Every year she would promise herself that she would remember and every year she forgot. There were so few good things in life and they contrived, once a year, to take them away from her. It was a cruel inevitability, a crushing disappointment and an upset to the natural order of things. And yet, like clockwork, when it came around again, she would have forgotten and wasn’t even able to brace herself against the pain.
In her childhood, when she was too young to know any better, she had merely had a mild indifference to tennis. Her full loathing of it began when, as a young teen, it had begun slamming itself into her life like a wrecking ball, destroying her one place of sanctuary. Every week, she would switch the channel at 6pm to watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer where all would be right with the world. Once a year, for two weeks, she was instead greeted with the beyond tedious sight of men wearing white hitting yellow balls on green grass. Α strange torture indeed.
But now, well, now she was an adult. If she had to see tennis once a year, she would tolerate it. Tolerate it for the sake of her husband and try never to complain. And she mostly succeeded. Mostly.
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Today, it must have been June, as Wimbledon was on, and that was the time of year she always forgot to remember. She wasn’t going to ask him. She merely sat in the living room and tried to placidly observe the screen.
The game appeared to have stopped. The sun was shining and the camera was gliding over the faces in the crowd before cutting to a blandly handsome man who was smiling and waving at everybody. The sound was down low - she suspected to stop her sighing when the commentators said anything particularly inane - so she could not hear them commentating on this particular piece of action.
She turned away but when her gaze returned to their large, judder-reducing HDTV, he was still there - waving and smiling, waving and smiling - always showing a perfect pair of pristine pearly white teeth.
Too late, she heard herself utter, “Who’s he?”
She knew straight away she had made a mistake.
“██████ █████, you know him, he’s in everything,” her husband gaily prattled in response. He began to reel of a list of films that seemed to have been precisely calibrated to be the exact intersection between those that were popular and those that she had never seen.
“Oh,” she said and fervently hoped that that would be the end of it.
It seemed that naming this list of films had stirred something deep within her husband’s brain as he suggested a few days later that they watch one of them. Apparently, although he had not seen this particular movie, this was no barrier to him knowing it contained ██████ █████.
And they watched it. And it was fine. A generic piece of Hollywood fluff where ██████ █████ acted in some manner. He was blandly bland, smiling and emoting his way through the picture - both being there and not being there to an appropriate degree.
She refused to comment on ██████ █████ and when her husband mentioned his performance she changed the subject. She hoped it was enough. She knew it wouldn’t be.
After that, ██████ █████ was on billboards. Big new movies coming out have big new billboards and ██████ █████ was a big star so there he was, beaming down from the giant poster. After the first one, which she had noticed with apparent disinterest, she avoided looking too directly at them. Nothing overt, of course, just never letting her eyes rest on any billboard when she passed by.
As was her habit, every week she casually glanced over the cinema listings, looking for any movies that might appeal to her. Casually, yes, but carefully too, making sure to notice any names she did not want to see. She was careful. She did check. And yet, there he was, in every new film. Up there, on the screen, unavoidable and taking up space. A 15-foot-tall charisma blackhole in anything she attempted to see.
She gave up. When given the choice, she would tell her husband she wanted to watch old films at home. Ones she had seen before. Limiting, but necessary.
Which worked until it didn’t.
As was inevitable, he started appearing in classic movies too. Naturally, she showed no reaction when ██████ █████ appeared on screen in a film he had no right to be in. She watched her husband for any signs but… no, nothing. He was oblivious. It was only the third time ██████ █████ rudely sauntered into an old favourite that her husband eventually commented, “I didn’t know he was in this one?!”
She grunted but mentally stored it away.
Movies were done. She said nothing, made no declarations, only making the mildest excuses when watching one was suggested.
She went about her days as if nothing had changed. She hoped (as she had long ago given up praying) that that was the end of that but, one drab December morning, ██████ █████ started appearing on TV shows. Starring, bit parts, cameos, it didn’t matter. He was there. Sitting on the sofa on a vapid talk show. Starring in a mini-series. Guesting on Eastenders.
Each time she showed no surprise. Her face remained a study of passivity as she idly flicked through the channels and was forced to see his blandness over and over again.
Her tolerance continued until ██████ █████ started to present the BBC News. And the Channel 4 News. And then all the News. Often simultaneously.
Those watching her closely might have noticed the vaguest flicker of frustration when she took out her Blu-rays and began to rewatch Buffy from the start of Season 1. The rest of the Scooby Gang were all present and correct but Giles was now played by ██████ █████. She quietly watched the whole pilot episode and then took the disc out of the machine. From then on, all her DVDs and Blu-rays just sadly gathered dust in the corner of the living room.
To her husband, she subtly mentioned a few times that she preferred reading and wasn’t in a “watching mood” at the moment, so the TV set stayed off in the living room when she was there.
Pre-empting whatever might happen next, she permanently logged off of all social media. She couldn’t say she missed it.
As Winter turned to Spring, she tried to focus on all the things that make up the world. The way sunlight filtered through a window. The newly budding flowers. The smell of the road after the rain. She became more guarded. Kept conversations strictly business. If anyone mentioned anything to do with popular culture, she made her polite excuses and left.
How she felt one day, when ██████ █████ walked into her office and sat in her boss’s chair, filing his papers and making his calls, we cannot say. She didn’t comment upon it and her behaviour changed not one jot. She spoke when spoken to, performed her tasks and put in her 4-week notice. __________________________________________________________________________
Although they had not watched TV in a long time, she knew the judder-reducing HDTV set would be on as it was June, and June was Wimbledon time.
██████ █████ walked in and sat next to her on the sofa. She looked at him and her eyes betrayed no hint of surprise. On screen was her husband, blandly waving and smiling to the crowd, waving and smiling.
“I’m going out for a walk,” she said.