The Art of Breathing Underwater

Chapter 27

Just like at Keith's house, I sat and listened, rarely saying much.

I am Pavlov's trained pooch.

I wished Nicky was there. I missed our friendly chats and sexless flirtations. But she preferred to play the dutiful girlfriend and hang out with her boyfriend and his friends.

Sometimes, when the surrounding conversation bored me to distraction, I would zone out and think of Robbie. Recollections of us trading Goodfellas quotes would replay in my brain, merging with other memories, which I fought to block out.

I was in love with Louise, I think? We held hands on the street, shared our food when we ordered takeout. I bought her a bouquet of roses. Once. She thought it was weird but nice. That's what couples do, in books, movies, TV shows. Ads. Cards, chocolates, flowers. Expressions of love, right?

I brought Louise home to meet my parents. We had dinner, and they asked her friendly questions; she gave polite answers. Johnny took centre stage at the table. That was just his way. Louise laughed at all his jokes. Truly laughed.

My father was thrilled, eyes shining with pride. His youngest son had grown up, become a man. My mum never said too much, though I overheard her tell my dad she thought Louise was wrong for me.

I never met Louise's family.

Often when we were at her friend's house, we would slip upstairs to a bedroom and kiss and lie on the bed. Excite each other on with giddy hands, apprentice flesh potters moulding our erotic lust. One afternoon, following a script as predictable as a romantic comedy, she asked if I wanted to have sex with her. I mumbled a "yeah" without making eye contact. Admitted I was a virgin as I focussed on extracting the buttons from their slots on the shirt I'd borrowed from my brother. "Oh..." her frilly black bra sliding down her slender arms, "But you're ready, or..."

I nodded, wondering what the etiquette was when confronted with her exposed chest. Was it impolite to stare, or rude not to? Erring on the side of caution, I averted my eyes after a lingering glance.

"You sure you want to?"

Want to? I needed to.

I am Pavlov's salivating puppy.

Red-faced inelegant introduction aside, it proved a pleasant experience. Between the soft moans, I couldn't help wondering, is this all there is to it? I had expected sparks, Sharon Stone-style exultations, rolling around on the sheets in sweaty, fleshy unbridled passion, the zenith of ecstasy. Maybe I set the bar too high—and admittedly, you can't roll too far in a single bed. But casting off your virginity is supposed to be a milestone in a young person's life, the Mount Everest of experiences. It reminded me of that Hugh Grant movie, The Englishman Who Went Up a Hill But Came Down a Mountain. I was the Irishman who ascended a mountain but descended a hill.

Whilst getting dressed, she casually remarked how most guys prefer to be on top. I whipped my jeans on, in case there were other ways I didn't compare favourably with most guys she might see fit to mention.

When we arrived downstairs, her friends whispered and giggled.

I had half expected to be like Heracles descending from Mount Olympus, imbued with masculinity, radiating a god-like aura.

As I sat there blushing, I was still the same old Aaron. No Heracles. More Sisyphus, pushing that hefty boulder up the hill with the top in sight, and watching it trundle back down.

I walked Louise to her house, and we shared a quick kiss outside the gate.

In my bed, I chased patterns in the stippled ceiling, while my brain attempted to figure out what it all meant. I had crossed a mythical threshold. A giant step on the road to becoming an adult. So why did I feel like I was on the footpath watching the cars speeding past? And what defined adulthood? In my parents' time, kids finished school at fifteen. They got proper jobs. They left home. Is that not what adults do? Now, you stayed at home, attended college for five years. The markers keep changing. So confusing.

I told my brother what had happened. Johnny laughed and remarked, "They're getting younger by the day." He qualified this by confessing he had been eighteen when he'd lost his virginity. "That used to be the norm.

"Listen, say nothing to the auld pair. They're from the generation that believes sleeping together means marriage and kids. They believe it's a lifetime commitment. The church drummed that shit into 'em. It's just sex. It's a natural act. Don't build it up to be this monumental event. There are far more important things in life, kiddo."

The knot between my shoulder blades untangled. As usual, I had blown everything out of proportion.

"Don't be a greasy bastard, treat her right."

"How do you know if you love somebody? I mean, really know."

My brother started laughing. "If you have to ask... She'd have to be someone with who you'd feel comfortable talking about anything. Like your best friend. Somebody you share interests in common with. Often, it's just little things—"

"Giving you the last package of Salt'n'vinegar crisps, even though it's their favourite flavour, but they know it's yours, too..."

"Sounds like Louise is a keeper. Word to the wise, don't screw this up. You'll regret it if you do."

Any residual relief I had been experiencing evaporated. I was hurled head-first into a raging sea of confusion. Pulled under by the swirling currents, thoughts racing, as my arms floundered in the black water.

I was in a music store, wandering aimlessly around the aisles, staring at display cases for what seemed an inordinate amount of time. Upon leaving the shop, I got sucked into the stream of people populating the crowded avenue, turned off onto a road lined with rows of looming redbrick townhouses. The scene looked vaguely familiar, yet distinctly alien. I continued on, growing increasingly goosey, struggling to recognise my surroundings. The street stretched out as far as the amber horizon. Panicking now, I doubled back. Ran for blocks searching for landmarks I was acquainted with, until, out of breath, I stopped near a roundabout and appealed to an elderly lady in a black shawl for directions. "Where is it you're looking for, lad?" "It's..." I could picture the place perfectly in my mind, but the name refused to reveal itself to me. No matter how hard I wracked my brain. I explained this to her. Cackling, she said: "If you don't know where you're wanting to go, how can I direct you there?" "I know the name. It's on the tip of my tongue... I just can't..." Taking my arm in hers, she led me around the endless labyrinth of streets as the sky darkened. My distress amplified at every turn, gripped by a blind terror. Passers-by with faces distorted, like the mirrors at a fun-house, fingers pointing, laughing...

I bolted upright in the bed, struggling for breath.

Just a dream.

Just a dream.