Murphy sat down in his armchair, in front of the old record player. The stylus touched the record and conveyed the crackling sound of a very, very old song. Bessie Smith’s bright, full voice rose again from the cracks of time, straight from 1923. The piano cried its melody, and she started to sing.
“I’ve got the blues, I feel so lonely
I’ll give the world if I could only
Make you understand
It surely would be grand
I’m gonna telephone my baby
Ask him won’t you please come home
‘Cause when you’re gone
I’m worried all day long…”
His coat still on, Murphy removed his gloves and joined the palm of his hands in front of his face, as if he was lost in silent prayer, the side of his index fingers stroking his lips and bearded chin, his elbows resting on his knees. He closed his eyes behind the glasses, whose lenses had suddenly turned lighter in the dimly lit room – revealing dark, soulful eyes.
“Baby won’t you please come home
Baby won’t you please come home
I have tried in vain
Evermore to call your name
When you left you broke my heart
That will never make us part
Every hour in the day
You will hear me say
Baby won’t you please come home, I mean
Baby won’t you please come home…”
Talking to Lisa had been comparable to a ticking bomb suddenly detonating in his chest. Somehow he had been surprised by the emotional turmoil he had experienced, even though he had been the one pushing the button on the remote control. Looking for her, actively walking in her direction, closing the gap separating him from his pretty neighbor. Talking to her… finally, after weeks of silent greetings from afar. It had felt odd… Excruciating. Soul-shattering. He had never felt anything similar in his life, or, at the very least, not in a long time.
But of course, his life had been made of nothing for such a long time that every little thing now affected him like a blast. He was the victim of a bombardment and walked blindly among the ruins every time his emotional state moved from bland and almost totally unaffected to alive and pulsing, like a beating heart. It had become so easy to get overwhelmed by small things while, in the meantime, he would always almost indifferent to everything else.
Murphy just sat there until the song ended, leaning back in his recliner. Finally, he stood up just as Robert Johnson started to make his guitar weep.
Another voice from the past. Was his life made of anything else, after all?
“Well I followed her, to the station
With a suitcase in my hand
Yeah, I followed her to the station
With a suitcase in my hand
Whoa, it’s hard to tell, it’s hard to tell
When all your love’s in vain…”
Murphy removed his coat, took off his glasses and walked over to the bathroom, inhaling and exhaling slowly, just like he had been taught to do, to regain his self-control and keep it steadily in place. He turned the water on in the shower and got undressed in the dark bathroom. Every movement was slow, careful, controlled.
Nothing was wrong with his body, really – there was no reason why he should be moving like an old man. But his entire life had been progressing in slow motion for such a long time now. It didn’t matter that he was healthy and strong like he hadn’t been in years: he still couldn’t bring himself to regain the sizzling energy that used to be such a rooted part of who he once was. After all, why bother?
Life could change a man so profoundly, especially when it surprised him with a couple of unexpected, furious jabs. Murphy knew it, he had learned. Eventually.
He stepped into the shower and closed his eyes under the hot water, his head reclined back, the tension in his body finally loosening its grip and sliding away. He stayed there for four, maybe five songs. When he got out of the shower, the night had fallen, and he could see the darkness enveloping the countryside and the cliff, just outside the window. The lighthouse was the only thing still awake outside.
This was such a different world compared to the one he had known when he was younger. In his previous life.
Murphy turned on the light over the mirror and rested his hands on each side of the sink. Naked, droplets of water still caressing his skin, he seemed lost in thought for a moment, then finally allowed himself to look at his own reflection in the mirror. His paleness was enhanced by the wet, darkened hair falling on his forehead and brushing the top of his ears. Even though the area around his temples had almost turned entirely white, his hair was still mostly dark on the back and top of his head, only slightly streaked with grey. His beard, full and thick, was just as grizzled on his sideburns and chin, albeit not too long. He rubbed it with his fingers, almost out of habit. It had taken a lot of time and effort to become accustomed to that style.
He sighed and stayed there for long minutes, completely naked and motionless, his head lowered and his chin almost touching his chest. The stillness of his body was the perfect contrast for the absolute hurricane ravaging his soul.
