CHAPTER NINE CHRIS
CHAPTER NINE
Chris
Hamilton ? Lexie messages after I told her how I spent last night, which involved buying spur-of-the-moment discounted tickets to the theatre. I think it was her mention of a pre-theatre dinner. It made me realise I’ve not seen a show in … for ever.
I’m so jealous, she types. I haven’t seen it yet. Theatre in London is getting so expensive. What did you think?
Loved it. Didn’t think I would, but I wanted to see.
Why didn’t you think you’d like it? she asks.
It’s a musical.
Yes, it is. You don’t like musicals?
Not really, I reply.
I love them, she says. The singing, the dancing, the sets, I can’t get enough.
Well, now I know I like them too. Or, rather, I like Hamilton . I’m not sure about the rest.
Maybe you should do them all one after the other. Wicked next week, Phantom of the Opera the week after …
I might not do that , I think. Working out what I do and don’t like is costing me a fortune, and fitting it in around work projects is proving tricky. I like one musical. So far. Let’s tick that box and move on.
I glance down to see another message has landed. Who did you go with? she asks.
I don’t answer for a second. How do I explain this? How do I explain that it was really all our Big Talk that inspired me to expand my horizons. Hmm, I’m not sure how to do this, so instead I type, I didn’t go with anyone. Fancied a night out by myself.
She’s not typing.
Am I coming across as weird? I ask.
No. It’s cool. I’ve never done that before: a night out by myself.
You should, I tell her. I’m sort of … How do I say this? Trying to see what I like and don’t like. Letting myself discover who I am. I cringe, hit send, wait for the inevitable laughter emoji.
But there was no need to be concerned about what Lexie thought as she replies with a little smiling emoji and What’s prompted this?
I like Lexie. I don’t want to lie, but I’m not sure I want to pour my heart out via a messaging system. I don’t want to say: It was you. I don’t want to say: I’ve realised, since meeting you, that the reason my relationships fail is because I never take the lead, or the initiative to discover who I really am. And if I don’t know who I am, then how the hell is anyone else supposed to? I condense this down into something less manic.
I think it was our conversation – our Big Talk about past relationships. It nudged me in this direction. And then my internal monologue when I got home nudged me even further.
It sounds like a fun direction in which to be nudged, she types. Taking yourself out for dates and doing all the things most of us don’t get time to do, because we’re wrapped up doing what other people want us to do or need us to do. Are you enjoying it?
She gets it.
I think about her question for a second. I haven’t asked myself this. Yeah, I suppose I am. It’s not every night, and I can always go for drinks with friends and workmates if I want to. I’m just choosing to be a bit selective socially while I figure all this out. And I don’t want to take people on dates, or swipe endlessly on women’s profile pictures and interests.
I don’t tell her that it’s also because I want to be single. I’m not sure why. I wonder if I’d have said that if she’d been here, with me in my apartment. Of course not. We wouldn’t be having chats like this if she’d been here. We’d be … what would we be doing? Falling for each other? Big Talk, but not the kind where I tell a woman, to her face, that I really, really like that I’m happy being single.
Which is why it’s good Lexie’s in London and I’m here. It makes my mission to be single easier and I still get to talk to her. This is almost too perfect. So why is my mind a mess?
We sign off our chat, and once again I notice that even though I’ve held back a bit, it’s fallen into Big Talk.
We have a habit of doing this, Lexie and me.
What I learned about myself this week: I do not like modern art. In one of my lunch breaks I took myself off to a nearby gallery. I’d seen a post on Instagram about the exhibition and, instead of asking someone in the office if they wanted to come with me, I thought I’d give it a go on my own, keep this solo life going. I enjoyed that , but the gallery itself was not my thing at all. But recognising this is positive. I learned a couple of new things about myself this week and I see that as an accomplishment.
In bed last night I browsed a bunch of artists online and discovered I like Edward Hopper, John Everett Millais and the photographer David Bailey. I realise this is an eclectic mix of media from across the ages, but discovering what I like and don’t like – and doing it by myself – is my new project.
I message Lexie during the day, although it’ll be the early hours of the morning for her, so I hope she switches her phone to silent during the night, as I don’t want to wake her up.
Big Talk round four: if you could only take one piece of art with you to a desert island, what would it be? I’ll start. John Everett Millais’s Ophelia . I just discovered him and think he might be my favourite artist.
Three hours later, Lexie replies. This is some Big Talk for first thing in the morning, and she attaches a laughing emoji. Unpopular opinion, but I don’t really like Ophelia . I do like Millais, though, before you decide never to talk to me again. I went to a museum in Cambridge and far and away the most interesting picture was one of Millais’. I can’t remember what it’s called, but I stared at it for ages. I was captivated. Hang on, I am going to have to do some googling to find this thing.
I smile and wait. I’m sitting at my desk and am now intrigued.
The Twins, Kate and Grace Hoare is the most unimaginative title ever, but that’s what it’s called, she types. I just looked at it online and I still love it. They’re identical twins, but look at their expressions. I don’t know which one is which, but the one on the right looks so anxious, so pensive, but the one on the left looks so calm, serene, open. I think he’s so clever to make two women who look identical look so different. I love it.
And this is the one you want to take with you to your desert island? I ask, and then I click off our chat and go and look. Lexie’s right. It is a captivating image.
She’s offline and I catch myself tapping my fingers on my desk waiting for her reply.
It’s 6.30 a.m., she says, so I feel any decision made before coffee might not be the best, but … OK. I’m all in. I’m taking this one with me. It’s fabulous and it’s also a huge canvas. The women are almost life-sized. I’ll let you keep Ophelia .
What do you have against Ophelia ?
She dies.
What? I ask.
She dies, Lexie types again. And in a case of life imitating art, or whatever that phrase is – Lizzie Siddal, the model who posed for it in a bath of water, caught a chill afterwards and got quite sick. So … there’s that.
How do you know so much about this? I ask.
I went to an exhibition, she replies. Although I haven’t been to one in ages. And now I need to get up, get dressed, get coffee and go to work.
I can feel your excitement from all the way over here, I tell her.
Ha! She puts a laughing emoji. It was nice to wake up to a message from you, though. This time zone thing is quite good for that.
Yes, I tell her. It is.