Desperate Man

Improvisation - "Whatcha Gonna Do When All the Girls Are Gone?" from Siobhan Camille on Vimeo.


I was at the end of my tether with Hamish when we were on a bus to Frankfurt. I’d only known Hamish a year and a half, and it was one of those relationships that I was not quite sure why I sustained. I thought I was past this – putting energy into friendships that were not reciprocal, with people that were not worth my time.

Hamish and I met travelling, actually. When we first met, I think I knew he was a misogynist. I still remember the day I made the mistake of mentioning my teeth to him.

“Man, sometimes I wish I’d gotten braces,” I’d confessed as we looked over a couple of travel photos. There my teeth were, winking at me from the pictures.
I shook my head as if trying to physically shake the thought out, “But then I feel like, why would I spend money on that when it’s just to conform to society’s standards of beauty?”
Hamish glared at me with a looked of disgust that I imagined he’d usually only reserve for those proclaiming they believed the world was flat.
“Laurelle,” he spat, “There’s a reason why these standards of beauty exist.”
I was so shocked I forgot to be angry until after he’d left.

Fast forward a year to Germany. I’d had my reservations about traveling with him anyway, and unfortunately, he’d confirmed those fears on our third and final night in Berlin. Completely sober, Hamish had made a pass.

“Hamish,” I started, pushing him away by the collarbone, “This is stupid. We’re friends.”
“You’re right.” He nodded. In fact, he looked totally cool and understanding about it for about two whole minutes. And then he sulked.
“Well, goodnight,” he said, getting into his bed and turning his back to me.

What followed after we left Berlin was ten days of sulking, arguing with every statement that came out of my mouth (apparently opinions can be wrong, especially when they’re Laurelle’s) and treating all of my musings as idiotic.

Finally we were on our way to Frankfurt, where we’d part ways. And I couldn’t be more excited.
Hamish, on the other hand, seemed to realize (read: think) this was his only chance to “win me back.” He’d put his arm around me, tell me how much he’d miss me, and even occasionally kiss me on the head. I’m still annoyed with myself for not telling him to go fuck himself.

I don’t know how the conversation started.

Perhaps it was because Hamish was on his way to meet the next woman he was traveling with (who he would also hit on, like all the others). In fact, he would call me a week later and complain that Rose had said she wasn’t interested after he’d ‘told her how he felt’ and that she had somehow ‘interpreted’ his actions for the rest of their time traveling together as if he were sulking and not letting her talk to other men. I wonder why.

“Yeah, well,” my bottom lip quivered a little, as it were wont to do regarding the subject of Cole, “I think I’m still in love with Cole.”
Hamish blinked at me for a second. 6 months prior I’d send Hamish a message.
- I think I’m in love with Cole. Like, I don’t want to sleep with him, but I just want to cuddle him all the time and I have no other words to describe how I feel about him.
- Yikes. Maybe you do need some time off men

And that was about where we left it. Hamish obviously had no recollection of this at this moment in time, and I’ll be honest, the look of shock on his face is something I’d cherish warmly in my memories for many years to come.

“You…. What?” Hamish didn’t comprehend the situation at all. Hamish, a born and raised narcissist, was not able to imagine that I might actually have feelings for someone that wasn’t him.

“Yeah, I mean, I thought I’d see how it went with 6 months apart,” I continued more casually now, “Like I wouldn’t act on anything, because maybe I was confused about my feelings because we’re such close friends or something, but… ah, yeah.”

To be honest, I think I’d been more scared about saying it out loud to myself than about saying it to Hamish. If anything, it was probably a bit of fun telling Hamish.

Hamish blinked again and then stammered before scrambling to announce, “Yeah, well, I’ve been still pretty much in love with Rose this past year as well.”

I half-smiled. I certainly didn’t expect Hamish to be someone who would help me understand the meaning of love. Hamish was younger than I. Only two years, but sometimes it felt like a decade.

Perhaps if the situation were different, I would have felt sorry for him. But as it stood, he didn't even know how to be a loving friend, let alone have a grown up conversation about relationships. He didn’t even seem to realize that he was incapable of viewing any woman as anything except the potential for sex. I really don’t think he even knew. I imagined that ten years from now, he’d realize none of the females he called ‘friends’ from even a couple of years prior were still around.

But then, maybe Hamish was too wrapped up in himself to realize why all the women in his life disappear. No doubt, considering he’d called me a couple of days after Rose rejected him and proclaimed “what a bitch” she was.



Improvisation - "Whatcha Gonna Do When All the Girls Are Gone?" from Siobhan Camille on Vimeo.