Simon Mark Smith’s Autobiography
CHAPTER 6
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Monica
2023
When I first started writing this book, I wasn’t quite sure where it was leading. There was a plan, but artworks tend to direct their creators to places they never originally considered. As things turned out the book turned into two main volumes, the first was partly an exploration of love, while the second touched on belief systems and ideologies. Love still weaves through the second volume, as it does most things, but this first volume was an attempt to work out what it was I kept doing that would destroy every romantic relationship I had. As it turned out, the answers were far more linked to fundamental ideologies than I could ever have imagined, and I hope may surprise you too. It’s going to be quite a while before we get there, sorry, but this chapter is one of many that touch on the relationships that fell by the wayside. Even so, in their way, all of them helped me realise the path I was following wasn’t working.
* * *
Part 1
The Depths I’ll Go To
I had just started a new job and was sitting in my office when Monica, the Irish girl who worked downstairs, came up to see how my co-worker and I were settling in. At first, we chatted together but I got a phone call so sat down and looked at her, subtly of course, while she and my office mate chatted. As I looked, I was struck by the beauty of the curve from her waist to her hip, and even then, laughed at myself at the depths I go to when assessing a potential partner.
A few days earlier I’d spoken to Monica for the first time and on finding out that she was from Ireland I told her about a friend of mine falling in love with an Irish girl. In that instance, due to neither of them being willing to move to each other’s hometowns, they went their separate ways. Soon after though, the girl got married to someone who she didn’t love and visited my friend before and after the wedding where they both declared their feelings to each other. However, faced with reality, they still went their separate ways again but this time they realised they weren’t so certain of their decision. When I got to the end of the tale, there was a pause, then Monica looked at me as if to say, “And?”
* * *
A few weeks later there was a leaving do in a local pub for one of the other workers. I was only able to stay a short while as I had to go off to teach an evening class, however, just before setting off I sat next to Monica and threw a few jokes her way.
She looked me in the eye and laughed, “Are you flirting with me?”
“Yes,” I said, “Is that okay?”
She laughed again, “Yes, sure!”
Without hesitating I added, “So does that mean you’ll come back to my place later?”
She pushed her tongue into her bottom lip, smiled and said, “Yeah okay.”
We swapped numbers and after I’d finished my class I returned to the pub. She was still hanging around but wanting to keep our meeting secret she pretended to her friends that she was going to make her way home alone, so, they dropped her off near a station, which was way beyond my road. From this point, she had two main routes she could have taken. One was the main road, the other was a quieter, slightly more dangerous and darker back street. She took the latter. I could see her walking down the dimly lit path so drove to a point where another road joined it and as she walked in front of me, I flashed my headlights. At that moment she’d been delving into her bag for her phone, but instead put her fingers into a loose tomato and as she jumped because of my flashing lights she squashed it. As she walked over, she waved her tomato fingers at me with a massive grin on her face and got into my car.
We went back to my apartment, which was a temporary place I was renting between selling and buying some properties. The place was a mess, chaotically filled with my belongings all waiting to find a home. I asked her if she wanted a drink or should we not bother with the civilities. She said she didn’t need a drink, so we lay on the single mattress on the floor and began to kiss. We made love that night and it felt good, but when she told me she was just looking for a bit of fun I replied, “We never know what’s around the corner.”
A few days later she came around again and over the next few weeks, we met regularly, grabbed clandestine kisses at work, went for breakfast at the River Café outside Putney Bridge Station, and as a sign of solidarity, shared a dish of apple crumble.
OK, she was my type physically, so that helped, and there was something between us, plus we made each other laugh a lot. But after about a month she got a bit fed up with my nonchalance and one evening at a restaurant, made it clear we wouldn’t be having sex that night. I shrugged and said I understood, but as far as I was concerned, I wasn’t bothered either way.
Two days later she came around again, and this time we made love and chatted till the early hours. From then on when we weren’t together, she’d call me to say goodnight, and as we did more and more things jointly, I started to fall for her which expressed itself, partly, by finding it almost unbearable to be away from her. Things must have been serious, as I even let her drive my car – and then one morning, somewhere in the autumn mists, I told her I was falling in love and she said, “Yeah, I feel the same way as well. I love you too.”
