13. Bum

I did not throw up. I poured another glass of wine and put on other music. As always when I wanted to cry, but could not, I listened to Max Bruch's Violin Concerto No. 1 in G minor. Tears kept streaming along my cheeks, in my neck. I was broken. I was a wreck.

Refilled the glass, and again, till the bottle was empty.

"You were with that bum again?" My mother had said. So cold. What does she know. She does not feel. She never ever felt anything. Only pride. Stupid pride. Posh stupid bitch. Mother. Ice queen. She never loved. Nobody. Oh yes. Honour. What will the others think. The others. I spitted. Think of our name. Don't do this, don't. Don't!

My memory went back to that perfect day. The day he suddenly stood on my doorstep.

Big smile on his face. Wearing a black velvet jacket and the ugliest shirt I had ever seen. And as always some shorts, almost ripped. But his gorgeous long golden brown hair was shining and he smelled like fresh summer rain.

"Show me your country." He had said. And I drove him to the beach in Noordwijkerhout. It was the middle of the week. And the beach was, as usual deserted. The beautiful white dunes, the smell of sea buckthorn and the warm sun made us light in the head and while we ran to the sea, yelling, we threw of our clothes. Dived naked into the breakers. And again, again, wave after wave, after wave. Till we had to drag ourselves back to the beach. Dizzy.

We found a hollow in the dunes in which we lay down. On our back we looked at the few clouds and named them. Poodle humping poodle, tea kettle, crouching giant. Silly things like that. Leaning on his elbow he looked at me. Winked at me. Put his warm hand on my belly.
"I am sure our hearts were acquainted long before we met."

"Oh," I said teasingly, "I thought it was just chemistry."

"That too." And like some brute he grabbed me between my legs and pulled me against him.

After we had made love -because it was love we made, not sex, not just sex- we fell asleep till it was getting dark. The wind was chilly and we walked, arms wrapped around each other's waist, back to my car. In the city I parked and saw there was light burning in my house. I had an uneasy feeling when I opened my front door.

"There you are." My mother said as I opened my door. "We were worried sick. You forgot we had a soiree at the Quarles family house? Rogier was worried too. We're you not, Rogier?" Nodding to my childhood friend: the green eyed tennis god Rogier, with his sleek blond hair and wholesome tan. He looked at me as if uncomfortable with the whole situation and would rather be somewhere else.

"And who is this young man?" she asked, looking at my lover as if he was something filthy and unsound.

"Why are you in my house?" I demanded.

"Don't forget, dear, we bought this house for you. You are still my child."

And looking questioning at my hearts desire. "I am the mother of this little hothead, Lilliane du Pré-Pijpers, and you are?"

"Edward Severson the Third, mam, pleased to meet you." He mumbled while he shook my mother's hand and Rogier's. I giggled.

"Charming." she said with a pulled nose. "And what do you do for a living, mr. Severson?"

"Right now I'm enjoying your daughter, but I am a musician."

"Oh? What kind of music?"

"Rock, mam."

"I see. Interesting." At me. "Dear, can you come with me, please. Let's wash our hands."

Reluctantly I followed my mother to the bathroom. She closed the door behind me and snarled: "What on earth are you thinking bringing that bum into your house. Like a stray dog he is. He will take advantage of you, and you know it. Think of our reputation. And Rogier, what will he think. You are about to be engaged!"

"Mother, calm down! He is not a bum. He is a very well known singer and front man. Very talented. "

"A singer! Did you look at him. A singer! My daughter and a singer! He is probably a junky."

"You know nothing of him! You have nothing to say about my life. It is my life! I can do what I want!"
"No, you can not. Think of your family. Think of our name. Your father's name. Our friends. No. I can not tolerate this. If you won't listen think again. I could put a stop to your allowance. Think of that nice little business you just started. Think of that poor family of your business partner. What's his name again, Robert. He won't thank you for this."

"Mother, you are cruel."

"I might be, but there is more to life than fun. Think of your future."

Future. I thought, while opening another wine bottle, some future. And thinking of the emptiness spread out before me I started crying again.

The look on his face when I returned to the room. He was in polite conversation with Rogier. Stroking the cat on his lap that obviously remembered him from the last time he was here. But he looked worn out. As if he knew my inner conflict he stood up. The cat still in his arm.  Shook Rogier's hand. Gave my mother a small reverence. Walked towards me. Put his hand in my neck and pulled me to him. Kissed my mouth, plundered it, then stepped back. Put the cat on the floor and walked out. He had made the choice for me.

Oh I remembered the sound of the front door being closed behind him. Very softly, almost delicate, but it had left my ears ringing.

I wailed. The music had stopped.