less.

The garden outside barely deserved the name. It was a cramped expanse of dirt, surrounded by a tall brick wall and overshadowed by an enormous tree. There wasn’t much there except for a rusty, old swing and a bench that looked poised to collapse. On the plus side, the garden was wholly deserted. I liked it just fine. After the stifling heat of the kitchen, I welcomed the peculiar prickling sensation that the cold sent racing up my spine and down the back of my neck. January in Edinburgh was always bitterly cold and tonight was no exception.

‘Nice escape Owe. Clara’s like a cat in heat tonight.’ Someone said behind me making me jump. I turned around and smiled involuntarily. Nate was slightly shorter than me, but people often mistook us for brothers. We were both cursed with an unruly mop of brown hair and possessed similar builds, though the latter was probably because we were both members of the Edinburgh university swim team.

I had met Nate the first night of Fresher’s week over three years ago. Absolutely terrified, but pretending to be entirely comfortable, I had been making small talk with some other students in the surgically white hallways of our first year dorm when Nate had strolled up to me, bold as brass, and said, ‘Hey curls, ever wondered what it’s like to have three legs?’

Before I had even been able to utter a confused ‘huh’ he had tied my right and his left leg together with a piece of rope and dragged me, literally, off onto a so-called three-legged pub crawl. Five hours, several beers and countless bruises later I felt like I had known Nate forever. Somehow we had managed to bypass the awkward and inane small talk and skipped straight to laughing hysterically at inside jokes.

That night, I discovered that Nate never approached anything tentatively. He asked tough and personal questions and, inexplicably, I found myself opening up to him in ways that were totally out-of-character for me. I had only ever come out to one person before I’d met Nate and that had been a disaster of truly epic proportions. I was surprised, therefore, when I found myself tearfully confiding in Nate about my sexuality. In spite of the amount of alcohol that had been coursing through my bloodstream, I explicitly remembered the surge of terror I had felt when the words left my lips, and then the euphoric relief when he had merely shrugged and asked me what type of guy I was into. From that night onwards we became inseparable, though he never did try to tie us together again.

‘Yo! Anyone there?’ Nate asked, concern flashing briefly across his handsome face.

‘Sorry.’ I said sheepishly. I took a seat on the rusty swing and cringed when it creaked alarmingly under my weight.

Nate walked behind me and started to massage my shoulders. It had taken a while to get used to how uninhibited he was. Hell, I still hadn’t gotten used to him parading around our flat naked and I’d lived with him for two years. Nate was the kind of person that would tell a story whilst gesturing wildly and draping his arm across your shoulder. The kind of person that liked to greet with hugs and would unashamedly grope you if he thought it would embarrass you enough. He was animated in nearly everything he did; approaching life with the curiosity of a toddler and the excitement of a puppy.

His big hands paused and rested comfortably on my shoulders. ‘You know, instead of running away, you could’ve told her you’re gay.’ He said gently.

Like always, I looked around conspiratorially at the mention of my sexuality. Nate was too considerate to have brought it up when people were near, but this conversation never failed to unnerve me. I let out a sigh, causing my breath to mist in the chill night air. ‘Could we not talk about this Nate?’ I pleaded.

‘Owe, you can’t hide forever.’ He said exasperatedly, moving to sit cross-legged in front of me. For someone who took self-confidence to the extreme, hiding something such as your sexuality was almost incomprehensible. I knew that my decision was something that Nate just didn’t understand.

‘I’m not hiding.’ I said shortly, ‘I’m just not broadcasting either.’ This was a conversation we had regularly. Actually, it would be more accurate to say that this was a conversation which I avoided regularly. Unfortunately for me, besides being totally uninhibited, overly intimate and borderline cocky, Nate was tenacious. With this topic in particular, he was like a dog with a bone.

‘I’m being discreet.’ I continued resignedly, ‘There’s a difference.’ I said that often. There’s a difference. I figured that if I kept saying that over and over I would eventually start to believe it myself. I just couldn’t bring myself to be wholly open with everyone I met. Experience had seared into my mind the ugliness that even those closest to you were capable of. I guess you could say that I trusted cautiously and rarely.

