The First day I Felt Good
The first day I felt good my eyes walked through the rain that was beyond the window.
There was a man outside. He was staring in. He was staring inside. This man, we’ll call him David. David is his name.
He was outside, staring in and he took me by my hand and brought me back inside.
Now this man, David – how old is he? He is like me. He is about twenty six.
He has short dark hair and he is wearing a blue t-shirt that has a bit of paint on it and it is a bit torn.
He is – he – he was doing some painting. He is a painter. He painted the wall in the room in the house he had bought with his girlfriend. No, that’s not quite right –
They bought a room in a house.
It was a house that was once a warehouse.
It was a room in a house that was once a warehouse near the city centre.
In Manchester.
He painted the wall. He painted it blue.
He painted it blue because blue was his girlfriend’s favourite colour.
Now, who is his girlfriend?
She is short, with blond hair and she smiles a lot. I mean, she smiles all the time.
I have never not seen her smiling. Even when she is crying, she is smiling.
Her eyes take a walk out, past her tears and they hang in the rain and form two smiles that smile through the window. Which window?
The window of David’s flat.
The window by the blue wall.
The rainbluetearblue wall.
David did not shower in the morning and the brightness of the sun made the grit around his eyes feel like it was natural and right.
Now what day is this? This day is Sunday.
Sunday and the city is quiet. Like a park. Like a big park with houses.
And the canal says hello! – the sunlight bounce off the canal reflects back up to David, all the wayway up on the balcony where he has his coffee and he has his orange juice and he looks at this bit of paint on his t-shirt.
It is an old t-shirt and it is his favourite.
His brother bought it for him in a country far away where there were lights and music and the smell of smoke in the air.
His brother stared up into the blue sky.
He stared up and thought he could dive into the sky if he wanted to.
He was so far away from home, his brother.
His brother was walking along and there was gunfire and then his brother was dead.
They sent him home and they had a funeral. Who was his brother? Was he a soldier?
His brother was a soldier and now and then he was dead.
And David was sad, sad for such a long time.
He grew into his sadness like a child grows into a pair of jeans, like a beer gut grows into a belly, like a tear grows into a stream, like a tadpole grows into a frog, like a cloud grows into the sky.
Even his girlfriend couldn’t make him happy. She tried. She really tried. She said to herself, he’ll get better he will. It was hard on her. She became sad too but she was not sad because she’s never sad and she never shows it.
David, he just wouldn’t speak at all. He stopped painting.
She – what could she do? She worked and she came home and there he was on the sofa. There he was and sometimes she hadn’t had a good day but she thought – she thought: this life is so, so short. She – she wanted to quit her job. She wanted to go into the sky with David and his brother and float about and look at Manchester from up there, where it was really high.
She knew he would get better. She knew it.
Now David – now David, what’s David doing now?
He’s finished painting and he’s having a coffee and out of the bedroom walks a sleepy girl and she puts her hand on his arm and she gives him a kiss on the neck.
And though he had felt very sad for a long time, a little bit of sunlight warmed the trace of moisture she had left on his neck and it was maybe the first day he felt good again.
Chris Dennis lives in London and was born in Manchester. Twitter: Chris___Dennis