Etiquette and Vitriol by Nicky Silver (best books to read for students TXT) 📕

in the bathroom, in the darkness, wishing that there was a window for escape, or that everyone at the party would just die spontaneously!

So I masturbated. Then I dried myself of with toilet paper. When I turned on the light, I noticed I had this big wet spot on my pants and I knew I couldn’t go out there until it dried. That’s happened to everyone, hasn’t it? . . . Well? So, I sat on the toilet. Waiting. Feeling very ashamed and embarrassed. I don’t know why. Nature or nurture? Tidy huh?

(He has a sharp twinge in his stomach) The pain in my stomach has evolved from a piercing to a throbbing, like there’s an orchestra, tuning up.

(A third pool of light comes up. He moves, reluctantly, into it.)

Philip and Men:

Last year, I was living in London, in Camden, where the young people live. Very now. You know. I was supposedly there studying music composition at the Royal Academy, where everyone has “hairdos.” But I’d been there about six months and I’d stopped going to my classes completely— DON’T JUDGE ME!! I have terrible insomnia a lot of the time. I was working at the Mrs. Field’s Cookie Store on Leicester Square. I figured, if I wasn’t sleeping, I might as well be working. And although I am obviously much too intelligent to be shoveling cookies—WELL I AM!—it’s hard for Americans to get work over there. So I was working late nights at the cookie store and sleeping during the day, or going to the movies. And mostly the people I was waiting on were creepy tourists: a lot of Germans, or Americans who just embarrassed me when I opened my mouth. So I didn’t. I kept my eyes on my cookies.

And then, one night, at about eleven, I made the goddamn, awful mistake of looking up. And just about everything changed from then on. I saw, on the other side of the glass cookie counter, a person, a man, a boy. A human being.

(He fights emotion) He was obviously insane. He was very beautiful. But not in any stupid magazine kind of way, not that anyone else would think so. Not like that. He was tall and he had big hands and sandy brown hair, like everyone over there. And I didn’t really notice his body, or what he was wearing. It was his face. It was round—I don’t mean it was fat!—It was gentle. There was a gentleness to it. I’d never seen anyone like him. It was the angle of his chin and the fullness of his lips. And his eyes. I can’t describe them, except that he was wearing eyeliner—although he wasn’t effeminate! He wasn’t a faggot! He was just wearing eyeliner! And I knew when I looked into them, that this person, this obviously insane person, this man, boy, lunatic, gentle thing, lost soul was half of me. And I knew it at once.

And we spoke! And I could tell I was right, he was insane and completely lost. When I say we spoke, I don’t mean we had any goddamn long personal conversation. I mean we spoke. I asked him what he wanted and he told me and I didn’t hear him and I gave it to him and he left. I watched him leave. I watched him disappear into the crowd of normal heads. I watched him disappear. And I went home that night and thought about this nameless, gentle lunatic . . . and . . . I . . . masturbated.

I DID TRY NOT TO THINK OF HIM!!! I TRIED NOT TO!! But it was out of my hands, beyond my control. I don’t mean that night, or any night. I mean the days that followed. I tried to think of other things! I tried to do things! But everywhere I went, I looked for HIM! Around every corner and in every crowd! Every night at the store, I waited! I waited and waited and waited! And every time someone approached my heart jumped into my throat! Every customer was a possibility, every passerby a could-be! And they’d walk through the door and be some vulgar American, or bloated Swede, AND IT WAS NEVER HIM! And the days became weeks and it was never him! And I tried with all my might to think other thoughts BUT I COULD NOT! I tried counting and reciting and thinking music and color and art, BUT I COULD NOT! DO YOU UNDERSTAND!? DO YOU? And when, for a moment, I’d accomplish it, my mind would lapse into some other thought, some more pressing need, I’d relax my efforts for a minute—AND THAT WAS IT!

Then. One night, a cold night, three weeks after the first night, he came in! (He is quite out of control now) He walked through the door! I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I studied him. I stared at him. I memorized him. I had to ALWAYS remember what he looked like, what he was! And he was just the same! He was me! He was a part of me! And I know it sounds nuts—I KNOW IT, ALL RIGHT?— But this is how it was! And while he was there it seemed like hours and after he left it was just a few seconds. But I managed to make friendly little conversation. Just friendly! Nothing more. Couldn’t let him know, couldn’t let him see, how important he’d become to me! He hadn’t been in for weeks. I was nothing to him! Couldn’t let him guess! He’d think I was insane, which I knew he was, and I was at this point, completely! I KNOW IT! BUT I WAS BEYOND MYSELF! I WAS OUT OF CONTROL! COULDN’T TELL MY MIND WHAT TO THINK! WHAT TO FEEL! IT HAD A MIND OF ITS OWN AND I WAS ITS VICTIM COMPLETELY! I KNOW IT!

—But I controlled myself, I did. I did. I did. . . . “How are you? How’ve you been?