The lovely climate, as Lisa had called it, was one of Murphy’s strongest allies because, even though he really didn’t like the cold Scottish weather, it allowed him to stay well-covered all the time. To keep warm and to stay safe, although he no longer felt threatened in any way.
Despite his insidious, deep feelings of fear and concern about Lisa, Murphy was pretty sure that he could go through a couple of hours outside with her, all the while remaining relatively unscathed.
“Lisa… Lisa… Lisa…”
The voice was a whisper and sounded almost impalpable. However, what Lisa felt inside her body was incredibly real. She kept her eyes closed, knowing full well that it was nothing more than one of her usual dreams and yet hoping never to wake up again.
Lisa didn’t want to die, not at all, but she had almost completely forgotten how to live. And those dreams – the dreams that had been with her nearly every night in the last seven years – were the solid rock she clung to in the effort of keeping what was left of her sanity. In a way, it was absurd how something so unreal could feel so genuine and sincere at the same time. It was bizarre how the impalpable aftertaste of a dream had become the most substantial grip on her waking hours.
And that was why she pretended that her dream was not on the verge of slipping away and kept her eyes closed, holding to him with one hand, the other clasping the softness of his curls. It all felt so perfect and right. She felt the weight of his body on top hers, she felt him buried side of her and wondered for a second if it was all pure imagination or a recollection. Or the memory of a memory.
In her dream, Michael was making love to her. He was moving languidly, sliding inside her body while his lips left a trail of kisses all over her neck. Lisa could feel his afternoon stubble graze her soft skin – a burning sensation, and yet somehow soothing.
She could feel his skin and lips, soft to the touch when she blindly reached for them with her fingertips, which Michael kissed. There was nothing tender in the way he was invading her, though – it didn’t matter how slow his strokes were. She was the shore and he was the wave.
Lisa felt like crying and yet, in her dream, she smiled.
“Stay here…”
“I am here.”
“Don’t leave, Michael. Stay here… with me. Stay with me.”
Her whisper held a desperate quality because she knew he would go. Eventually. Like he always did. Just to come back again in her next dream. Right now, it didn’t matter: Michael would always leave, and it gutted her every single time.
“I’m here, Lisa. But here’s not here.”
His voice sounded soft and she could tell that he was already slipping away, even though his body still felt so real and so close. So alive.
The dream started to shake and vanish when someone rang the doorbell and Lisa groaned inwardly. Suddenly, she felt like crying. No! Stop! They had to stop, whoever it was – she wanted, needed to keep dreaming. She wanted, needed to be with him for just another moment.
No such luck. Whoever was outside rang the doorbell again – almost discretely.
There was no way she could stay in her comforting bubble any longer. Lisa’s sleep had become erratic, as light as a feather. She opened her eyes and, just like every morning, she allowed Michael to slide away, to the back of her soul, in that space in her mind and heart that was reserved for him and him alone.
Here’s not here, indeed. He was there, and yet he wasn’t.
“I’m coming,” she muttered, blindly reaching for her robe and sitting up on the bed.
The ringing sound stopped while Lisa walked over to the front door. She glanced at the small window by the hall and saw Murphy standing there, on the patio, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
Lisa squinted her eyes. The neighbor? What the hell did he want? Was it morning already? What time was it?
Well… apparently, not too early to show up unannounced.
The sun was high in the sky, the wind was blowing – as usual – and Murphy looked… like his usual self. Pretty tall, sturdy, clad in his black coat, grey newsboy hat and all. Maybe he thought he was some superhero, and that was why he always wore the same clothes. Or perhaps it was merely because the cold weather still didn’t allow anything less than a multi-layer approach to the outdoors.
Lisa smiled when she noticed the Reflex in his gloved hands. It looked like the guy was serious – and that he was not fooling around the day before, when he had told her they should be exploring the area together, taking some pictures. Surprisingly and suddenly, the idea of going out with him for a bit didn’t sound so bad.
She crossed her arms over her chest and opened the door, not caring to show him that she had been asleep and was not exactly presentable. She was pretty sure that Murphy, the polite gentleman who loved gardening, was not a creep or a maniac.
