How I lost Lucy

It was three days since we’ve had returned from our summer holliday and my English was getting worse every hour. Not that it had ever been really good but now that I was cursed by that old tattoo man at the festival it began to become more and more impossible to talk to my girl, Lucy. She was born and had lived all her life in Wales, England. That is, untill I met her and kidnapped her to my home, back here in The Netherlands or Holland, as we Dutch like to say. Lucy never really complained about her living in Holland now, because she had a shitty life in England anyway and there was a napkin in her mouth most of the time. A serious problem started to rise, it was that I had nothing serious to tell Lucy, so how could I keep up my English? I walked into Lucy’s room, she was tied to the bed, just like I left her last tuesday. Lucy, I said, how can I keep up my English if there’s nothing i want to tell you? Lucy began to mumble, it was impossible to understand anything she was saying because of the napkin that was in her mouth. Just as I wanted to pull it out I remembered something to tell her. I rolled up the sleeve of my sweater and showed Lucy my half finished tattoo. Look Lucy, it’s a bird, I said. Lucy nodded her head. Then I started to cry and began telling the whole story about the old tattoo man at the festival and how we had got into an argument about birds. I was drunk at the moment, of course, it was at the festival. I had told the old man that he couldn’t finish my tattoo, because he didn’t know shit about birds, and like, how they looked and stuff. He had pointed his finger at me, or maybe his tattoo device, i can’t remember, and he had cursed me. I was going to loose the ability to speak English in a week. Lucy began to cry as well. Her eyes said it hurt her allot that I wouldn’t be able to tell her stories. There was nothing else to do. I untied Lucy as careful as i could. She walked to the box I ordered at the post office and began to climb in. The adress where I found Lucy in Wales was written on the side of the box in good old capitals with a big black marker by my brother Marco, who had gone fishing this morning. Lucy waved at me and was giving me small kiss-hands as I closed the box. I yelled through the air hole in the side that everything was going to be allright and that I would come back to visit her in Wales, and maybe even would take her back again, if i had been able to remove the curse from my soul. Lucy mumbled something back. I hit myself on the forehead with the flat hand. It wasn’t the first time I forgot to remove the napkin from her mouth. I believe she mumbled something like that she loved me. It was a couple of days later, when I had joined Marco and we had gone fishing, that I understood that I had loved Lucy as well, but then it was, as always with these things that have to do with feelings, too late.


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