Read Online Please Don't Go by Eric Dimbleby - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Eric Dimbleby
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how humans live. This is what humans do. They make symphonies every single day. “It’s glorious,” I said, a barely audible whisper. I broke from my concentrated trance at the sound of Aleesha busting forth with her infectious giggle. “This city is perfection, personified,” I added.
Her face grew stern. “Then why don’t you stay with me?” she asked.
“ How I would love to,” I replied, my brow furrowing. I sipped at my coffee, biting away the truth beneath the layers of my person. “I would love nothing more than to spend my days cajoling through the cities and towns of Ireland. But my job is my home, and my home is my job. I could never leave America.” At this, she shook her head. She saw a hesitance in me, that which I was fighting with great measures to hide from her. I had only known her this one day, and she had willfully asked me to stay with her in Galway? Surely, she was as mad as a hatter. But so was I, with a nugget of love deep inside of my stomach, something that I had only previously witnessed in films and books and theater presentations. Even in music, women and men spoke of the story (and the glory) of love, ever since I was a child. And I believed them, every last one. Their testimonial could not be lies, but such a thing was never known to happen in my idyllic world. They crooned in my ear that love could show its face in the darkest of alleys, when the world seemed on the brink of utter collapse. Love was around every corner, and I understood this. But still, I disbelieved the concept of blind passion at its very root. “That is not to say that I will ever forget this day, for as long as I’ll live. And we have another day before us, which we should not soon forget. Tomorrow, I plan to stay as late as possible, before heading off to my next destination in Killkenny. I would be a fool not to spend every last second of that day with you.” I looked to the horizon, visible from between the stone facades of shops and restaurants. The sun was on the verge of dipping below, and our night would begin. It would lead into, without any doubt, a second cavalcade of unrepentant love-making, and an eventual nap. We would awake at dawn, make love again, eat breakfast. Walk the streets looking for a newspaper. Eat lunch. Make love one final time. Eat dinner. And I was gone from her life forever. Maybe we would write to each other, but just as likely we wouldn’t. It was all laid out before me, as right as rain, and Aleesha sensed it as well. We would fall in love just enough over our two days to cause a painful rift upon my departure.
“ You cannot leave me. This day can’t end. Tomorrow can’t, either. I won’t let it. Don’t you see?” she asked of me, this woman who I had only known since after my breakfast. Added to that, we had been half-drunk for a majority of that period. Was I losing my seedy gourd? “I’ve just met you, lover. And already it will be too much for me to bear.” She placed her face into her trembling ivory hands and began to cry. I reached across the table, rubbing at her wrists, wanting to weep a spell myself. When she slapped my hands away from her, I could only abide with understanding of her emotions. “Can’t you simply mull the thought?” she asked from between her fingers, her acutely applied makeup running between her fingers like little rivers of paint.
I nodded. In hindsight, maybe I was only satiating her to continue on without dramatics, that I may sop my quill in ink one last time. “Yes. I will certainly mull the thought,” I said to Aleesha, the sobbing Queen of the Port of Galway, and I meant it at some infinitesimal level of consciousness. “I will mull for you, for all my days,” I added, not knowing what I was really intending in such words. Maybe I would regret them. I kissed her cheek and she smiled again. We simply stared at each other, and for more than an hour. I was like stone, and she was my Medusa, and I could not control
Her face grew stern. “Then why don’t you stay with me?” she asked.
“ How I would love to,” I replied, my brow furrowing. I sipped at my coffee, biting away the truth beneath the layers of my person. “I would love nothing more than to spend my days cajoling through the cities and towns of Ireland. But my job is my home, and my home is my job. I could never leave America.” At this, she shook her head. She saw a hesitance in me, that which I was fighting with great measures to hide from her. I had only known her this one day, and she had willfully asked me to stay with her in Galway? Surely, she was as mad as a hatter. But so was I, with a nugget of love deep inside of my stomach, something that I had only previously witnessed in films and books and theater presentations. Even in music, women and men spoke of the story (and the glory) of love, ever since I was a child. And I believed them, every last one. Their testimonial could not be lies, but such a thing was never known to happen in my idyllic world. They crooned in my ear that love could show its face in the darkest of alleys, when the world seemed on the brink of utter collapse. Love was around every corner, and I understood this. But still, I disbelieved the concept of blind passion at its very root. “That is not to say that I will ever forget this day, for as long as I’ll live. And we have another day before us, which we should not soon forget. Tomorrow, I plan to stay as late as possible, before heading off to my next destination in Killkenny. I would be a fool not to spend every last second of that day with you.” I looked to the horizon, visible from between the stone facades of shops and restaurants. The sun was on the verge of dipping below, and our night would begin. It would lead into, without any doubt, a second cavalcade of unrepentant love-making, and an eventual nap. We would awake at dawn, make love again, eat breakfast. Walk the streets looking for a newspaper. Eat lunch. Make love one final time. Eat dinner. And I was gone from her life forever. Maybe we would write to each other, but just as likely we wouldn’t. It was all laid out before me, as right as rain, and Aleesha sensed it as well. We would fall in love just enough over our two days to cause a painful rift upon my departure.
“ You cannot leave me. This day can’t end. Tomorrow can’t, either. I won’t let it. Don’t you see?” she asked of me, this woman who I had only known since after my breakfast. Added to that, we had been half-drunk for a majority of that period. Was I losing my seedy gourd? “I’ve just met you, lover. And already it will be too much for me to bear.” She placed her face into her trembling ivory hands and began to cry. I reached across the table, rubbing at her wrists, wanting to weep a spell myself. When she slapped my hands away from her, I could only abide with understanding of her emotions. “Can’t you simply mull the thought?” she asked from between her fingers, her acutely applied makeup running between her fingers like little rivers of paint.
I nodded. In hindsight, maybe I was only satiating her to continue on without dramatics, that I may sop my quill in ink one last time. “Yes. I will certainly mull the thought,” I said to Aleesha, the sobbing Queen of the Port of Galway, and I meant it at some infinitesimal level of consciousness. “I will mull for you, for all my days,” I added, not knowing what I was really intending in such words. Maybe I would regret them. I kissed her cheek and she smiled again. We simply stared at each other, and for more than an hour. I was like stone, and she was my Medusa, and I could not control
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