Greater Expectations by Alexander McCabe

cheap laugh I was seeking. Her laugh was infectious and light with a disarming naïveté. For the first time since entering the room, I began to relax. As her laugh drifted off into the dimly lit corners, I yearned to hear it again. “I have been described as much like a lighthouse in the desert.”
    “A lighthouse in the desert? How so?” She asked as I had hoped she would.
    “Well it would seem that I am incredibly bright but of no real use to anybody.” As she laughed I finished my drink, savouring every last drop of them both. She was still chuckling away as she refreshed my glass. I was expecting an uncomfortable silence after her laughter ended but she surprised me with a question. “What does DNA stand for?”
    It completely threw me and I racked my brain trying to remember. “It’s Deo-something nuclear acid? I really should know but it’s easier to blame the alcohol for killing those brain cells required at this moment.” I could only hope that my answer was convincing but why did she want to know?
    “National Dyslexic Association!” She blurted out the punch line and I found myself laughing as much at her as with her, not that she knew the difference and nor did it really matter. I mentally noted her joke to tell my friends as it was both amusing and one that would always remind me of her and this unique night. Through my own laughter I saw her as the simply beautiful woman that she is. In that moment, I framed her image and mentally etched it forever into my mind. It was one I would never forget and wish I had captured for real, a photograph to be cherished and kept close to me for she was positively radiant.
    Then she threw another question that blindsided me completely.
    “So, from your understanding of the upper class stereotype, do you think we love in the same way that everyone else loves?” The laugh had gone and the fire was once again the object of her attention. Stupidly, it made me somewhat envious. It was obvious that she wanted to look anywhere else but at me and she suddenly seemed quite nervous and vulnerable. That look. What was it? So rarely had I seen this look before. She looked…forlorn? Yes, that was it. She looked forlorn.
    It didn’t suit her.
    “I’m afraid that I am the very last person to be able to speak of love with any kind of authority. I’m sorry.” Here was I taking to a stranger and yet, somehow, it felt instinctively right to be completely honest. She drew her eyes away from the fire and let them rest upon my chest. If I didn’t know better, I would have said she was looking for my heart.
    “How so?” her voice nothing more than a whisper.
    My life with Gem, told as an anecdote, came tumbling out. As Penny sat in silence, I soon became oblivious to her presence and spoke more to myself than to her. As my sorry tale came to a close, I apologetically explained about reading the email “it was wrong and I know I shouldn’t have done it, but…” and then proceeded to explain the crux of its contents whilst omitting the gory details, she could garner them for herself “…and so here I am, mending my broken heart with Richie.”
    Many a true word said in jest as they say.
    It was a few moments before she spoke. Not that I really noticed nor cared for, in my head, I was back staring at the computer monitor and reading that email for t he first time–once again.
    “So do you still believe in love?” Her question penetrated my thoughts although it took me a second to realise where I was.
    “I was taught to believe in love, my mum is a bit of a romantic. My dad too, if truth be told although he would never readily admit to it. I thought I was in love but seeing now how easily I have walked away from it makes me realise that I truly wasn’t. It is all but impossible for me to determine whether it was the idea of love that I loved or if it was the person providing this possibility; that ‘someone to love’ as it were. It really is a rather complicated notion