Teach Me Dirty

“Every dream?”

“I’ve known I wanted you since I was twelve years old.” She looked beyond me to the Christmas tree. “Every place I dreamed of going, you were there. Every future I imagined living, you were there. Every painting I ever displayed in my imagination, I dreamed you would be there, too. Every time I wanted to do well, I imagined you would see me do it. I can’t run far away and chase my dreams, because they are wherever you are. I don’t want to paint if you’re not there to see it. I don’t want to succeed if you’re not there to be proud. And no matter how big my dreams get, or how high the bar gets set, or how big the stage is, none of it means anything to me unless you’re there, too.”

“Helen…”

“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t look at me like that. I get it, I get the one day you’ll know better stuff, and I’m done with it. People have been telling me my whole life that I don’t know what I want. You’ll get over it, it’s only a stupid crush, that’s fantasy, Helen, fantasy. Get your feet on the ground. Do something other than painting, think about boys your own age, think about real life. And they were wrong, because this is real life, and I’m here with you, and I’m still painting, and I still want the same things I did all those years ago when I first knew I wanted them, so don’t dismiss this as some flaky thing that I’ll grow out of. Because I won’t.” Her eyes were burning hot. “I know what I want. And I’m not a kid anymore.”

“I would never mean to patronise you that way.”

“Nobody ever means to patronise me that way.” She forked waffle into her mouth, and then she sighed. “Do you think I’ll grow out of art?”

I shook my head. “No. Never.”

“Do you think I’ll change my mind about wanting to be an artist?”

“No, you have talent, Helen. Real artistic talent.”

“I’ve known I wanted to be an artist since forever. I always just knew.”

“I don’t doubt that, Helen.”

“So, I can know what I want to do with the rest of my life, but I can’t know who I want to share it with?”

I smiled. “Point taken.”

Her passion flooded my senses, and it was inspiring. She was inspiring.

“How old was Anna when you met her?”

The question hit me in the gut harder than I expected. “Anna was nineteen when I met her.”

“Do you think she’d still want you now, if she was still here?”

I met her eyes. “Yes.”

“Well, then. Maybe I know what I want, too.” She forked her beans onto her remaining waffle and her hands were shaky. “I can feel how much you loved her, and how talented she was, and how pretty she was.”

“I did love her, and she was talented and beautiful, yes.”

“Did you think she should run away and dream bigger?”

The question caught my breath and turned my stomach. “No, Helen, I didn’t think that at all.”

“She was only a year older than I am now.”

I laughed a low laugh. “You’re tying me in knots. I’m older than I was when Anna was nineteen, that’s the difference.”

“Are you a different man? Do you want different things?”

I weighed up her question. “No. Not in any way that matters.”

“So, don’t do it, then.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Don’t do what?”

Her face was so sad. “Don’t cast me away because you think it’s the right thing to do.” She looked at her plate.

“Helen, look at me.” But she didn’t. I waved my fingers until I had her eye. “I’m right here, decorations and waffles and burnt beans. All of it. I’m all in. We’re well beyond the right thing to do.” I held up my hands. “I’ve been reprimanded sufficiently.”

She laughed, but it was nervous. “I didn’t mean to tell you off.”

“You had your points, you made them well. I’m sorry I patronised you. I won’t do it again.”

“I’m sorry I ruined your waffles.” She nodded at my plate. “They’ll be cold.”

“I like cold waffles.” I smiled.

“Your nose is getting bigger, Pinocchio.”

“It’s not my nose that’s growing, Helen.” I dropped my cutlery as her eyes widened, and my voice lowered in tone. “Have you finished your dinner?”

She scooped up a final little fork of beans, then nodded. “Thank you, it was lovely.”

I reached for her plate and placed it on mine before I pushed them both to the side. And there was us, in the silence, just a flickering candle between us.

“Show me your breasts, Helen.”

She gave a little gasp, and there was the slightest hesitation, but she slipped off her cardigan and pulled her top off over her head. She unhooked her bra as I watched, and let it drop to the floor beside her chair. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, and she gasped again and couldn’t take her eyes from the candle as I lifted it from its stand. I idled it between my hands, enjoying the way her gaze followed the flame.