Waiting for a friend
My friend is on his way. He telephoned me less than an hour ago. I didn’t even know he had my number.
He’s not so much of a friend, you see, just somebody I hit it off with, our bar-room philosophy striking a chord. I don’t even know where he lives.
He’s on his way to see me, or so he tells me. Why is he coming? Because he has nowhere else to go, or so he tells me. Will I be ready when he knocks on my door? I won’t know his knock, and how else will I know who’s calling when there are no windows through which to view the street.
'El hombre solo' (artist unknown) - via tribute to Argentine writer Roberto Arlt: http://bit.ly/3k3wXL
Is he truly a friend, or will he rob me… or worse? Will he manipulate me, even try to move in? He has no place else to go, you see, or so he told me.
Outside I can hear the fireworks, balsa and cardboard rockets exploding over the houses. It’s Guy Fawkes’ Night. All is normal, but I’m feeling uneasy. I really should answer the door, but the thought makes me nervous. Will I even hear him knocking amid the bangs and crashes of the night? What will he think of me if I don’t answer. Will I feel guilty if I don’t hear him? Will he think badly of me?
Yes, he told me on the telephone that he has no place to go. Why is that?
This is his town, after all. It also happens to be my hometown, but now it’s more his than mine, although he tells me he’s from Newcastle. I’ve been living in other places, other towns, other countries, but at least I still have somewhere to be. My friend, whose town this is supposed to be, has nowhere. He has nowhere to go and no recourse, only to telephone a guy he’s only just met, based on a series of misplaced observations and exchanges in a bar.
I’m happy that my friend is on his way. I could use the company, and I don’t really think I’m in any danger. Besides, my real friends don’t live in this town, and cannot come to see me easily. So I think I’ll make do with what I have. I’ll open my door and invite my new friend in. I have music, cognac and cigarettes, even if I have no heating. Even if I have no food.
Who knows? My friend might return the favour one day when I’m a stranger in need of another stranger who understands.
