Ulysses

The wedding didn’t start until late afternoon. It was morning – somewhere on the south coast; I don’t remember where. She bought a glossy magazine from W.H.Smith. I bought Ulysses (and a diet coke).

She won. Back at the hotel room, I managed only three pages of Joyce before admitting defeat. I leafed through her magazine whilst she took a shower.

Years later, when she’d left me for someone else, I returned to Ulysses.

As another held her in his arms, I held Ulysses, persevering through its 933 pages. I didn’t get it. The words flew from the book and over my head; they disappeared over the horizon like migrating birds. Still, Ulysses now sits on a book shelf a read book. Its cover is creased and stained. It has pages with folded over corners which lead you to asterisk marks.

And what of she and her glossy magazine? She became a dead breath that I living breathe.