‘Hiding.’ He gestured with his left hand, palm upwards. ‘Being discreet.’ He said the word scornfully as he mimicked the earlier gesture with his right hand. ‘Both amount to you being celibate.’ He closed his hands together and gave me a look that suggested he had just offered me a profound truth. He reminded me of one of those cheesy kung fu movies in which the wise master always imparted a crucial bit of knowledge to the intrepid apprentice. Except, this time, instead of the future of China hanging in the balance, it was my sex life that needed saving. Unbidden, the image of Nate with a snowy, white beard and absurdly large eyebrows fluttered into my mind.

‘What are you smirking at? I was trying to be serious.’ Nate sounded aggrieved. He smacked my leg when I was unable to wipe the smirk off of my face.

‘Sorry, sorry!’ I placated him, raising my palms. ‘I was listening. Celibacy, and all that.’

He looked at me disapprovingly. But before he could utter the reprimand that, I had no doubt, was on the tip of his tongue, a brief surge of noise announced the arrival of another person. He was short, with blond hair and a face full of freckles. He nodded in our direction and then lit up a cigarette. I didn’t recognise the guy, but then again, I didn’t recognise most of the people at this party. Nate had all but begged me to come; insisting that I didn’t get out enough and that I studied too hard for someone on reading week. According to Nate, reading week should be considered a week-long party. A time to take advantage of the absence of lectures and tutorials and to focus on getting drunk and getting laid.

‘You know, Ben’s here tonight.’ Nate said innocently. He was anything but. At least now I knew why he had been so persistent that I come with him. Recently, Nate had morphed into a fussy and overbearing mother. If you ignored the bulging biceps and, ahem, other bulges, he did a fantastic impersonation of a Victorian mother, desperate to find her daughter a suitor.

It had started a few weeks ago when I had gone to meet Nate for lunch at our favourite coffee shop; a quirky place with astounding views of the castle and filled to the brim with statues of elephants. He’d been strangely adamant that I not be late, as I usually was, and when I’d met him outside he had been hopping around nervously like a demented kangaroo. Suspicions raised, I soon found out that Nate had ‘accidently’ double-booked and needed to rush off somewhere else. Luckily for me, he maintained, he had arranged for me to have lunch with someone else; a devilishly attractive med-student who seemed to be under the impression that we were both on a first date.

From then on, whenever I spent time with Nate or agreed to meet him somewhere he would just happen to bump into another ‘friend’ who I would simply have to be introduced to. All of these ‘friends’ were suspiciously good-looking, very friendly, and undeniably gay. It was like being trapped in a Jane Austen novel. That is, if Jane Austen had secretly been a gay man, or had just taken some dodgy shrooms. The amount of available gay men that Nate seemed to know was astounding. If I wasn’t utterly convinced otherwise I would have started to think he was gay.

‘Which one was Ben?’ I asked wearily.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Nate said in an unnaturally high voice. Subtle, he was not. I looked at him flatly and he muttered reluctantly, ‘Coffee shop.’

‘Convenient.’ I said in a scathing tone, rolling my eyes and crossing my arms.

‘Oh, come on Owe! Stop being so stubborn.’ Nate implored me, putting his hands on my arms and rubbing his thumbs over my biceps. Stubborn? I resented that. I am not stubborn. ‘It’s obvious that he likes you!’ At least he remembered to drop his voice into a hushed whisper.

‘How is it obvious? He doesn’t even know anything about me.’ I asked doubtfully.

‘What’s not to like?’ Nate asked in a tone that suggested he thought I was being intentionally stupid. ‘You’re hot stuff. Funny, smart as hell, when you’re not being a complete idiot, and you’re great in the sack.’ He said matter-of-factly, counting off of his fingers as if he was listing ingredients he needed to buy at a supermarket.

‘Wow, why don’t you date me?’ I sarcastically retorted.

‘Mate, if I was wired that way I’d do you in a second.’ He responded sincerely. Sometimes it was disconcerting having a best friend who was so direct. At least I knew that I could always rely on him to be honest. I blushed nonetheless.

‘How would you know whether I’m good in bed or not?’ I asked suspiciously, remembering his earlier comment.

‘How could you not be? You work part-time as a masseuse.’ He said simply before adding, to my considerable embarrassment, ‘Besides, our walls aren’t exactly sound-proof.’

‘Wha-?’ I asked dumbfounded, frantically trying to remember all of the times that I had had sex while Nate was in the next room.

‘Back when you actually had a life, I used to have to wear earplugs whenever Jack stayed over.’ He chuckled. ‘I dunno what you were doing to the guy but by the sounds of it…’

‘Okay! Okay, I get it!’ I interrupted hastily in total mortification. I could feel my cheeks radiating heat and was sure that I had turned redder than a post-box. Nate laughing at me confirmed the fact. Bastard. Sometimes it seemed like his mission in life was to make me as humiliated as humanly possible.

