Downloads / Fiction / Other Stories
Now I don’t consider myself superior to others in every single way, but when my flat-mate brings her boyfriend home I have a hobby of figuring out and exposing their flaws.
One of her bring-home flings was a thespian: Quite verbose but his pride was his downfall. I dismissed him easily, and she will thank me for it later. All that was necessary was a little dinnertime inquisition into his morals and ethics, and he was unable to resist making arguments I could easily debate. He left the house a little dispirited.
All of this tomfoolery on my part was put on hold by the latest of my flat-mate’s partners. She decided to bring him to dinner, not long after they had met.
She introduced him ever-so-affectionately as ‘Bill,’ so I spoke to him thereafter as William (there are times when calling someone by their full name will unhinge them slightly, especially if they have gone to the effort of associating themselves with an expurgated appellation.)
Unfortunately this tactic did nothing, and his temperament was, as I soon discovered to be the case, as cool and collected as some of my more chemically experimental friends.
I kicked off the next section of our conversation by asking him about his vocation.
“Well,” he started, “I played football for the local team last season. I had to get a part-time job, but the sport was a good excuse to muck around and enjoy myself.”
Ah, I thought to myself snidely, a sporty type. No doubt his intelligence (or lack thereof) would be his downfall.
He continued, “But I’m finding sport to be a bit unfulfilling overall, and I’d like to do something a bit more this year.”
“Ah. What did you have in mind?”
“A degree of some sort. I could see myself as a novelist.”
A football player wanting to be a novelist? This was going to be far too easy. “Have you read many novels you’ve enjoyed?”
“Yes, a good number of them.” His eyes lit up with genuine interest. “I quite enjoy some of the classics, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, Henry Fielding’s Shamela, and a good translation of Les Miserables I found in an old bookshop once.”
I sat back in my chair, feigning delight. This lad was posing a problem. I had been relying on the certainty that he would attempt to join the flock of self-praising novelists who hadn’t read a novel since they were twelve.
Nonetheless, I pressed on. There must be a flaw in there somewhere, I thought. Perhaps his loyalty and commitment to my clearly besotted flat-mate was the problem. Perhaps he’d had a history of short relationships, each ending with his dissatisfaction with his partner, or with his longing for freedom from the female grasp. It was worth a shot.
“How did you two spring chickens meet?” I asked, before taking a bite of potato.
William smiled and tapped the air with his fork. “It was quite amusing, actually.” Somehow I doubted I would be amused.
“Go on.” I forced myself to say.
“I had been looking for a new hair stylist for a while,” his expression changed to slight sadness, “as my previous girlfriend of three years had always cut my hair. Around three months ago she left the state with another guy on the football team. In retrospect though, he is more suited to her.”
“Stronger?” I asked.
“Less… thoughtful.” He replied. His expression changed back to the usual smile. “So another of my friends suggested a girl he’d known for a long time, apparently she had been cutting hair since the age of 15. I arranged a meeting with her at her house. I turned up to the barber girl’s house, and one of her flat-mates said that she was running late. She had got caught in traffic.”
“I see.” I was, frankly, losing interest in his tale, but it would be cruel to interrupt it before the climactic point.
“It turned out,” he continued, in his colourful, interesting tone, “that the barber’s flat-mate had a friend over. And I’m sure you can guess who that was.” He smiled at his partner, and they looked lovingly into each other’s eyes. I scratched my nose, and bit loudly into a carrot.
I was tiring of my own game, now. This was usually the point at which I would have found a flaw in my adversary. I should have been playing to his weakness by now. Finishing the last few peas on my plate, I left the two chirping love-birds to their sickly romancing, and proceeded upstairs to my room.
I will be honest now. I found my inability to find William’s flaws disturbing. I knew in my mind that he could not have been perfect. Nobody is, but I could not seem to find out where his perfection ended.
My disturbance continued for a few weeks, during which my flat-mate would bring him home numerous times. Eventually, about a month later, he moved in. It nearly drove me mad having him there, and I still struggled to find anything about him to complain about.
I had to get rid of him.
My chance arose one night when he stayed home while his beau joined some of her friends at a movie. This would be an opportunity to confront him without her there. I prepared a set of statements that I could utilise to finally discover what he was hiding, and practiced them all, over and over.
Finally, I knocked on his door. I heard a shuffling.
“Not right now!” He shouted.
Wonderful, I thought. He’s doing something he doesn’t want me to see. Is he having an affair? Is he conversing with a friend who informs his apparent intelligence? I smiled.
“It’s important!” I said, and opened the door.
I admit to myself now, it was a brilliant dress, and William had mastered the art of applying his own makeup. He could have done with loosening the waist a little, but he wore it properly. A true veteran of the frock.
His calm and collected expression was replaced with one of panic.
“Don’t tell her, please!” He said. “She doesn’t know yet.”
I smiled, and held back a laugh. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”
I had a sudden change of heart. Perhaps I didn’t want to get rid of him after all.