To Have Loved and Lost

0:59

“Edward, do the decent thing, sign the papers.”

I knew I would, but not with good grace. I would have divorced me, But I wasn’t going to make it easy for Yasmina. I am a selfish jerk and a drunk - which is why she was leaving me. 

0:57

Yaz anticipated my hesitation. No big feat. I’m consistent. I never liked being told what to do.

“Sign the papers and you’ll walk away with some money.”

0:55

Rational thinkers would accept our marriage was over. Why not salvage some cash? I took a sip of my white wine. I hate white wine. But it made me look like a civilized drinker. I was jonesing for a triple vodka. The brand didn't matter. Cheap is fine, as long as there's ice in it. 

0:52

Across the street from our sidewalk table, some kids were making noise. Wisp-bearded adolescents were peacocking for the females of the flock. I had no idea what caused the argy-bargy. I didn't care. But it gave me something to look at while I contemplated my response. 

I am an observer of my own life. And a good critic. I give myself advice. And I ignore it.

"Why should I sign it? I can get a lawyer.” It was pointless petulance. I knew I wouldn't. But as long as we were talking, we were still in a relationship. It was the only straw I had. The minute I signed I would have to find another life to ruin.

0:47

Yaz did not get angry - which pissed me off. 

The kids of this cross the street got louder. I envied them. When you're a teenager you can do dumb shit and grow out of it. When you're in your 30s, your mistakes are etched into the permanent record. It was why I drank. Alcohol is the friend that gives you self-justification. Señor Smirnoff could be relied on to tell me it was not my fault.

0:45

"Edward, don’t throw money away on an attorney.”

Even in the end, Yaz was looking out for me. It was the sharpest cruelty. I knew she was the better person – but why the fuck did she have to keep proving it?

0:43

"Why shouldn't I? It's my money."

I knew that was a lie. Yaz knew it was a lie. The money was all hers - an inheritance from her beloved father. He had despised me. And I, him. Now he was laughing at me from the grave. Under English law, I had no claim on her legacy. 

We lived in a Thames-front flat in Canary Wharf. The view was money. The rent was as high as our floor. But there was no equity in the damn thing. As newlyweds, we talked about buying something. But our intimacy ended before we contacted an estate agent. We did not even have a joint bank account.

0:39

Across the street, one of the boys punched another to the ground. Most of the girls laughed and arrayed themselves behind the bully. One bucked the trend. A mousy specimen, she knelt beside the victim caressing the red welt that radiated from his cheek to his temple. A cut trickled blood onto her fingers. 

I remember when Yaz would have caressed my bruises. But the bar fights became too regular for me to pull off the innocent victim role.

0:37 

I backed away from my hostility and tried to whine some reason into the conversation.

“How will I know my interests are being protected?” 

0:36

“Jesus Christ, Edward. Grow up. Take the £100,000 and walk away.”

If I were her, I would have pointed out that was £100,000 more than I had earned in my writing career. But I am not her. And Yaz was too good a person to snide me down. That is another of her unpardonable sins.

0:33

The knocked-down kid across the street turned over, pushed himself to his knees, and tried to stand. The girl who had stroked his face, grabbed his arm to steady him as he struggled to straighten his legs. I mentally bet he would make it upright, but that outcome was not a lock. He made it. And swayed unsteadily, with one hand on a parking meter, while the girl supported his other side.

0:30

Like a scudding thunderstorm on a hot June afternoon, my anger vanished. I embraced the clarity. It was over with Yasmina. She was not going to pick me up anymore. I could pretend the money insulted me. But I wanted it. 

I would miss our river view, but a bar stool is a throne to a drunk. And a cheap room would keep me off the streets.

0:28

“You win,” I told her with sufficient snark to remind her I’m an arsehole.

She seemed surprised. Then the relief kicked in. I could see her body relax as her freedom inched closer.

0:26

“If you mean it” …  she knew me too well to take anything at face value … “Then call my lawyer,” she handed me a card, “and make an appointment to sign the papers. She’ll give you a check.”

0:24

I wondered if she was going to pick up our drinks bill. I was skint as usual. But I believed I should reward my magnanimity with some quality liquor. I’d risk it, I thought. And turned to see if a waiter was handy.

0:21

I heard shouting from across the street. The boy who had been down was standing unassisted but unsteady. He had a gun in his hand. He was pointing it at the bully. I was surprised. I had never seen a gun in civilian hands on a London street.

The girls who had basked in the bully’s triumph inched from him. He looked sneeringly through his fear at the weapon.

He scoffed something that sounded like, “Watcha gonna do with that, cupcake.’ Or maybe I was lipreading over the noise of the traffic. 

For a brief eternity, nobody moved.

0:16

The girl who had helped the victim to his feet put her hand out slowly and rested it on top of the gun. She said something. The would-be gunman turned to her as she wrapped her hand around the weapon while pressing it down.

0:13

He looked at her with relief. He knew she had prevented him from doing something unfixable. His shoulders slumped as he let the pistol go. She eased his burden and took the weapon.

0:12 

The kids relaxed as two cops approached. Pedestrians near the group of teens finally realized the danger they had been close to. They stared at the girl with the gun.

0:10

One of the cops yelled, “Put the gun down, put the gun down, now!” She looked at them, seemingly unsure if they were talking to her. She looked young and fragile as she stared at them.

0:08

No one was moving except for the rozzers. Then the girl turned until she had the gun pointed at the bully. I could see fear in the stiffness of his body. He said something to her. She stared at him blankly.

0:06

The cops ran at her. She was now looking almost directly at me as she pushed the muzzle toward the terrified boy.

0:05

She fired. And the crack of the bullet drowned out all other sounds.

0:04

Blood reddened my shirt as I looked down desperately to see where I was hit. I was numb and felt nothing.

0:02

Yaz looked at me in confusion. I thought I saw a trace of the tenderness she had shown in our early days. 

0:01 

I was happy I would go to my grave looking into the eyes of the woman I had loved more than any other. 

0:00

Yaz’s head and torso collapsed onto the table cloth glistening from the blood pumping from the fatal wound in her throat.

It should have been me.