‘So are you going to go talk to him?’ He asked.

‘No.’ I said shortly. Nate gave me a frustrated look.

‘Owe, I’m telling you he wants you. I’m good at reading these things. Trust me.’ He said emphatically.

‘Yeah right!’ I laughed. ‘You thought Sarah Walker was coming onto you when she asked if she could borrow a pen in our psychology class.’

‘You know that wasn’t innocent!’ Nate exclaimed. ‘75 per cent of sexual encounters at university start with stationery. It’s when she asks if you’ve got a rubber that you know she really means business.’ He winked at me roguishly.

‘Promise me you will never reproduce.’ I said ruefully, shaking my head.

‘What d’you think the rubber is for?’ Nate asked in puzzlement. Freckles sniggered briefly and then looked embarrassed at having been caught eavesdropping. I mentally reprimanded myself for forgetting he was there and wondered whether he had listened to our entire conversation. ‘Anyway, it wouldn’t kill you to be nice to Ben. He’s cool.’ Nate urged again, refusing to be side-tracked.

I let out another sigh. I guess I should appreciate my best friend’s interest in my sex life. In a twisted and completely annoying way, I thought what he was doing was kind of sweet. Even if it had been possible for me to stay mad at Nate for longer than a few minutes, I couldn’t get angry at him for being himself. I’d discovered years ago that Nate didn’t understand when he overstepped. In fact, I’m not entirely convinced he knew what overstepping was. Contriving ‘chance encounters’ with single men was simply his way of showing me that he cared about my happiness. I wasn’t foolish enough to wish that I had a friend who cared less. I just wished that I didn’t have to look carefully around corners for fear of finding Nate waiting in ambush with an armload of gay men to throw into my path.

‘Could we talk about something else?’ I begged.

Nate looked at me stubbornly for a few seconds but mercifully decided to change the subject. He was probably internally regrouping for an all-out assault later on. With our earlier conversation postponed, time slipped away from us as we joked back and forth about anything and everything and, for the first time since we had arrived at the party, I started to relax.

‘I guess I could distract Clara for you.’ Nate said later on. Freckles had gone inside long ago and the music volume had increased from a low buzz to a steady pulse.

‘And how would you do that?’ I asked dubiously, remembering her clinging to my arm like an alcoholic clings to a bottle.

‘I’ll dazzle her with my wit.’ He said whilst waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

‘Please don’t get naked again. No one wants to see your pale ass.’ I laughed, remembering the last house party I had gone to with him.

‘That was a bet!’ He protested. ‘Besides, I didn’t catch you complaining at the time.’ He winked slyly and gave me a knowing smirk.

‘That was because I was trying to control my up-chuck reflex.’ I replied, giving him a shove and causing him to lose his balance. Clearly Nate had drunk more than I realised. I didn’t shove him that hard.

‘Heeeeey!’ He complained and attempted to glare but quickly dissolved into breathy giggles. ‘Do you… Do you remember Claire’s face?’

Claire Dawson was Nate’s current ‘love-interest.’ He refused to call any girl who was lucky enough to receive his attention a ‘girlfriend’ for fear of them getting the wrong idea. It wasn’t that he slept around; he just had serious commitment issues. In fact, it was rare for him to be with a girl for longer than a couple of weeks. Luckily for him, there was never a shortage of beautiful replacements. His vivacious personality and classically handsome features guaranteed that.

‘I guess you should get points for originality. That was some introduction!’ I laughed, remembering Clare’s shocked face when Nate had sat himself down on her lap, wearing nothing but a smile. I wasn’t kidding about him being pale either; we both had incredibly fair skin.

‘How are things going with Claire anyway?’ I enquired. He gave an indifferent shrug and I laughed at his lack of enthusiasm. ‘She’s a nice girl.’ I pressed, and then cringed when I realised that I had managed to sound exactly like my mother.

‘Yeah, she is, I guess. Donatello likes her.’ He confided, referring to his ill-tempered, old tortoise. An indestructible and wizened relic from Nate’s early childhood; Donatello was likely to meet any attempt to pet or play with him with a baleful glare, unless, of course, you were offering him lettuce leaves.