Or at least she hoped he wasn’t…
“Good morning, Miss Lisa… uh…” Murphy stopped mid-sentence and widened his eyes in embarrassment. Then he blushed and lowered his gaze, staring at his own feet. “I’m sorry. I thought you were awake.”
Again, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. It was an endearing mannerism and Lisa’s smile stayed in place. This guy looked so… nice. So normal. Like a breath of fresh air.
“Don’t worry about it. It was time to get up anyway, so… Thanks for waking me up…”
Lisa raked her fingers through her hair and stayed on the threshold. She felt a slight headache crawl its way between her temples – a sweet and predictable consequence of the bottle of red wine she had downed the previous night, before passing out on the couch and then, in the middle of the night, dragging herself to the bedroom.
“I can come back later if you want… or… another day, maybe?”
Still looking very uncomfortable, Murphy moved a step back and pressed his hat onto his head, squinting against a sudden gust of cold wind. Lisa too shivered when the chill swept into the house.
“No, it’s fine… I’m not going to go back to bed anyway.” She bit her lip. Should she say it? Should she trust him? Oh, fuck it. “Come in, Mister Murphy… It’s cold outside, and there’s no reason for you to go back to your house, at this point.”
She didn’t know why she had told him that he could come in. She barely knew him and it was not proper to invite him into her house. But there was something enigmatic and lovable about Murphy, and the thoughts of the night before still swirled in Lisa’s mind. How he reminded her of Michael somehow. How genuinely nice he had looked as they talked. How he seemed to be as lonely as she was.
She was not the kind of woman to open her door to a stranger. As a matter of fact, she was usually very reserved and cautious with everyone unless she knew them well. Not necessarily shy, but definitely introverted. However, at that very moment welcoming her neighbor felt like the most natural thing to do.
Besides, she didn’t want to be rude: why should she leave him outside like a garden gnome?
Murphy stepped into the hall. He politely removed his hat from his head, closed the door behind his shoulders and just stayed there, apparently unsure of what he should do next. He glanced around from behind the lenses of his glasses.
Lisa smiled.
“Please, come… Let’s make you comfortable here in the living room.” She motioned to the couch and he followed her quietly. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
Leaving him there without really waiting for an answer she walked to the nearby kitchen, all the while wondering if she wouldn’t need a couple of Advils to tame that damn headache. She shook her head to herself. Nope. She didn’t want to resort to any medications. Not even ibuprofen, if she could avoid it. She wanted that chapter of her life to be over and was going to avoid any pills at all costs.
“Coffee would be nice, thank you…”
Murphy was still glancing around. He sat on the edge of the couch in what looked like a quite stiff posture. It was apparent that he was still a bit nervous and didn’t really know what to do. Slowly, he removed his gloves and kept them in his lap, together with his hat.
Unseen, Lisa observed him from the kitchen. She watched him as he cocked his head to a side and scratched his sideburn with the tip of his finger, then rubbed the palm of his hand over his chin. A mannerism that she had already noticed the day before. A self-comfort gesture, made out of embarrassment and unconsciously, possibly an involuntary twitch.
“I didn’t think you were serious yesterday, you know…” After a couple of minutes, she walked back into the living room and handed him a cup of coffee. “I mean, about taking a walk together… About taking pictures and stuff…”
He rose his eyebrows in genuine surprise and glanced up at her.
“Well, as you can see, I was more than serious.”
He tipped his head in the direction of his Reflex, now resting next to him on the couch.
“You sure were, and that’s some kick-ass camera you got there,” Lisa smiled. “But I’m not sure I can do this with you.”
“Oh.” Murphy was quick at hiding his disappointment and watched her intently, instead. “And why is that, if I can ask?”
“Not because I don’t want to. I mean, I’d be glad to take a look around and it would even be the first time for me. I don’t go out much. But last night I checked and realized I don’t have my camera with me.” She laughed softly and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Because you know, Mister Murphy… I got a beautiful Pentax K1000, a vintage model which I love, but it’s probably still in L.A. I wasn’t really thinking about taking pictures when I first moved here.”
“And now you do?” He seemed amused. “You didn’t think Scotland was a great place for photographs… That’s… ah, odd.”
His eyes still playful, he sipped his coffee quietly.