* * *
I’m not sure if scent and taste are one of the fundamental pillars upon which relationships are built but I’m certain they can create a barrier if we find them disagreeable. Some mornings I would push my face into Monica’s armpit because I loved the smell of her sweat so much. In theory, we’re supposed to get to know those we feel might be a good partner, and from those we learn to trust and like we may find our partners. But in reality, most of us spend more time and effort considering which tomatoes to buy at a supermarket than working out who we should get involved with.
With the Internet, we can go on dating websites which use categories and criteria to work out who’s more likely to be compatible with whom, but that doesn’t take into consideration factors such as chemistry or whether bodies feel right together, and I certainly haven’t found any scratch and sniff dating sites so far. And while it’s easy to dismiss the importance of the feel of someone’s skin or lips upon our own, when it doesn’t feel right it may ultimately tip the balance when it comes to commitment.
At the other extreme, there are nightclubs or pick-up joints where it’s all about visual and sensual cues, followed by sexual ones, along with chemistry and lastly, if it lasts long enough, personality. The thing is, by the time you’ve had sex with someone for a while, a strong bond may have formed, even if you don’t necessarily get on with them. There’s a reason it’s called making love.
* * *
One afternoon, I told my co-worker I’d met someone but wasn’t sure about them and was considering ending the relationship but seven days later, I felt committed to Monica!
We’d had seven weeks of playing around which included speaking to each other nearly every night, buying a new bed together and getting to know each other sexually. Then one morning as we made love I looked into her green eyes, which seemed much brighter than usual and felt the sex was no longer just sex, but we were now connected on a far deeper level.
* * *
A couple of days later I got food poisoning and spent the night being violently sick, the next day Monica came to me during her lunch hour and brought me some fruit and drink. She tentatively leant towards me, probably a little worried she might catch what I had, and I gently stroked her face and said thank you. I also told her that her tights had a nice pattern on them to which she laughed and said she appreciated the appreciation.
So, after lots of making love, weeks of chatting, doing romantic things together, looking into each other’s eyes, and feeling cared for, the weight was beginning to bear down on me, and I liked it.
* * *
If I were to buy a lottery ticket and the first 4 numbers that came up matched my ticket, I’m pretty sure I’d get excited. A rush of adrenalin and subconscious hopes of being rich would start coming to the surface. Then when the next two non-matching numbers appeared I’d almost certainly go through a momentary feeling of despondency. Isn’t this a micro-metaphor of what happens when we fall in love? We have a subconscious checklist of who we dream to be united with, and as we get to know someone we tick or cross the boxes until, one way or the other, the “evidence” mounts up for or against them. And sometimes, no matter how well the checklist goes or not, we still connect with someone, and just can’t understand why.
Somewhere during that transitionary week, my checklist seemed to be coming on nicely, and there’d been enough good sex, affection, and connection to allow me to let go. What I wasn’t aware of though was a great wash of emotions emerging from the shadows, waiting to have their say.
* * *
When I told Monica I’d fallen in love I sang the chorus from Elvis’s song, “I want you, I need you, I love you” and as I crooned those words Monica curled her lip, Elvis-style, and said, “I love you too.”
I looked at her and reflected, “I wonder at which point in a relationship one would feel devastated if the other person was no longer in our life because I would feel devastated if you weren’t around anymore?” She told me she felt the same way too.
So seven weeks into the relationship and after a slightly rocky start we were both together with similar feelings towards each other. She felt like a friend, we enjoyed making love with each other, and to me, there was a promise in the air that she might be “the one”.
* * *
The Night of the Knight and the Nightmare
I have had this kind of strange sleepless night before with previous potential partners. It was a night when I wanted to get out of bed and walk away. I knew if I did, it would be over, and as much as I didn’t want to hurt their feelings I was overwhelmed with nausea, claustrophobia, and a fear of being trapped.