‘The Grinch likes somebody? Who says miracles never happen?’ I asked sarcastically whilst wondering whether that grouchy reptile could ever like anyone, let alone express an opinion on Nate’s sex-life.

‘He’s not that bad.’ Nate said and then laughed at the scepticism that was evidently written all over my face.

‘That tortoise has it out for me.’ I stated. ‘You do remember the time he ruined my Orientalism essay?’

‘How could I not? You mention it enough.’ Nate joked, rolling his eyes.

‘The little bastard peed all over it! I had to run to the library and print it out all over again. I only just handed it in on time.’ I said indignantly.

‘Well, maybe that will teach you not to pick on him all the time.’ Nate said reasonably, trying his utmost to hold back a smile.

‘I do not.’ I scoffed.

‘You do too! Calling him the Grinch has got to hurt his feelings.’

‘Hurt his feelings?’ I repeated in disbelief. ‘What about the time you tried to paint a purple bandana on him? I don’t recall him sabotaging any of your essays for that.’ I demanded accusingly.

‘He liked that! Besides, he’s called Donatello. He needs a purple bandana.’ Nate said earnestly.

‘Whatever, the Grinch is more suitable. He’s a mean, old bastard. Just like his owner.’ I quipped.

‘Oi!’ He exclaimed in mock outrage, giving me a sharp poke in the ribs and causing me to laugh. Nate proceeded to tickle me relentlessly, refusing to let up, even when I fell backwards off the swing and begged for him to stop. As we writhed in the dirt, out of breath and cackling with laughter, I wished for the thousandth time that I could find someone like him. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t that I was in love with Nate. Well, actually, I was, but not inthat way; I’d gotten over my crush on him years ago. But we were so comfortable together. I’d be lucky to find a man half as good as Nathaniel Hughes.

‘Who’s a mean, old bastard now?’ Nate asked smugly, his eyes twinkling in the moonlight. Still trying to catch my breath, I responded by giving him a back-handed smack to the chest. We were lying on our backs; legs tangled, dirty, and panting from the exertion. I watched absent-mindedly as my breath created wispy clouds that obscured the stars.

‘You do know that you’re going to wash my shirt tomorrow, right?’ I said after a few minutes of silence.

Nate looked in my direction and smiled. ‘It was worth it. You don’t laugh as much as you used to.’ I didn’t really know how to respond to that so I went back to watching the stars. Was that true? Had I really changed? When I turned back Nate was studying me intensely, an unreadable expression crinkling his brow. He opened his mouth as if to speak and then closed it just as abruptly. I was pretty sure of what he wanted to talk about but we had long since reached an unspoken agreement to not mention my past. It was probably the only boundary that he had decided to honour. Sadness evident in his pale eyes, he grabbed me into a one-armed hug. I let my head rest comfortably on his shoulder and focused on thinking of nothing.

A few minutes later, feeling the urge to pee, I told Nate that I’d see him later and headed towards the house. As I opened the door I was greeted by the loud thumping of the bass and the confused sound of several drunken conversations fighting to be heard over the music. The kitchen table had been cleared for some sort of drinking game and a girl was shrieking with laughter as two guys awkwardly kissed one another.

One glance at the uncomfortable kiss confirmed that both were completely straight. I didn’t stare for too long though, because I had also noticed Clara sitting on the other side of the table, frantically waving at me to join their game. Shit. Grateful that she was wedged in the corner, I shook my head and mouthed ‘bathroom’ before quickly moving on in case she decided to leap over the table and pin me, WWF style.

In the living room every shelf and surface was hidden by half-empty spirit bottles and beer cans. The furniture had been carelessly shoved against the walls and a crowd of people writhed in time to the music on the make-shift dance floor. There were a lot more people at the party now. I realised that I must have been talking to Nate for longer than I thought. As I made my way through the crowd I was grabbed and asked to dance by a short blonde girl with a sultry pout. I politely declined, thinking that her pout made her look constipated, and made a quick escape. Eventually I managed to weave my way through the dance floor, muttering apologies and occasionally saying hello to people I remembered being introduced to.

As I neared the bathroom door I realised that I recognised the guy engaged in an animated conversation just next to it. When I had been introduced to Ben the other week, my first thought was that he could quite easily break me in half. Well, actually, before that, I had thought of several gruesome ways in which I would like to torture my best friend for tricking me into a date with a titan. Either way, Ben was incredibly tall, with broad shoulders and large hands. I’d later find out that in spite of his intimidating stature, Ben was rather unassuming. He was soft-spoken and moved with a delicacy that I wouldn’t have believed possible of someone with his vast build. I briefly considered turning around but his gentle eyes had filled with recognition upon my approach.

