Fragment #7 - Dinner

“Why didn't you tell me the truth?” I shout at my sister in a savage way. My face is hot and red with rage and I want to get answers from my sobbing sibling... But that's not what's happening. I had the opportunity to confront her but for some reason I decided not to. Now I'm off to a friends house for dinner.
Normally I would rather not go there, but this is too good an opportunity to miss. This way I can plan my attack and pre-empt all the defences.
David and Caroline are people I met while they were studying at university and never seem to have been able to drop. They have covered every political and dietary facet that is popular at the time, in the time I’ve known them they have been communist vegans, anarchist Atkins followers and democratic fruitarians. Desperation bleeds over almost every aspect of their existence, they cover it up with a mix of being condescending towards those without a university degree or particular partisan ideal. They eat wheat-free bread and drink soy milk because of the many imagined allergies and intolerance’s that serve as a substitute of prospects for decent employment after four years of study because they did philosophy and history of art instead of something useful. These are the reasons I love seeing them, they torture themselves with this unresolved guilt at being like this, detesting almost every second they live, trying over hard keeping up appearances. And I just soup it up.
The flat they live in is situated in one of those dilapidated ‘student’ areas of the city where you have to pay extra for the privilege of cockroaches. Leaking roofs damp walls, broken down central heating and cramped conditions normally unknown outside 18th century slave ships. A breeding ground for mutant rats.
Rats, I catch sight of one on my way to Caroline and David’s. And so do a number of mildly inebriated students. They caught sight of it and started cooing: “Aww! Look at it’s little face! How cute!” Yes, how cute. A disease ridden ball of greasy stagnant dirty fur, probably carrying a number of infections like the Bubonic plague, typhoid, AIDS, Rabies and seeing that there is a Hospital near by perhaps MRSA and some super-bug version of Tuberculosis. No, a rat in the street is not just a friendly childhood pet; it’s a vengeance against our decadent civilisation.
I get to the flat in good time for a change, I'm toying with the idea of walking round the block a few times, perhaps even going into the pub, just so I could be late. That kind of thing really annoys people when you have a reputation of punctuality, but no. I ring the buzzer to no avail, so I ring the doorbell. A pathetic tinkling was my only reward, the thing almost inspired pity, you felt that it should be laid to rest, to go to the great doorway in the sky after it’s obvious misery had been dealt with. They finally answer after a few jabs off my finger and persistent knocking; I do this again because it has the desired effect of really pissing people off.
Their hall way is painted white with Ivy stencilled all over in shiny green gloss paint, it happened one day when he had gone off to work, she had a day off and decided to start decorating without any pre-preparation. A strange feeling comes over you Dear reader, when you walk into the secret garden. I went to a party once here and double dropped some Acid, my God, it was a terrifying experience, The Day of the Triffids mixed with beer cans and people dressed like super heroes, boiling lava pouring out of the light bulb, all caused by the décor. No, not a good place for hallucinogens.
It is David that answers the door; he looks slightly harassed and disturbed. This wasn’t anything new; he always looks that way in some manner or other. He has time to quickly usher me in before going on some rescue mission in the kitchen, a smell of burning lentils prevails throughout. Oh dear, hippie food.
I guide myself through to the living room where Caroline's sitting. The place is a strange one; it’s illuminated with a meter long fluorescent tube that gives the place a slightly radioactive glow. I hand over the bottles of red and white wine bought in a hurry from the local off-license.
“I hear that Lynne’s over at your flat now.” I have to admit that the intelligence network between all the friends held mutually with my sister is second to none, they know and see all, an omniscient being that lives through various telephone lines, internet messaging sites and glasses of beer.
“How’d you find that one out?”
“Janet… hold on I’ll just get a corkscrew.” Ah, Janet. A woman who could give the CIA a run for their money when it comes to communications.
“So – what delights are we looking forward to tonight?” I have this sinking feeling of dread about the long menu that I’m normally subjected to, polysyllabic words that encourage migraines and tongue twisting. Words invented with the precise intention to humiliate those who haven’t practised pronouncing them for three hours in front of the bathroom mirror. She answered; it was exactly as I forecast.
I sit drinking wine enjoying some useless idle chit-chat about the rest of the people whom we know, distracting myself from the inevitable confrontation when I get home. David comes in looking calmer now that the rebellion of the cookery was now suppressed, that smell of burnt lentils is still lingering around.
“We hear Lynne’s…”
“I’ve already told him.” I love it when people do this, it’s one of those little bickers that will end in divorce or murder in about twenty years time, I can see them now, her laid low on the floor and him standing over her holding a bloody knife saying something like ‘She kept interrupting me!’
“What happened? Nobody’s told us why she was chucked out.” A fiver says that they do know, they just want to appear like they are above such things, they also probably want to hear it from the source. I take a deep breath and start to regret the fact that I am still alive.