Ronaldo has a weird fetish for kicking people in the balls and we’re a perfect match because I have a weird fetish for being kicked in the balls. We then bond over the fetish. We go on a romantic dinner date to an Italian restaurant called Di’Giornos, table booked for 2 at 7:15 on a sunny but mild afternoon in the heart of Coventry city centre. We sit outside. I’m reading the menu and I reach for the wine list, accidentally brushing his supple hands. He giggles under his breath and quickly retracts, embarrassed.

Suddenly the waitress comes over to take our order. 27, with auburn hair. Rebecca written on her name tag, handwritten but neat with little hearts over the I’s and the end of the a looping back to underline the name. The tension is cut and we both quickly compose ourselves. She asks what we’d like to order, Ronaldo is still visibility embarrassed so I order first. Penne Alfredo with a side of garlic ciabatta and extra mushrooms. Ronaldo orders Roasted Sea Bass with a side of sautéed seasonal vegetables with balsamic glazed salad. Rebecca asks if we want anything else, I glance at Ronaldo and with a smirk order a bottle of cabernet.

We chat for a short while before Rebecca comes over with a spring in her step and another person following shyly behind. The stranger has no name tag, so mush be another customer. Quite short, he must only be a teenager. Male, with hair as dark as a winters evening, slender and dressed with a sense of style. Rebecca, with an air of caution in her voice, asks on this other persons behalf to have a picture with Ronaldo on the balcony overlooking the city. Ronaldo gets a calm and pleased wash over his face, stands up and shakes the boys hand asking his name “D-D-Daniel sir” he manages to get out. “Hi Daniel, lovely to meet you! I’d love if you’d let me take a photo with you, let’s go” exclaims Ronaldo. I stand up to go with them and introduce myself and Ronaldo’s friend.

We’re walking over to the balcony, and just as we get close, I stub my toe a table that’s slightly jutting out from the row. Stumbling towards the railing, the shocked faces of the other diners, the worry on Ronaldo’s face and the panicked cries of Rebecca who tries to stop my fall still seared deep into my memory somewhere. If only I was awake to remember. But I’m not, I’m brain-dead hooked up to a life support machine in the East wing of Coventry hospital. Destined to be stuck until Ronaldo can muster the strength to pull the plug and help me finish my story.

…