It was outside of a bar in Clapham. I was twenty three, he nineteen, and we’d had some stupid fight about his ex being back in town. I suppose I’d always had a jealous streak. The fight blew out of proportion and I went back home to study for some nonsense final. I rarely studied in school but for some reason I thought that night was a good night to start. Peter went to The Two Brewers to blow off some steam. Get back at me, perhaps. I don’t suppose I’ll ever know. His sister Amalia called me the next day to give me the news. On his way home, after a few drinks and while he crossed Clapham Common, he was jumped by two blokes shouting “die fairy, die,” while one of them stabbed him in the neck with an ice pick nine times. The last words I said to Peter before we went our separate ways were “sod off” which I can only laugh about now. I know the last things weren’t the most important things. He was also the first and last “I love you” and “oh, fuck” and moment of pure happiness. And I went back to that hospital time and time again to say “I love you” over and over... just to make sure he heard it. To make sure that is what he remembered about us, too.
Peter never came out of that vegetative state, not until September when he finally left me completely. You’d think this would have offered some sort of comfort, some kind of closure, but it’s only made me more angry. Hospitals, constantly taking things away from me. My Grandmother. My lover. My left sodding nut. I’m bitter that the fates have dealt me such a shit hand. And before you even bother to think it- I would give back every penny I’ve ever had to get him back. Every penny.
How different would I be if he had survived? Or if we simply hadn’t fought that day? I certainly wouldn’t have spent the next ten years shagging whomever I wanted, whenever I wanted, only to up and leave without so much as a note to say goodbye. I wouldn’t have spent most of my work money on traveling around the world indulging my vices. I would have spent more time with Nana Everard. I would have found the time to sit down and tell my Father what I thought of him. I would have bothered to take care of my baby sister, instead of lumping her with my git brothers and leaving town. I would still have a family.
For now though, I haven’t got a time machine. I can’t change what happened to Peter. All I can do is recognize the family I do have- in Evelyn. In Trinnie. In that closeted little poof Ashley. They are the friends I can depend on to love me when I don’t deserve it, to forgive, to tell me when I’m being a prick, to admit when they were wrong, and to brew one fantastic pot of coffee. And in the end… that’s all I need
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