Read by Annalie Wilson
I knew Adam wasn’t The One when I found out that he didn’t think I was funny. It’s not something people usually just come out and say – I guess that’s how I dated the man for three years without realising. When he told me, which I’ll get to, it hit me that in life we all operate in our own siloed-off worlds; connection occurs as much within our heads as it does in reality. I blundered around for years laughing at Adam’s jokes, thinking that the kind, intelligent and generous man I was with also had a sense of humour. The realisation he didn’t was like glass of cold water to the face, followed quickly by another, when I realised he had never understood my sparkling wit. So, I left him.
He crunched on his All-Bran – perhaps the least humorous cereal – and said: Ooh, that’s a tough one. Some milk dribbled out of his lips.
It’s tough to think of three good things about me? That’s a bad sign, I joked.
No, it’s just tough to decide which of the many good things about you go in the top three, he said. I laughed, as though there weren’t actually lots of good things about me to choose from.
Well, I guess the top one would be your kindness. And, second, would be your intelligence. Third … hmm, third, your generosity. He smiled at me with affection and a tinge of smugness, a though he had just passed a test with flying colours. Eat breakfast, tick. Pass test set by neurotic girlfriend, tick. Go to work, tick.
As I scrubbed our cereal bowls at the sink, I seethed. Kindness, generosity, intelligence? I felt like he had taken my subversive, interesting personality and rendered me as some kind of benevolent, sex-less Mother Theresa. I wasn’t kind. Arguably, I was mean if I had to be described as one or the other! Thank God he included intelligence, but did he really think I was intelligent? Or did he just say it because it’s what you say? I washed the dregs of his stupid All-Bran down the sink feeling unseen. Then, I headed to the shower.
KINDNESS
The next morning over cereal – Adam ate All-Bran, as usual, but mixed in some untoasted muesli, just to keep things fun – I asked Adam to tell me why he thought I was kind.
Of course, you’re kind. I wouldn’t love you if you weren’t kind, he said, as though his say-so was enough.
But what about all the mean things I say to people we know? Like when I told Shauna that she has an ugly name.
Shauna does have an ugly name. Besides, you didn’t do that to be mean, did you?
I reflected. I had said it because I was bored by the dull, couples barbeque we were at and it had struck me as a funny topic of conversation – names. When I got a few shocked laughs, I had elaborated on the theme and then got carried away, like a comedian who has found the audience’s sweet spot.
In general, you’re a good person, Adam continued. You pay taxes. You help your clients.
That is such a banker’s idea of what makes a good person.
Paying taxes is very important!
Before he could begin his standard tirade on taxation, I said: but goodness isn’t kindness.
Well, what about the women’s legal stuff? You volunteered there! An unkind person wouldn’t do that.
He picked up his bowl and drank the remaining milk. I love how the milk goes all sweet when I have muesli, he said.
As I put on my makeup in the steamy bathroom after breakfast, I felt frustrated. I smoothed foundation onto my face until my skin was monochromatic and then painted on blush and lipstick, as if to say: there’s still blood in this face, I’m still alive. I took out my nose ring and put in a clear placeholder stud. Then, I went to work.
I work in a glossy high rise in the city. I wear flats on the train and change into heels in the alleyway downstairs. I sit at a desk (not my desk, we hot desk) and process apartment sales in large-scale residential developments that haven’t been built yet. My clients are all property developers and only care about one thing: money.
Once I had to write to a terminally-ill person to tell them we wouldn’t give them their deposit back, even though their recent diagnosis meant they were likely to die before their apartment was ready. My supervisor went through the letter I drafted to the terminally-ill person and crossed out my first sentence: “We are so sorry to hear about your recent diagnosis.” I didn’t even protest when I saw her edits, just made the changes and sent it back.
It’s not what I planned, but Adam got me the job through a friend when I couldn’t find anything on my own. The non-profit sector is more competitive than you’d think.
INTELLIGENCE
I met Adam through a mutual friend while I was still at uni. He had graduated several years before and worked in finance, which he treated like it was no big deal.
I work at a bank doing money stuff, he said to me when I asked him what he did. But let’s not dwell on that.
I found his nonchalance charming. It felt like we had shared a joke and his career was the punchline.
