Give Me A Sign

'I wish you'd told me about your fight.' Jennifer and Milton were sat eating dinner.

'It was nothing.'

'Well, it doesn't sound like nothing.' Milton struggled to discern what the emotion behind the nonchalant tone was. 'It was enough for you to tell Harvey.'

'At the same time as you.' He went into defence mode.

'I'm just saying,' she stopped eating, 'I'm your wife. Isn't that what we're supposed to do? Tell each other things?'

'Actually, I thought the purpose of marriage was to make babies. Looks like either way we're failing.' Milton didn't really want children – he couldn't imagine himself as a father- but more than the thought of having children, he disliked his wife's complete hatred of the idea. It seemed to him, given their situation – their finances, their age - the word 'children' should at least have a question mark over it.

'Next time you assault a stranger,' his wife quipped, 'please let me know.' She got up and left the table.

As Milton came to the edge of the circle and neared the jungle, he hurried his pace and leant forward so as to almost feel the relief of the shade. But, as he stumbled under its canopy, he could only sob in disappointment – a hoarse, wretched sob that caused more pain than it exhausted. The jungle air was damp and warm. His eyes, unable to adjust to the newfound darkness, still saw white lights in front of him. The difference in light made him dizzy and he slumped to the ground. As his knees hit the earth a piece of glass cut into them. Trying to pull himself from the ensuing daze, he felt around for the glass on the floor and found a small broken bottle, no bigger than his hand. On the front of the bottle was a symbol – three ellipses in a circle.

Jennifer normally started the arguments but she always ended them; cooking some fabulous meal or treating him to a night in New York. Jennifer said sorry with style. This time she had left two tickets on his bed to see Clark Johnson, a country singer that they had played at their wedding. Milton picked the tickets up and put them on the bedside table. Harvey had once told Milton that if he were married to Jennifer he would pick arguments all the time because the making up sounded so good. Harvey's wife normally cried and always made him apologise. Milton chewed his lip and dropped back onto the bed. He knew that wanting a messier marriage was ridiculous. He picked up a piece of paper and pen on the side of the bed and wrote, 'I'm sorry too.' He left it on her pillow, got in the car and drove.

It was two o'clock in the morning by the time he arrived at Harvey's but he knocked on the door anyway.

'Time for a bud?' He asked. Harvey grinned.

'Always.' Sometimes Milton toyed with the idea of finding Harvey for a beer at the most awkward times – Valentine's Day, when he was working, when he was on holiday – just to see what it would take for him to say no. He'd never seen this out as a slightly nervous voice in the back of his head told him Harvey never would say no.

Ten minutes later, the two men sat in the cool of Harvey's back yard, cracking open their second bottles.

'I heard this song playing in this café today.' Milton stopped he didn't know what he was trying to say. 'It was an old one. Y'know, The Great Gig in the Sky.'

'Yeah?' Harvey smiled, looking for a punch line.

'It was… it was… beautiful.' Milton mumbled the last word, knowing it was a cop out.

'Milton,' Harvey's voice took the tone of a parent. 'You didn't get all wound up and drive out here in the middle of the night just because of some song. What's going on?'

Milton looked at his friend unsurely, looking for something in his face, some recognition. 'The songs me and Jenny listen to –our songs – they're not like this. I know every word but I don't feel anything. This song, it made me feel.' Milton wanted to close his eyes, or his ears, to block out the embarrassing sound of his words.

Harvey's voice relaxed, 'is this what this is about? You and Jen having problems?'

Milton didn't answer. He didn't know the answer. He just stared out into the blackness.

'If this is love,' he eventually said, 'it's overrated.'