An Imperfect Evening

He read the note, folded it, and edged it into the gutter. So that was that. An imperfect evening to end an imperfect relationship. Not that what Craig and Julia had could ever really be called a relationship.

As he walked, alone, back to the taxi rank Craig’s mind reflected on when he had met Julia. A mutual friends wedding, one marvellous night together, a promise the next morning to speak again soon.

That was where it started to go wrong reflected Craig as he stood in line for a taxi behind a young couple linked arm in arm. For the next month every arranged date had been cancelled by Julia for a series of ever more outlandish reasons. Lost car keys, old friend arriving unexpectedly, relatives dying. No excuse was left unused.

A taxi arrived and the couple in front of Craig climbed in. Looking down the street there was no sign of other vehicles. He could be here a while.

After a month Craig has decided enough was enough and he was going to stop contacting Julia. Then two days ago, out of the blue, she sent him an email apologising for the problems of the last month and arranging to meet. Excitement filled him when he read the message but the closer he go to this evening the more concerned he became that Julie would again cancel.

Before leaving tonight he’d checked his mobile phone, landline, and email for further messages but there had been none so Craig had printed off Julia’s original email and come to meet her. That same print-off was now washing into the sewers where it belonged.

He’d sat in the bar she had promised faithfully to be in. He’d endured the paranoia and self-consciousness of drinking alone. Tried to ignore the thought at the back of his mind that every pair of eyes in the room was staring at him and had marked out as the worst kind of loser. The lonely guy drinking alone, starved of company. After two hours Craig could take no more. He’d left the bar, thrown the email into the gutter, and headed for a taxi.

Looking at his watch, Craig realised he’d been waiting for a taxi for fifteen minutes. If he’d walked it he’d have been home by now. This thought was broken by his mobile phone beeping.

It was a text message from Julia
SORRY ABOUT TONITE STUCK AT WORK- MEET SATURDAY?

Saturday was only two days away. He wasn’t busy. Nothing he couldn’t cancel anyway.

Craig held the phone in one hand, the other poised over the keypad. Eventually he typed ‘NO’ and pressed ‘send’. Immediately his shoulders felt lighter, the fog that had enveloped his mind cleared, and with a new freshness in his step Craig began to stroll home.