Monica was going to an important interview the next day, and she’d have been very annoyed if I had walked out. So, I lay there thinking the pillow was uncomfortable, the walk to the loo was difficult in the dark and something deep down was wrong. I struggled for a while, and then Monica woke up and asked if I was okay. I told her I was uncomfortable, and she helped adjust the pillows. Her caring nature – she was the knight in shining armour – tipped the balance and I stayed knowing from then on, I was there for the duration.
* * *
On another occasion, just before her birthday, she called me to ask if I’d pick up a book from work and bring it to the pub. I was just about to get in the shower and then make my way to a class I had to teach before joining her. But I said to myself, “If you love her then you’ll forget the shower and go get the book.” So, I got dressed, raced out and picked it for her. She also felt that if I loved her, I’d go get it, so, fortunately, I’d made the right decision. In the box marked devotion and prioritisation, she placed a big tick.
When I came to the pub after my class Monica wasn’t surrounded by loads of friends but instead was sitting next to a male co-worker who was running his fingers through her hair. Because our affair was a secret, he didn’t know we were partners, but I was confused as to why she didn’t stop him. I sat there seething with anger, while Monica looked at me as if to say, “Sorry, but I can’t stop him.” I felt a rush of rage because she didn’t have the wherewithal to stop him and couldn’t see how much it affected me. So, on the way home, I told her how I felt, and she brushed it aside saying he was just being affectionate.
I put the first cross on my checklist in the, ‘Does she set out the boundaries to other men’ box. I didn’t realise at the time how much it had affected me but to keep things running smoothly I took on board her points and threw mine aside. Things continued to run well for another week or so until she told me she was going for a drink with an ex-lover of hers because he might have some work for her. Had I not seen Monica letting her co-worker fondle her hair I might have felt less unsettled but now I wondered if she would be able to fend off an attempt at seduction. I didn’t really know her then, and when I told her of my doubts, she couldn’t understand them. The child in me who fears being abandoned, who thinks anyone who loves me will go away, started to see Monica as possibly untrustworthy. Could she be trusted? Could I be? My insecurity coupled with her having different boundaries from me, opened a crack in the relationship that would become so wide we’d eventually fall out of love through it.
A few days later she informed me she had promised a friend she would go on holiday with her in a few weeks. As she told me my heart sank. I was certain this would be hard for me to cope with, but I knew asking her not to go just wasn’t an option.
The following week I moved out of the temporary accommodation into my new home and it felt as if we were moving in together. I asked her to consider living with me, but she declined, saying she had already done that with someone else and it resulted in her staying in the relationship because of practicalities. “How sensible,” I thought, but really, I just wanted her to throw caution to the wind. If she loved me as madly as I did her, being sensible wouldn’t come into it. I realised she wasn’t feeling the same strength of feelings as I was, but what I didn’t see was my love for her, wasn’t love. Still, my irrational self recognised an imbalance between us and knew there’d be “trouble ahead”, but what I didn’t question was whether the lack of love was mine, not hers.
I tried to continue to be nonchalant about the holiday, but it started to cast a shadow over our future. On the day she was going to meet her friend to book the ticket I dropped her off on the High Street and just as we were going to say goodbye, a man went past with a wayward hairstyle. Monica looked at me, made her eyes big, raised her eyebrows and said, “Now that’s a hair don’t”. We both laughed. But as she walked to the travel agents I wanted to call out, “Don’t” but how could I? I couldn’t. Even so, I knew our relationship wouldn’t be the same ever again. As I drove home I saw her walking up the road with her friend, so, I beeped my horn and symbolically neither of them looked up.
The logic, or illogic, of my insecurity, was this. Monica went to bed with me very quickly, she was going on holiday with another woman who I didn’t know, to a resort that was well known for being a young people’s sexual hook-up place, and given I knew they’d possibly drink quite a bit, (Monica liked drinking to get drunk), then she might end up having sex with someone else. Behind this set of thoughts was the feeling that I am not potent enough for someone else to ever want to be faithful to and alongside that, was the doubt I could ever be faithful, even to someone I believed I loved dearly. This is partly the inheritance of my childhood DNA and family history that continues to set a path of self-destruction in the present.