As they spoke so casually, a familiar feeling made its way into Lisa’s chest. Something she couldn’t really pinpoint and that she quickly brushed off.
“Let’s just say taking pictures was not on top of my priority list. But you know what? I can ask my children to bring my equipment next time they visit.”
Murphy kept staring at her, his eyes calm and unreadable.
“Oh… You have children?”
Half of his face was still hidden behind the cup.
“Yeah. Four adorable kids.”
“I see…” Murphy took another sip of coffee. “That’s amazing. I am sure they are very proud of their mom.”
Lisa snorted.
“Well, I hope so. I’m not always sure, lately.”
“Miss Lisa, I think I should apologize. I guess I was a bit impetuous this morning, showing up like this…” Murphy cleared his throat and placed the empty cup on the small coffee table in front of the couch. “I suppose we have to postpone our walk until your children bring you your admirable equipment…”
Lisa almost had to chuckle at his choice of words. Impetuous? Postpone their walk? This guy was so… old-style!
“We could. Or I can borrow your camera. I could also take pictures with my smartphone, but I have a feeling you’re too much of a… ah, purist to allow such heresy.”
Caught by surprise, Murphy laughed lowly and lowered his head.
“That’s a bold guess. But yeah, I think phones should only be used to make calls… or, best case scenario, to send texts.”
“I gotta tell you, you sound so old-fashioned, Mister Murphy,” Lisa tilted her head and smirked.
“That’s because I’m ancient, grey hair and stuff. Practically a dinosaur.”
He looked up at her briefly, his eyes mischievous and so very boyish, and then scratched his cheek. He looked far from old. Just a bit worn-out by life.
Lisa felt a thorn penetrate her soul, and her inner voice admonished her immediately.
Stop it. He’s not Michael. God only knows why this guy reminds you of him, but he’s not Mike. Your man is gone, and he ain’t coming back. Not in this lifetime. Stop being such a ninny and get yourself together.
Here’s not here.
The muffled voice that had taken possession of her dream replayed in her mind and spoke once again. Followed by the memory of Michael’s voice resurfacing from a long gone past. A different lifetime.
“I’m a gentleman.”
Lisa pushed the thought aside, pondering over the fact that maybe she was walking on a thin line at last. She was finally losing her mind and living alone in the middle of nowhere wasn’t helping her keep her sanity. The first man she had laid eyes on could look, in some light, subtle and fleeting moments, like the spitting image of her ex-husband. Her dead ex-husband. The one who still made her feel like a widow. But Murphy wasn’t Michael.
How unbalanced and deranged could she get? Maybe running away from everything and everyone had been for the best, after all. The less people had to deal with her lunacy, the better.
“…What do you think? If that is OK with you.”
His voice snapped her back from the sudden jump in the past.
“I’m sorry, come again?”
Murphy was watching her intently. A small wrinkle had appeared in between his eyebrows, behind the glasses. Was he… concerned?
“I was just saying that you can definitely borrow my Reflex… if that is OK with you.”
“Oh. Sure.” Lisa cleared her throat and replied without even thinking. “Sure. Thank you, Mr. Murphy.”
“Murphy.” His voice was soft. “Just Murphy will be fine. There’s no need to be formal.”
Practical stuff: how she should call him, what they could do together to cheat time. Lisa felt almost grateful. Apparently, that man right there was able to reel her back to normality.
“OK… Murphy is it, then. Is that your first name?”
“Last.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake… Not again. Lisa shook her head and smirked.
“You know what? I’d rather not to… I mean, I used to call my ex-husband by his last name. I’m not into that shit anymore.”
Murphy hesitated for a second. His fingers fidgeted with the hat and gloves in his lap.
“…Ethan, then.”
“Ethan,” Lisa repeated, savoring the way his name rolled on her tongue. “Ethan Murphy.”
“Yeah.”
She smiled.
“Alright then, Ethan Murphy. I’m gonna get dressed so we can head out. You woke me up from my beauty sleep, and now I’m curious to see what this place has to offer.”
This time the smile was reciprocated and he rose from the couch.
And out they went. That day and every day since then, for about a month. Little did Lisa know that, before Christmas, her life would be turned upside down once again. This time, once and for all.
Chapter song
