The House of Mechanical Pain

The House of Mechanical Pain

By Chaz Brenchley

Tasha’s one of those people who live life on the razor’s edge, who find the world too difficult to deal with, almost too difficult to bear.

She tries to be sweet about it, for our sake: greets every crises with a glass of champagne, swallos down the fear and sees how far a smile and an endearing helplessness will get her this time. Seldom far enough, but when troubles reach their ragged ends she has an endless ability to suffer quietly, with an intolerable patience.

It’s one of the reasons I adore her. Also one of the reasons why, when she asks for help, I’m just there. If she has to ask, then she really, really means it.

Also, she’s not apologetic about it. This particular Friday, I was just settling down for the afternoon – Margaret Lockwood on the TV, paperwork all over the carpet, see which could hold my attention – when there’s hammer-hammer-hammer on the front door, familiar in every sense. Only one person I know deals so desperately with obstructions, kicking and flailing at them to get through to what she needs.

So I all but run to the door, and there she is, tight as a wire and twice as sharp; but bless her, she still takes the time for one of her trademark kisses, long and lingering and ironic. I think they’re ironic.

Mechanical Pain. Illustration by Elena

Then, « Jonny. Thanks… »

« I haven’t done anything yet. »

“For being here, I meant. »

“Always, for you. Why didn’t you phone, if you wanted me? » I haven’t never told her, but she is the reason I bought a mobile, the reason I always remember to carry it.

She shrugged and said “I didn’t think,” which was classic Tash: she wanted me, so she came to get me. If I hadn’t been it, that would have been one more complication to the crisis, one more struggle not to break down on the street. That’s how she deals with the world. How badly she deals.

“So.” I rubbed her long spine, feeling how the many tensions tangled through her body. “How are you doing, Tash?”

« Oh, not so great, really. You know. »

« Yeah, I know. What do you need ».

“You. Come to Brookshurst with me?”

That was new. Usually it was an evening in the pub or holding her hand at a concert, being a warm body, reminding her that she was loved. Her family was one of those things she didn’t talk about, but I didn know that Brookshurst was her parents’ place, and I knew how far away it was. This was a weekend trip she was talking about, that long at least, and I’d had my own plans for the weekend, and.

“Yes, of course, » I said. “ You sit here and watch the movie for me, while I pack.”

“Thanks, sweetie. Bring your cameras, yeah? »