All The Subtlety Of A Sock Full Of Pennies

My plot has just completely derailed, and unlike in Jackie's novel, it is a problem. I had an epiphany that instead of naming my character Olivia Gerrard, I really should name her Olivia Pool, just in case anyone missed my "THIS IS ABOUT FERNANDO TORRES AND LIVERPOOL" allegory. Then, upon realizing that Fernando has played for another club that I hadn't even mentioned (Atletico Madrid), I had to add another character (Antonia) to fill that role. As the title of this post indicates, this allegory is so ridiculous that I'm a little embarrassed of it. But also sort of proud.


I recommend listening to this when Fernando turns the music on.
Olivia was dreading the inevitable return to the real world more than she had ever dreaded anything before. She could have stayed with Fernando in Portugal forever, if it was always going to be like this. A part of her knew that nothing could always be that way, and trying to make a vacation your life was like trying to capture sunlight (or a fart) in a jar. But what if she could capture just a part of it? What if her and Fernando could travel the world, writing, experiencing, and being in love? Why couldn’t she have that?

Fernando came into their room from their balcony shaking off the rain that had just started to fall onto his blonde hair and his red sweater. He hadn’t seen it coming; the skies had seen clear, but from one second to the next, the skies had opened up and seemed to be emptying. The look in his eyes seemed to tell her that they had been thinking the same thing; they were full of longing for a world where they didn’t have to be apart.

He crossed the room to his computer that he had been working on all weekend. But instead of hearing the clacking of keys, she heard the sweet sound of violins and Etta James.

“At last, my love has come along. My lonely days are over, and life is like a song. At last, the skies above are blue. My heart was wrapped up in clover, the night I looked at you.”

He held out his hand for her. Before she accepted, she slipped on her heels that had been left on the floor, wanting to match his height so that their eyes could meet. They swayed to the music as the rain seeped into Olivia’s clothing. She didn’t care.

“I want to tell you about the man that I was before I met you,” he how looked down, as if ashamed. “It’s hard for me to think about, and even harder for me to share with you. I wish that I could say that I have always been the man that you know—the man that you make me want to be.

“Until a few years ago, I was in a relationship with a girl that I had known my whole life back in Spain. Her name was Antonia, and I don’t even remember when I met her because we were so young. We fell in love when we were seventeen, and we were engaged to be married when really, we were just children. I told her that I would love her forever; back then, I really thought that I would. But things change, people grow up, and they grow apart. I used to love the way that she cherished me and needed me, but I grew to resent it. I became tired of living in a small town where everyone knew one another, and no one could ever advance or improve. Antonia was small-town, and I knew that she would never have considered leaving.

“One morning, out of nowhere, I told her that I was leaving her and our home in Fuenlabrada. I didn’t even know where I was going; all I knew was that I couldn’t be with her anymore, and I couldn’t stay in Fuenlabrada. I still loved her, and I told her so. This made her angrier, and she assured me that she would never forgive me. To this day, she won’t speak to me.
“I moved to England, and for months, I felt cold and incapable of love. I thought that I must be some kind of monster for doing what I did to her, so I started to act like one. I’m too humiliated by my behaviour to tell you what those months were like.”

He was silent for a few moments, still unable to meet her gaze.

“But when I met you,” he looked up, “I felt like I had woken up from a long sleep. My life before I met you didn’t feel real. The only thing that was real to me was the time that I got to spend with you.”

“I found a dream that I can speak to—a dream that I could call my own. I found a thrill to press my cheek to—a thrill that I have never known”

Now it was Olivia who could not look at Fernando. The feelings that were rushing over her were overwhelming; the look on his face would have pushed her over the edge, to be swept up by the tide.

“Not a day goes by when I don’t think about how I betrayed Antonia. I should have never made those kinds of promises, especially when I started to realize that I couldn’t keep them. But I want to promise everything to you, and I want to be the kind of man who follows through. Until the end.”

“You smiled, and then the spell was cast. And here we are in heaven, and you are mine at last.”

She knew the feelings that Fernando had described exactly: the overwhelming desire to scream, “Don’t call my name!” over and over again, and the shame he had felt for who he had become because of it. But most of all, she felt that same desire that he did, to fall in love and never fall out of it.

“I feel the same way,” Olivia finally stammered.

That seemed to be all that he needed; or what they both had needed.




And I really just wanted to add this part, because it's actually entertaining. It's entertaining because I stole it from others.

On the patio of the Avenida da Liberdade, Lisbon’s main street, Olivia and Fernando met a group of American tourists, who called themselves “Just Fiddlin’ Around,” who had just come from Dimples, an American-run karaoke bar. Evidently a man named Kiefer Northerland had set out to show off a few dimples of his own, and had been sans pants for most of the evening.

“At first I thought that he had been eating ice cream,” explained Jonathan, who was wearing a red plaid shirt. “But when I got closer I realized that he as actually drinking a booze-laden cocktail, topped with whipped cream!”

“That might explain his lack of pants,” Olivia offered.

“It doesn’t explain his inability to pick a song for his famously gruff voice!” Another member of the group asserted, who was wearing a grey t-shirt, jeans, and black Adidas. His name was Herbert. “He finally picked out a Billy Joel song from the song book, but when the song started, he could only get out a few lines before begging us all to bail him out!”

“I hear that’s mostly what Billy Joel did anyway, for most of the later years of his career,” Olivia joked.

“After he finished, I asked him, ‘Man, what are you doing here?’” Jonathan said. “It really backfired, though, when he took off his dirty briefs and started to do some kind of robotic shimmy. He held his underpants in one hand, and started applying prescription deodorant with the other. I don’t really have any complaints about the deodorant, though. It certainly didn’t hurt.”

“It was all fun and games, until he stumbled over to our table naked and sat in my lap. Yeah, he was full of apologies, but it didn’t stop him from staggering around the drinking den, bumping into prettymuch everyone!” a blonde named Jennifer fumed.

Olivia laughed along with their harrowing tale, enjoying the image of this Kiefer dancing and imbibing booze-laden cocktails while not even attempting to sing along to the song that he had picked out. She stopped laughing, however, when a man wearing dirty underpants with a red carnation tucked into the waistband approached their table and put his arms around her and Fernando.

“Oh hi, Kiefer,” Jennifer said awkwardly.

“Did you… follow us here?” Herbert asked, looking exceedingly uncomfortable.

It seemed as if Kiefer’s inability to verbally express himself had not ended at Dimples Karaoke Bar set to the tune of “Piano Man.” Or perhaps it wasn’t exactly an inability to talk, but a decision not to; it seemed as if he had chosen to speak with his body, through dance. Olivia’s eyes were not treated to another robotic shimmy and Charleston, but rather, he began to move forward with a strange kicking back motion, while rhythmically crossing his straightened arms in front of him (note: that is incredibly difficult to describe). After several seconds he switched directions and began kicking forwards, and simultaneously pointing his fingers above him in the air, alternating between the right and left. It was an mesmerizing dance, to be sure. The other Avenida da Liberdade patrons quickly took notice, and began whooping and clapping along. This only spurred him on, and his movements increased in intensity and flourish. He was really bringing the noise, so to speak, until he was bringing the noise literally when he crashed into a group of Spanish tourists who were none too impressed by the sudden contact with his sweaty, naked skin.

When Fernando suggested to Olivia that they make like a tree and leaf, she could scarcely have been happier to follow the suggestion. The only thing that would have made her happier would have been if he had not used that expression.


Fuck. I'm the worst when it comes to posting reasonable excerpts.