Author: Noel Murphy

For the sake of family and people I care about; names have been changed. Circumstances altered. But the rest is my own thoughts about a women who meant a lot to me.

Lynch was my friend.

I would like to think I was hers; but Lynch was not the type to have friends. It wasn’t really what she was about. She wasn’t a people person. Which was fine.  Nor was I at the time. I suppose I’m still not today but certainly back then I was terrible around other people. I hated being around them so much I would spend most evenings alone in room listening to Bob Dylan and reading the likes of Mark Twain.

The funny thing was at the time I worked in the service industry and had to deal with other people all the time. And I was good at it. I mean damn good. I was the only member of staff who would get money and gifts from customers.

Why was I so good?

I pretended to care.

I was great at pretending that whatever stupid predicament or whatever stupid request was put in front of me-that I actually gave a rat’s arse. Which sometimes I did, but most times I was just stoned and wanted to get back to Dylan and Twain and if saying the right thing or looking a little harder for something made this happen more quickly….well then Noely was your man. Besides it was a newsagents-back when every town had them and it was a part time job so I could make enough money for drink.

This is how I met Lynch. She was a little older than me at the time. That’s a lie. She was a lot older than me. I was 19. She was at least 40. She came in looking for a copy of Rolling Stone magazine. I thought to myself “this girl is cool” and we just started talking, we talked for ages and after work I met her for a drink.

At no time did either of us see this as a date, it was just a drink, which led to a lot of drink and some weed and us sleeping together in her flat outside the town. This would be the last time that sleeping together or the age difference would be an issue. After that night our relationship morphed into one of emotional co-dependence, or to be precise: LACK of emotional co-dependence. WE HATED LIFE SO BEAUTIFULLY TOGETHER.

She worked for some multi-national company that doesn’t care about its employees; not that I can remember which one it was. She gave out about work to me once. Just one time. She complained that she wasn’t appreciated for the work she put in. I handed her a joint. And we laughed.

What I loved about her most was her ability to see the absurd. The pointlessness of the whole big ball of wax. When one can’t comprehend a thing….one should always laugh at it.

We “dated” for around a year. I’d go back to her place which she shared with some French student who was a mature student. Nice girl. Can’t remember her name. Of course, she couldn’t come to my place….how do I tell my father I’m sleeping with a girl twice my age, let alone like bring her to my house and sleep with her there?

So we always met at hers, which was fine. I liked her flat. It was arty and not at all pretentious. I could relax in it and not feel like I didn’t belong.  Which was new for me.

I felt so at ease in her company. She used to get me into a serene sense of well being; that very few have done since. The sex was amazing. But that’s not the point. It wasn’t about sex and hell what did I know about sex at that age?

It was about more than that.

When I needed someone to understand me…..she did.

Did I understand her? Not a chance. No idea what was going on in her head. Haven’t a clue whats going on in a woman’s head to this day. But after Lynch, I try.

She left this world without a goodbye. It was her style.

Her “Fuck you!!” to the big ball of wax.




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