IN/OUT/AT
About three years ago, I arranged to meet someone I’d only ever emailed. It was an unusual meeting but it wasn’t murky or illicit in any way (it wasn’t an internet date). We agreed to meet at a West End pub – the Three Cocks, as I remember. At least, I think that was the name. With hindsight, the name wasn’t important. Bizarrely, the preposition turned out to be the important thing. “At the Three Cocks”. I arrived on time and bought a drink and settled in a corner, reading a newspaper. I kept looking for him, but he was nowhere. I felt a bit let down when he didn’t show but didn’t worry about it unduly. I went home. The next day, he emailed me and said something like: “I was there. Honest!”. I wondered how this could possibly be, but it turns out he’d been standing outside, all along, in the fading twilight.
We sorted things out from there, and I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that we became friends for a while. I think we did, anyway. I never see him now… although I still think of him, obviously. He was tall and slim and had a certain way of raising his eyebrows. When he smiled, his lips would kind of twitch in a half smile. Occasionally he made me feel unsure of myself. He didn’t mean to. I don’t know what the logical end to this story is. The misunderstanding with the pub shows that small things can signify greater meaning. It was a kind of metaphor for our intractable differences.
About three years ago, I arranged to meet someone I’d only ever emailed. It was an unusual meeting but it wasn’t murky or illicit in any way (it wasn’t an internet date). We agreed to meet at a West End pub – the Three Cocks, as I remember. At least, I think that was the name. With hindsight, the name wasn’t important. Bizarrely, the preposition turned out to be the important thing. “At the Three Cocks”. I arrived on time and bought a drink and settled in a corner, reading a newspaper. I kept looking for him, but he was nowhere. I felt a bit let down when he didn’t show but didn’t worry about it unduly. I went home. The next day, he emailed me and said something like: “I was there. Honest!”. I wondered how this could possibly be, but it turns out he’d been standing outside, all along, in the fading twilight.
We sorted things out from there, and I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that we became friends for a while. I think we did, anyway. I never see him now… although I still think of him, obviously. He was tall and slim and had a certain way of raising his eyebrows. When he smiled, his lips would kind of twitch in a half smile. Occasionally he made me feel unsure of myself. He didn’t mean to. I don’t know what the logical end to this story is. The misunderstanding with the pub shows that small things can signify greater meaning. It was a kind of metaphor for our intractable differences.
