Fridays, Saturdays, Sundays

Fridays, Saturdays, Sundays

A new series from regular contributor Jack Cain.

Header image by Jack Cain.

The days of the week series are split into three teasers. They are all from a chapter in the book I'm writing which will be called 'Gaslighting'. The words in this are moments from my real life:

Fridays we usually went out for dinner, sometimes it was just a drink, sometimes I paid but usually you did. Sometimes we would go to a show, either the Northcote Social Club or the Corner Hotel, we saw Montaigne four times last year, and Gang Of Youths twice. I remember vividly seeing Unknown Mortal Orchestra and that being arguably the worst night of our relationship. You had just flown in from visiting your family. I had tickets again to see them the next night so I suggested we leave early, you insisted you were fine to stay, but the coldness of your body language, and the way you shrugged your body away from my hugs, made me realise we had to be somewhere more important.

That place just happened to be, by pure chance, the middle of the street that I lived in. We shouted and screamed and you kicked and punched me, you walked away and told me you were going home, you had no money and the trains weren’t running. I had no idea what to do, I just knew I had to let you calm down and take you to bed. You were sleepy and angry, but you were right, we were done, we were unhappy, and that fight in the street as far past it as it felt like we moved we plummeted that night.

We were changed, it was that night that I knew you really didn’t want to be with me, it was that night that I believed you when you said you weren’t happy, and yes I’m sorry I didn’t realise sooner. It was always the Friday I’m In Love mantra for me. Now I’m just left with pictures of you, and my skin crawls with the spider that is the truth of that night.

Saturdays were nice, for some reason I don’t really remember too many bad Saturdays. I don’t know what it was, maybe Fridays were always bad because they were the end of a bad week, you know stress really did kill some of our best moments. Saturday was new, exciting, inspiring, we would go out for breakfast or at least coffee every Saturday provided you weren’t too sick. If you were, I'd go get the coffees, extra hot, so that it stayed warm when I got it home to you. We went on picnics and walks, and ate food, it was always food, we really ate out a lot. I can’t say I’ve frequented any of the places we use to go, and when I get near them I start to feel sick, I always wonder if you stopped going to them also, have you? It makes me too sad to sit in a place that we sat in, it’s bad enough to walk over the same parts of the ground that we may have stopped and kissed on. It makes my eyes water to sit in a food court we maybe have met up in or drink a coffee that I'd usually recognise in your hands, or even just see some advertising about the football team you go for.

Sundays we usually went to Ikea, I don’t know why but we just did, we never ever bought any furniture from there. Do you realise that, we just went for the cheap food, the free coffee for members and the cinnamon scrolls. Sundays we did that, only of course when we could drag ourselves out of bed. You use to say we were wasting our lives in bed, that it’s nice to cuddle and have sex and all that but it was a waste. Hearing that used to make me sad, but you were right.

Do you remember the time we took photos in all the different rooms scattered in Ikea, we cropped them to look like our future home, I got you to hide all the tags, I think you would remember it, you were laughing and mostly happy during that time. There was a pet store underneath and dogs always made you smile, even if they were locked away behind a cruel glass window.

Now on Sundays I really do waste away, I don’t set any alarms and I guess that might sound normal but it just means I sleep all morning, even if the day is really nice. I could go for a walk, or I could write something, but I never want to do it on a Sunday, I just really can’t stand Sunday morning without you, it was my favourite morning to wake up next to you on. It’s like the light was different on Sunday mornings, you were more beautiful, and you were always happy on Sundays. I miss that, I miss Sundays with you. You loved me in the mornings, when I was still hung over, you loved me in the evenings when I was all strung out.