5.

She was right there when I woke up, leaning over me, looking anxious – worrying whether I was okay, I suppose. I knew she’d rescued me because she was as drenched as I was. There Echo stood, just watching and waiting. It was weird at first, but I guess that’s what you do after you’ve saved someone and I probably owed her some gratitude.

I opened my mouth to utter a ‘thank you’, but instead produced a strangled croak. My throat still burned. I squirmed about, struggling to sit up, deciding that maybe I could gesticulate my gratefulness instead. To this, Echo responded oddly. Now, I know by now I should have understood that Echo was insane, but it still surprised me. As I sat up, she took a few steps backwards as though she was afraid of me or something – as if whatever touched me had an unspeakable disease that I’d decidedly caught from interaction.

“Echo,” I managed to croak. With this, she bowed her head resolutely and ran away. “Wait!” I called, my throat searing. My advice to you is not to scream after taking in far too much water too rapidly.

But anyway, that was it. I’d gone back to finally get over Echo, but instead: someone stole my bike; I was attacked, and then Echo saved my life and ran away afterwards. I was absolutely confused and my brain was wracked with intrigue.

I wobbled into a stance and frowned at the fact that every goddamn muscle in my body ached with a terrible vigour… and I had to wobble all the way home that way, too… just fantastic. What the hell was it that could push someone into a lake and cause them so much pain?

It took me about three hours – I kid you not – to get home. It was as arduous as anything you can imagine, but by the end of it I kind of became accustomed to the pain and it was part of me. I’d like to say that that’s my attitude to everything and that’s how I manage through life, but it’s not. I’d also like to say that as soon as I got home I didn’t grab my phone and immediately ring a so-called friend to tell them what happened – that instead I just removed my wet clothes and endured my loneliness like a man, but I didn’t.

I did have a bit of pride, though. I didn’t phone one of my ‘better’ friends; they obviously didn’t deserve it. In fact, I called one of my very worst friends. His name was David Hardy and he was one of those guys whom everybody calls by their last name as opposed to their first. I guess it had something to do with the catchiness, the ring it had to it, but I know beyond a doubt that it was also attributed to him due to his nature. Hardy was the hardest motherfucker to please, ever, in the history of time. He didn’t like anything; he found nothing funny… Man, Hardy redefined the word ‘pessimistic’. Surely you’ve seen or read Winnie The Pooh, right? There’s a donkey from that called Eeyore who, compared to old Hardy, seems like the happiest creature to walk the earth.

After a few rings, the line finally connected and I was met by the quintessential ‘Hardy’ greeting: “What?”

“Hey, man, it’s Myles,” – that’s my name, by the by – “how’s it going?” I regretted this casual utterance as soon as it slipped from my mouth. Hardy was not one for small talk – if you didn’t have anything good to say, he would rather you didn’t speak at all.

“Here we go… What do you want, Myles?” If you didn’t know Hardy, you wouldn’t be able to stand him. But I did and I knew this was all part of the package.

“Hardy, I’ve got the maddest story to tell. Yesterday, man, I was bored as hell just sitting at home doing nothing, like, really really bored, so I decided to take a bike ride. I didn’t know where I was gonna go, but I just rode. So, I came to this lake nearby that mountain. You know that mountain they’re always on about in Geography? What’s it called? Anyway, I rode up that way and came by this lake. And at this lake was this girl, Hardy, she was honestly beautiful.” At this point, Hardy made no point of suppressing an all-too loud sigh, but I knew if I gave in he’d hang up. I was in my stride.

“Really, Hardy, imagine all the girls at our school – or our alma mater, what the hell do we call it, now? Anyway, Hardy, imagine all of them; some of those girls are really pretty – albeit bitchy, but nonetheless – they can look really nice when they want to, can’t they?” I paused long enough for effect, but not long enough for him to respond. “Well, this girl at the lake… Let me put it this way, if she came to our school she would instantly be hated by the girls and loved by the guys, d’you know what I mean? Agh, no, that doesn’t do her justice, man. She truly is the most beautiful female I’ve ever met.”

“I don’t –”

“Hardy, you can’t understand unless you’ve seen her. Anyway, that’s not even the weirdest part. I mean, firstly, what is she doing just chilling near this obscure lake? Why is she there? That’s the thing. Her being there is weird, but she was the one getting really angry at me for being there like she owned the place. It really is bizarre.”

“MYLES! Stop rambling and get to the point. Why do I need to know this? Of what concern is it to me?” Don’t ask me how, but Hardy always managed to sound expressly posh. He didn’t come from a particularly wealthy background; he went to the same shitty public school as me, but he managed to always sound so damn eloquent. This might have something to do with why he had few friends. Nobody likes somebody who sounds like they’re trying to be better than them. I kind of pitied him, though.

“Hardy, I was attacked by a creature up there and she saved my life. One moment she hates me – I think she told me I ruin everything – and the next moment she’s saving my life and running off into the woods.”

“Sounds like Superwoman,” Hardy drawled, every syllable dripping with sarcasm. “To me, she seems like a bi-polar feral child. It won’t do you any good to go back to her. I assume that’s why you called me, for advice?”

“She’s not crazy-crazy or anything; she seems… I don’t know, but she’s not feral, though. “

“Well, if what I say has absolutely no import, then why have you called me?” Every conversation with Hardy was like a battle.

“I…” Shit. If I didn’t come up with something fast, I’d have lost him. Why can’t people understand that sometimes you just need to talk? “You’re smart, Hardy. I need your help.”

“With what?” He asked, his voice filled with scepticism, completely unmoved by the cajolement.

“I don’t know, man. Can’t you come down there with me, make sure I’m not going crazy?”

“You want me to meet your Psychotic Saviour by the Lake Side?” He said, mockingly.

“Please?” I can’t believe I’d stooped so low. In retrospect, sometimes I think Hardy did it on purpose, you know? He assigned himself such a persona so as to capture the other social rejects, like a large sarcastic spider with a web spun of scorn.

He laughed a deep, hearty laugh before replying. “Okay, Myles. Only because this could be rather interesting, but I shall join you in meeting this fantasy girl.”

“Wait, don’t you believe me?”

“Of course not,” he sighed deeply. That was another one of Hardy’s many charming qualities: he did a lot of things ‘deeply’. “Don’t think I’m oblivious to the fact your friends have probably completely severed contact with you. This seems like an elaborate act in the name of loneliness.”

“Hardy, meet me at the Mojo Café tomorrow at nine and I’ll prove it to you. Bring your walking shoes, too.”

“Indeed,” was his last word before he hung up. I had absolutely no conviction, or trust, that Hardy would appear, but in the state that I was in, I knew I’d wait. And I swear, Hardy knew it too.