* * *
I didn’t see Monica for a few days after the “booking day” and when she next slept with me, I felt worried I might accidentally hit her with my arm, so I moved a safe distance away from her. I went to therapy and talked about this and during the session, we covered some ground about a violent boyfriend my mother had had, and how I felt that if I’d ever go that way, I’d want to kill myself. I started to cry and continued to do so after the session. I sent Monica a message telling her how I felt, and she said she couldn’t bear to be away from me and wanted to come and help. When she came around, I told her about some of my past and she cried too and then I told her about my fears about her going away. I explained my “psycho” illogic and she reassured me she wasn’t like that but, for all her reassurance, all I had was a childhood of abandonment, three months of love and her word of the “truth”. And in the back of my mind was the knowledge I’d just manipulated her into being my saviour when that should have been my job.
Of course, Monica’s attempt to rescue me did reassure my doubts to a degree, especially as she’d come to my self-inflicted and self-indulgent rescue. But when troubled with a bucket with a hole in it, no matter how often you top it up, it still feels empty in time.
That weekend, obviously trying my best to firm up my crumbling foundations, I bought her a diamond ring. Up till then, I had never bought a woman a ring in my life and while we might not have been engaged, this, for me was as close as I’d ever got.
As the holiday approached my doubts and her re-assurances continued, but by the time she was waving me goodbye from the airport I had become a clingy faded version of the person she’d fallen for. Not surprisingly she started to go off sex with me, saying it was pre-menstrual pain putting her off, but I knew my behaviour had something to do with it. I felt I was now at the mercy of my insecure self and its agenda was to push Monica away. I felt unable to stop myself from being needy, which in turn made being strong enough to overcome it even harder, and faced with my self-destructive shadows taking control, I was filled with even more fear and insecurity.
* * *
When she was away, we were in constant contact almost, mainly engineered by me, because if I didn’t hear from her within five hours I’d start to worry she’d forgotten me. At times while she was away, I missed her so much I cried, but of course, my need for constant reassurance began to weigh down upon her.
She missed me too, maybe not as much as I was missing her, but as the days drew on her commitment to our relationship seemed to become firmer, so, by day five she was suggesting that all bets were off, all her cards were on the table, she was willing and able, she loved me with all her heart and, as you already know, she asked, “Did I want to play Russian roulette between the sheets with her?”
“Yes,” I said, “I would.”
* * *
Part 2
When Monica came home from the holiday, we made love that night, unprotected and again the next night – but even though her period still hadn’t finished she became pregnant. We didn’t know this at first but over the next week her sexual feelings waned, then one morning she snapped at me, and I told her off for doing so. She cried and said my anger made her doubt whether we should be together. I was shaken, because for me, saying, “Just because you’re tired doesn’t mean it’s okay for you to talk to me like that,” didn’t warrant such a devastating reaction, but to her, it did.
She felt she’d tried so hard to reassure me over the weeks before, during, and after going away, that this was an unappreciative slap in the face. I felt that although she’d made an effort, that didn’t warrant her being able to shout at me without a reaction. After all, her help was a gift, not a pre-paid deal. After a day or so, she calmed down, but from this point on the relationship changed into one where the dynamic of distancing, pursuing, threats of separation and making up, took over from the fun-loving one we’d known previously. This continued for about 4 weeks until we discovered she was pregnant and the next day, again, as you know, she had an abortion.
If you asked me what traits I loved about Monica it was her humour, her sense of irreverent fun, and her child-like playfulness. We would spend many hours talking into the early hours, and then lie in together so breakfast in bed would start as the sun was setting. But as I became more insecure, I’d repeatedly direct the conversations toward the relationship itself. Initially, our time together had been a friendly, sexy one, but that was now lost, and the new one was dark, intense and about jealousy, possessiveness and freedom. The focus was no longer on love but on the imbalance between our feelings, and the lack of freely given love and sex. After the abortion, her sexual desire vanished, and she told me she didn’t fancy me anymore. It was then I started to spiral down into a dark depression. My childhood fears and lack of trust dominated the landscape of our world and every week the relationship dropped down a notch until by the week of my birthday we got to the point of no return. I questioned her trustworthiness once too often and she stopped saying she loved me.
