Epilogue

The next day, I was in work trying to figure out how to text Emer without seeming needy. I held text auditions; typed out an entire text and spent ten minutes judging it on artistic merit, interpretive style and whether it fitted into 160 characters.

“Hi. It’s Joseph L_____ here. You might remember me from such nights out as last night. How are you today? In work now, dyin of thirst, not too tired.”

That was the winning entrant, and like Pop Idol the other one should have won. The Troy McClure thing isn’t funny, and yet I constantly use it. She never texted back, despite her getting it straight away (I live by delivery reports). So then I got nervous and anxious. Hours passed. Finally she texted back:

“I’m at a family get together and its just hitting me now”

What’s just hitting her now? The fact that she walked home last night with that gobshite from around the corner? The guy whose name she didn’t know? Oh shit, this puts a whole new light on things. Oh fuck fuck fuck. What was I thinking? Why would she want to be my friend? Things like this just don’t happen, now get back to work. I texted her back with something pithy and she never replied. The next day I texted her, telling her about how I hadn’t been able to get around the PIN request on the phone I’d found. Couldn’t think of a thing to say to her. I think I added in something like “So have you fully recovered?”

“Im never drinking again.”

OH FUCKITY-FUCK-FUCK!!! I left her paralytic at her front door, she probably threw up all over the hall and lied in her own vomit til her little brother tripped over her the next morning!! She’ll never want to know me again!!! I texted back more refined versions of those sentiments. It turned out she’d been out again on Saturday night at a 21st and she got wasted there. That’s ok then; don’t want to seem like I got her drunk, that’s all.

She said she liked texting, so I texted her again on Monday. I’d traced the owner of the lost phone through the IMEI number inside the battery compartment and he came down to collect on Monday night outside the Porterhouse, where I’d spent the entire evening with Cormac and his friend Ann-Marie, but that’s another entry altogether. I texted her with that news yesterday. Still no reply since Sunday. Feck. She’s gone, no new friend. But she seemed so genuine on Friday night. She said she finds it hard to keep friends, and so do I. She wanted me to text her, and yet it was one way. She’d obviously regretted the whole night. Time to draw a line under the whole sorry affair, you’ve obviously looked too much into it. Don’t mope on about it for years like the Melanie thing. Just walk away, like Craig David. Give her three days to make contact, and if there’s no contact from her then that’s that.

Today I walked to the Chinese net cafe on Cathedral Street (Aixua or something) to finish this entry. Or rather, six entries. It was raining all day and my clothes were drenched, but the relief I’d feel to finally have the biggest entry ever posted up in my diary would be worth it. I opened the door; not one computer wasn’t occupied by a Chinese student playing some multiplayer internet game. It appeared to be a tournament. Just great. It’s take me four days to half-finish this thing and when I do, someone up there starts teasing me about the whole getting-it-on-my-diary phase. I walked onto O’Connell Street to my bus stop extremely pissed off and even more wet. Feckin Emer; why couldn’t she just tell me she didn’t want to talk to me anymore instead of going silent like this. Now the memory of that night is ruined, and there’s no happy conclusion to my epic Sliding Doors homage. I went into a newsagents near the bus stop, picked up VIP Magazine and read about Lisa Burke of Sky News, the weather girl that sounds like a good little Irish nun. She met her boyfriend, a Sky News cameraman, at a Christmas party. How cheap can you ge…..

Just then my phone vibrated. A message…….and something jumped. Emer.

“What are you doing Saturday night. Because its my brothers girlfriends birthday and shes going to some pub in town. Wanna come?”

I walked out of the newsagents, out into the rain with a weird smile on my face. This was what was supposed to happen, I didn’t really think she was ignoring me. Well, I did. But she wasn’t. I mean, she mustn’t have. She’s invited me to her brother’s girlfriend’s birthday party. And that means something, that’s what friends do. “Wanna come?” Fuck, do I??!! But the enthusiasm had to be toned down. The Irish football team, on their way to Lansdowne Road where they beat the USA 2-1, passed by.

“Sorry for the delay, Irish team just passed by. Ohmigod, they’re all roides! Saturday sounds cool, I’ll tag along. Note to Emer: use cloakroom…”

I tried to be humourous and not make all the agonising over her obvious. I mean, if she read this she’d freakout and so are most of the girls reading this but there’s the risk you take ladies!!! You get to see how some guys think, and sometimes it’s not what you might expect.

So Saturday it is. I’m going to spend an evening in Emer’s company in the context of a brother’s girlfriend’s birthday. We’ll see what happens. It could be the start of a beautiful friendship, a way of confidentally telling “Mate” to fuck off, I’ve got a new friend. Or it could be a weird footnote in this diary. Either way, we’ll find out soon. Thanks for reading, it’s finally over now!

j

p.s. Deb is coming to Dublin tomorrow. No news on that front, don’t know how things are there. I might go down to Galway on Friday. not sure. And before anyone accuses me of two-timing or such things, let me remind you that I have not, nor do I intend to, take this thing with Emer any further. It’s all about friendship.