Nate was right; it wouldn’t kill me to be nice. Besides, he was kind of hot and I really did need to use the bathroom. ‘Hey Ben.’ I waved lamely at him as I closed the short distance between us.

‘Hi Owen, I was hoping that you’d be here tonight.’ He flashed me a smile which lit up his pale grey eyes. I had to admit; Nate certainly did have good taste in men. ‘You having a good time?’ Ben asked.

‘Yeah, I am.’ I replied and realised that I wasn’t lying. I was having fun.

‘You sound surprised.’ He chuckled.

‘Well, I am a little bit.’ I conceded. ‘I wasn’t really up for going out tonight. I’m glad that I did though.’

‘I’m glad you did too.’ He stated, touching me gently on the shoulder. The attractive, red-haired girl who was standing next to him rolled her eyes and made a gagging sound. I watched on in amusement as Ben’s cheeks turned pink and he tried to subtly elbow his friend in the side.

‘Samantha,’ He said the name in a too-sweet tone heavily laced with warning, ‘This is Owen. Owen, this loser here is my best friend, Samantha.’

‘Sam. Not Samantha.’ She corrected, shaking my hand in a surprisingly firm grip. ‘Sooo, this is the famous Owen.’ Samantha drew out the sentence dramatically, ignoring the glares that Ben kept shooting her way. ‘I’ve heard so much about you.’

‘Oh?’ I raised my eyebrow questioningly, ‘Such as?’

Sam opened her mouth but was hurriedly interrupted by Ben, ‘Me and Sam were going to set up a game of beer pong. D’you fancy partnering with me?’ He spoke in such a rush that I barely made out what he’d said. I watched his cheeks flash red again while he shuffled his feet in embarrassment. He looked adorable.

‘Sure. I just hope you can keep up with me.’ I winked at him. I wasn’t flirting. Well, okay. I was only half-flirting. I was actually pretty good. With only a few hours of lectures a week, a newly discovered sense of freedom, and a dorm full of hundreds of students, my first year had been a crazy blur of house parties and clubs. One specific consequence of this was that I kicked ass at most drinking games.

‘Fighting talk!’ Sam said approvingly, punching my arm playfully. Damn. She was deceptively strong.

‘I just need to take a piss first.’ I said, stepping past them and knocking on the door.

Not hearing a response, I opened the door and was unexpectedly struck by a sickening sense of similarity. The tap had been left running and the whole place reeked of vomit. My eyes were fixated on the man strewn across the floor, partially hidden by the toilet. I was aware of a tiny bubble of panic materialising in my chest and I attempted to control its growth with a series of measured, deep breaths.

He’s just had too much to drink. He doesn’t even look like Michael. Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm. I desperately reprimanded myself as I ignored my own advice and felt my fear swell uncontrollably. The bubble of panic had expanded monstrously until there was little room for anything else. I stood rooted in the doorway, paralysed with fear, as reality began to bleed into memory.

The steady pulse of the dance music morphed into the regular thrum-thrum-thrum of the underground trains. A girl shouting became the shrill screeching of the metal wheels on the tracks as the train stopped suddenly and I ran out, heart pounding. The white tile-work blackened with age before my eyes and became coated in years of grime as I sprinted into the public bathroom. The drunk passed out at a party became the contorted figure of someone who I would never be able to save. Someone who would never hear my apology, no matter how loud or long I screamed. The vomit on the floor darkened and turned a horrifying shade of red. Blood everywhere. So much blood.

Every time I blinked I flickered fitfully back and forth between reality and memory and all the while my eyes filled with desperate tears. My vision swirled and blurred leaving me dizzy and confused. I could hear my heart thumping in my ears and feel it beating frantically against my ribcage. My breathing quickened and became shallow. It seemed that no matter how fast I panted I couldn’t get enough air. I was suffocating.

I could hear someone saying my name. It sounded muffled and distant. Almost as if I was hearing it whilst underwater. I recognised the voice. Michael?Impossible. Idiotic. Stupid. Michael was dead.

Someone forcefully turned me around. They were shaking me. A face swam into focus. Concerned grey eyes. It was Ben. Unable to hold back the tears that were burning the corners of my eyes, I forced my way past him and ran as fast as I could out of the front door.