For the next four months, we tried to salvage the relationship. And so it went on, me trying to persuade her to stay and her feeling more and more constricted. Then as we rolled into July 2005, and just as I thought things were beginning to feel better, I dropped her off at Fulham Broadway. She was going off to meet up with the friend she went on holiday with, and a feeling washed over me that this would be the last time I’d say goodbye to her as my girlfriend, and, at first, a quiet, shocked, acceptance took hold of me.
That night I dreamt her friend was sitting astride me attempting to have sex with me. I told her she was just trying to split us up. In her hands she held my penis, which in the dream had been split down the middle and, I stress this was a dream, was the shape of a wooden spoon. The message, at least partly, was I thought her presence would stir things up between us and cause a split, and sure enough the next day when I greeted Monica with a kiss, she turned her head away.
Later, she came around to my place and told me that the look I gave her when she’d turned her head away had angered her, and if she didn’t want to kiss me hello, I should accept it. As I drove her back to her place, the conversation became darker. She spoke of how she felt that just because things had picked up lately between us, that didn’t mean she felt any differently towards me, i.e. she still didn’t fancy me. She said if it hadn’t been for the doubts cast in her about how genuine her feelings were due to the abortion, she’d have split up with me a long time ago, but now she was sure she couldn’t love me the way I needed to be loved. I asked if she wanted to split up, and she said she didn’t know, but then we didn’t see each other for a week. During this time, she felt happier not seeing me and I felt more and more devastated. I sent her an email asking her to wait until things were more stable between us before making a decision but when we met up, she was determined to call it a day, and so on a sunny Monday afternoon we split up.
She felt the damage had been too much for such a short-lived relationship and didn’t want to go on. We decided, partly because we felt there was a possibility of a friendship between us, and partly to do with the practicalities of working together, that we’d try to remain friends. This meant having a one-month safety zone of remaining faithful while we (mainly I) tried adjusting to the new relationship, during which we’d see each other socially a few times.
* * *
Keep Sake
I dropped off Monica’s bits and pieces that she’d had at my place. We hugged goodbye on her doorstep, her head turned away enough for me to get the message that she wasn’t feeling close, and she asked if I wanted “our ring” back. I said I wanted her to have it to remember us by. She said, of course, she’ll remember us. Then she made a joke about Zsa-Zsa Gabor and her attitude to men and diamonds, and I laughed.
I said, “Well it’s not the end but just a change in the relationship” and she agreed, well she would because she was instigating it. As I was getting into the car, she said something, but I didn’t hear it properly, so I asked her to repeat it thinking it was something funny, but on the third try she shouted: “I was just saying thanks for the lift”. I said, “Bye darling, I love you,” and then drove off while she moved bits from the hallway up to her room. She didn’t want me to go into her place. Ever since making love to her and getting her pregnant just after Christmas, I was never invited to stay the night again.
On the way home, I felt sick thinking about not being able to make love to her again, not feeling her naked body against mine and the awful thought that in time, possibly in a month or so, she’d be in bed making love with someone else. I hoped by then I would have let go of her, but right then, that didn’t feel possible.
When I got back to my place, I realised my attempt at getting rid of reminders of her wasn’t going to work. The bed was “our bed”, we’d bought it together, and she chose the colour and headboard. The lamp was one just like she had in her place. There are now two bins, one normal one and one for recycling, that was her idea. There are some DVDs she said she’d come to watch with me and a couple of other things that hurt to look at right now.
Just before I went to bed she texted me, “I know you’re hurting and I’m sorry darl x”.
* * *
Next!
After almost two months apart, much of which was filled with pain-filled mourning, I woke up one day and was glad, for both our sakes, that we were no longer together. And so, it came to be, I was ready for my next attempt at love and its inevitable failure.
* * *
End of Chapter 6
