Billygean.co.uk

Sunday, October 15, 2006

If you're a fan of Mike and I, you'll enjoy the next three blogs

Three years ago I turned up outside Mike's flat in my pyjamas. Despite having stalked him via MSN messenger and name-dropped his favourite songs for two weeks, and even walked back from a pub talking about capacitor equations, I turned up having not done my hair, my make up, and in my sheep slippers that baa-ed when you pressed them.

I told him my parents were separating. He made me milky, sugary tea and even though I was supposedly upset I was still imagining what our babies would look like. As he spoke softly, shyly to me I pulled the fluff of the chairs and left a thin coating on the floor in my wake when I left at 7am for my nine o'clock lecture.

And so the process of 'will they/won't they' began. We canoodled in Walkabout, and snuck off and exchanged secrets, he broke his toe and sctratched his arms and I lovingly bathed them with tears in my eyes whilst he was absolutely wasted. We watched movies on my bed and cemented a week-long anniversary for the years to come.

The following year was hedonistic. Full of long afternoons in our flat drinking tea and telling jokes, and walks to the supermarket in the rain, and nights out where sometimes I would stumble outside and breathe in the night air trying to get rid of the sheer weight of it all. There were entire nights spent spooning on my bed, drinking starbucks, kicking up leaves. One morning I woke up and found 'I love you' written outside my window in the snow. We stole spoons from restaurants and kept them in a box. I keep them there with all the notes he's sent me, his Christmas card he sprayed with his aftershave because we were so far apart.

Three months into our relationship we signed a housing contract together. Nine months after that we officially lived together. But still to come was the long summer filled with factories, and trips to Lancashire and long phone calls, me crying and Mike despairing. He bet me I would have switched degrees by the end of the year. I didn't. We didn't. We both passed, made it to second year.

I remember I would never commit to anything. Not even buying ball tickets until the next day. I was so fucking scared of everything that I would never let on, never let him know I was falling for him. I wish now I could go back and tell that Mike, that worried, gentle Mike, that we would still be here three years later. I think he'd be quite pleased.

by billygean.co.uk at 9:08 AM |