A gull cries over the painted bell tower. We are on a hill overlooking Torelló’s red roofs.
“You seem very unhappy,” Mary says.
I focus my eyes on a point in the distance. The peak of Bellmunt.
“It’s just not working out is it,” I say.
“What isn’t working out?”
“You know. What we talked about before Christmas. Us.”
“I don’t see what’s so bad,” she says, hugging her knees.
“Well, we’re just not compatible any more. Take a look at the last month. What about that musical box you wanted to buy in Girona and we couldn’t agree on whether to get the one that played the theme from Breakfast at Tiffany’s or Dr Zhivago. Then we missed the bus back from Girona, which, okay, was my fault. But we ended up almost having to sleep out in Olot because you couldn’t wait for the next bus to Vic.
“Then at New Year we fell out under the giant Santa Claus at Toulouse railway station because you wanted to go to Carcasonne and me to Albi. These little things add up. We are heading in different directions.”
“Okay,” she says. “So we have differences of opinion. Who doesn’t? I don’t think that’s any reason to break up a ten-year relationship... Is there someone else?”
“No.”
At the bottom of the hill, Mary turns right to go and teach a class and I veer off to the library to look for some answers there.
| Copyright © | Steve Porter, 2004 |
|---|---|
By the same author  | There are no more works at Badosa.com |
| Date of publication | August 2007 |
| Collection | Global Fiction |
| Permalink | https://badosa.com/n250-65 |
I have read some poems by Steven Porter and I liked them very much. He has a big poetry knowledge and a large sensitivity to write poems. Now I'm interested in his new book The Iberian Horsehoe because I want to know his point of view about Spanish people and about my country. I would like you to publish more things by Steven Porter.
Just a note to let you know how much I dislike Steve Porter's The Iberian Horseshoe. His arrogance makes me believe he's an American in disguise. Cheers,
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