What about you? he said, pushing his straw to the side so he could drink his vodka and tonic straight from the glass.
I’m studying law.
He nodded. Oh great.
His voice was so monotone that it was impossible to tell whether he was extremely serious or sarcastic.
He continued: any area you’re particularly interested in?
Why don’t you guess? I said, making a fuss of sipping my drink through the straw.
Okay. Well, judging from the look you gave me when I said I’m in finance, I guess you’re not into commercial law, or tax or anything like that.
I smiled. Go on …
And, not that I want to stereotype, but this is your game –
I held my hands up in surrender. No don’t worry, judge away.
From your nose ring and your style, I’d say you’re a lefty. So, maybe, human rights?
Not exactly ... Do you want another guess?
No, go on. You tell me.
Probably, and I’m really not sure, but I’d probably like to work in a women’s legal centre. Either in DV, domestic violence, or family law.
So, I was pretty close, he said.
Kind of. At least, insofar as women are humans and I care about their rights.
Well that, and the fact that you want to make a difference. He made bunny ears with his fingers when he said make a difference, as though wanting to make a difference was a cliché.
Hey! Don’t mock me. Am I that predictable? I said.
No not at all. I’m just a good judge of character.
He smiled, his beautiful, straight teeth fully visible, like a shark’s. I thought how much I’d like to kiss his mouth. Just for a laugh. Just to see whether finance people could be passionate, or that’s what I’d tell my friends. But they’d probably get it. He was handsome – tanned and muscular – and confident. I found him intriguing: why was he here with all these uni students rather than at a trendy bar with his banker friends? I reasoned, from his aversion to talking about work, that it was probably because he found them, and it, as contemptible as I did, that he had a secret inner desire to work as a creative or a philanthropist. I saw in him what I wanted to see.
We started sleeping together the next week, and a year later when I graduated we still were, so I moved in.
GENEROSITY
I should have been prepared to answer the question when Adam asked me what his best three traits were, but I’d been lost in my own crisis and hadn’t given it a thought. When he asked me on Wednesday morning, I said: well, for starters, you smell excellent. I rubbed my nose into his neck.
You love the Chanel, what can I say?
I went back to my rice bubbles, with sugar on top.
You are very healthy, I said, eying his All-Bran. And consistent. Look at you, eating the same cereal day after day. Don’t you ever get bored?
I do. Sometimes I have it with muesli. But I’ve got to stick with it – I need the fibre to get things moving. He looked at me matter-of-factly like we weren’t discussing his shit.
You sound like an ad for All-Bran.
I’m passionate about All-Bran, even if I’m a bit bored of it.
Isn’t that a contradiction?
He ignored me. Now, come on. I want a third trait. I’ve got fragrant, reliable …
I said healthy too!
C’mon Mia, I’m fishing for at least one compliment here.
I laughed, as though I hadn’t become immune to all the good things about him, as though they hadn’t been lost in the routines we shared and the people we seemed to have become.
You’re funny, I said. Not always laugh out loud but you’re humorous. Witty. We both are. I’ve always thought of it as our thing.
Really? he said. I’d never thought of us as funny people … Huh.
After Adam left, I went into our bedroom to dress. He didn’t think we were funny?
I couldn’t believe that I was with someone who didn’t think being funny was important, who didn’t see that the little jokes we shared were the only way that I could connect my world to his. I pulled on a pencil skirt and floral blouse and assessed the outfit in the mirror, sucking in my tummy and pulling my shoulders back. I wondered, what does Adam see when he looks at me?
The note I left on the breakfast table said:
I’m rude, sometimes selfish, and funny, and I want someone who sees that and loves me anyway.
(c) Georgie Melrose, 2019
Annalie Wilson (left) is an actor, musician and award-winning singer-songwriter. Her new project “Luna Bec” launched this summer and was described as “relatable and inspirational” by Get Into This magazine, and “a great singer-songwriter to watch” by the Strange Brew podcast. You can follow her on Instagram and Facebook @lunabecmusic
Georgie Melrose is the author of Kind, Intelligent, Generous, which is her first published work. As an Australian on a post-university gap year in London, Georgie spends her days making flat whites at her local café and reading novels she wishes she had written.
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