Working on the Outside

My eyes open to darkness. The room is cold. It’s time to get up. It’s five-thirty. The phone sings a chipper tune. I do not feel chipper. I make coffee and head to the shower. An hour later I am driving, the lights of passing cars are bright in the gloaming. “Luis,” I say outloud to myself. It’s pronounced ‘leui-eece’. “Leui-weece, rhymes with Greece”. I say this a few times to myself. I’ve never said it to him, but I don’t want to get it wrong, should I get the chance. Or courage, I admit to myself; should I get the courage.

I arrive at work and it is raining. I don my raincoat, work-boots and hard-hat and am wet through by the time I get to the office. The office is a hut and always cold. I work outside, so the cold doesn’t matter. I check the coffee pot. It is empty. I’m working on the south again, building a wall. Eventually the wall will offer the site some protection from the wind and the rain. Eventually. It’s my job to build it, in the wind and the rain. I don’t mind. It’s a solo job so I’ll be alone. That’s what I am used to. That’s what I like, I tell myself. I don’t believe me.

At eleven o’clock I head to the office and check the coffee. It is empty. I go to Greggs. On the way back I pass a group of builders, sheltering from the elements. I slow my pace to listen. Gareth is it? Or Lee? I don’t know - Garath or Lee says something like, “...that’s because he’s a fag.” And Lee or Gareth replies, “a fucking foreign fag.” and they both laugh. They’re talking about Luis, as though he’s not there, but it’s only banter - Luis is in on the joke. I know it’s not directed at Luis with malice, but still I feel the malice beneath. I am angry but they don’t even know I’m there. I am angry because I know something about Luis that they don’t know. I think I know. I hope.

Luis sees me and winks, he doesn’t give me away. Confident and smiling, he boasts, “I cannot help being this good looking, it is a curse I know. Everyone is attracted to me, eh?”

It is an outrageous boast. I agree with him completely.

The rain doesn’t stop. I listen to it hit my hard-hat and watch as it beads on the visor, before dripping away and splashing on the wet cement. I want to speak to Luis. He is my only thought. I drive home in darkness, the lights hurt my eyes. I eat a pie, smash and peas. I flick through Netflix without finding anything I like. Twenty-first century channel-hopping. I go to YouTube and watch videos about loneliness. They don’t help. The psychologist on the video is saying, “... are you depressed? Or are you lonely? Do you have anyone? A romantic partner? Friends? No? Then that’s not a psychological problem, right? That’s an actual problem.” That doesn’t make me feel better. Nor do the videos that inform me that lonely people are less healthy, less happy, have worse ‘life outcomes’ and die younger. I feel tired and lonely. I go to bed.

***

My eyes open to darkness. The room is cold. I get up, coffee, shower, drive, work, drive, eat… rinse and repeat. In the shower, I have an idea. Today, I will talk to Luis; rhymes with Greece. Saying his name gives me a frisson of excitement. I’m no Machiavelli, my idea isn’t complex. I just want to talk to another person. How hard is that? I’ve done it before. This is no different. This is different.

At break time I pack my tools and walk to my car. In the boot I open my tools and remove my spirit level. I go to the office and wait ten minutes for coffee. No one talks to me. The office is cold. At lunchtime I feel nervous. The kind of nervousness that stops me from acting. I know it well; hello darkness my old friend, today I will ignore you. I head to where Luis works. I feign nonchalance, that’s got to be an oxymoron. The other men in the room seem uninterested. Luis smiles, but he’s always smiling.

“Luis, could I ask a favour?”

“You may ask, eh?” He says. I pause too long and he fills the dead-air, “No seriously my friend, what is it you need?” Christ his accent. I feel another frisson. I attempt a smile.

“I… I need, would like, er, to borrow your spirit-level. I, err, forgot mine today.”

Now I have reason to talk to him again. I feel excited, and anxious. Minutes pass like hours. It rains still. The clock creeps towards four. Finally the others begin to leave. It’s Friday. Beer o’clock they call it. I never get invited. The rain stops and then I see Luis, making his way toward me. There’s a break in the cloud and a late afternoon sun silhouettes Luis. It casts me in shadow, but Luis is wreathed in flame, a golden halo around his head. I am giddy.

“It’s beer o’clock, no?” he says.

“Oh, I err, I don’t… usually…”

“You don’t like to go drinking with them?” He says it in a casual manner. I begin a denial but Luis is quicker.

“It is ok I think. I don’t like to go with them. They treat me like… like a…”

“An outsider?”

“Yes, this is it. An outsider. Like you no, ha ha.” He doesn’t laugh there, he actually pronounced ‘ha ha’ like words. It’s extremely endearing. “Why don’t you come with me instead?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, but says, “Yes you come with me, I’ll buy you beer.” and smiles.

My anxiety is gone for now. So I go with Luis. It’s going to be a nice evening I think.