The Sheila Variations

Entire relationships encapsulated in a paragraph

1. He cooked me some kind of goulash involving beets. He took my feet in his lap and we listened to NPR. Calm cave-like silence broken only by the wash of cold rain on the window.

2. "God, that's so weird. I just mentioned that song to you - and now it's playing on the radio! Isn't that so weird??" "Not weird at all. Sheer coincidence." "Thanks for the sunshine, pal." "Who loves ya, baby."

3. On our first date, we went to Ear Inn, drank beer, and played hangman on the white-paper tablecloths. He also drew me a cartoon about the Masons - their journey across the sea, their trajectory. I can still see the little figures on the tablecloth. Irish musicians were playing jigs. He didn't kiss me that night. But it was something to look forward to.

4. He got annoyed when I would be clumsy, or roll his eyes when I tripped. Our kitchen had dizzying black-and-white tile. I got dressed up for Easter and this confused him.

5. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I was inconsolable. My sobs heaved through the tiny house. He drew me a bath, letting hot water fill up the old-fashioned claw-footed tub. I was pacing like a caged animal, sobbing. He didn't say anything, but gently put me in the bath. I became passive, quiet, calm. My face was puffy. He put the top of the toilet seat down, sat beside me and read out loud to me from Peter Manso's biography of Marlon Brando.

6. He used to be a Chippendale dancer. On our first date, he took me to the Music Box Theatre on Southport. We saw a documentary about AIDS.

7. He took a nap during his brother's wedding reception, abandoning me with all of the strangers, I knew no one. I went up to visit him. He lay on a couch in an upper room, in his tux, so asleep I thought he might have died. He was black-haired, gorgeous and Italian. I sat by him as he slept, the party raging downstairs, the Macarena emanating through the floorboards, and put my hand on his forehead. It was burning hot.

8. The cast-iron gates of Ranelagh gleamed black in the rain. He walked me back to my house from the ridiculous disco we had just been ensconced in, shouting at each other over the music, about politics and Sweden and police states and journalism and the EU. I was leaving Ireland in 2 days, so this was it. It was over. We turned onto my block, and he said, "Aw, aren't these gates lovely?" I said, "They remind me of 'The Dead'." He stopped in his tracks, gave me a look - a look I had already come to know so well - and said, openly, "You. You understand me. You understand us."

9. His cheeks glowed in the cold, as we walked through the snowy bird sanctuary, and occasionally he would gently take my hand to lead me across an icy patch, or to guide me towards something he wanted me to see. The next day, in school, he ignored me, acted as though none of it had even happened.

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