“What is this life if, full of care, we have no time to
stand and stare?” you say suddenly, surprising me. I thought you were fast
asleep. I pull back a little, not taking my eyes off your face. The face which
I have been staring for a creepy amount
of fifteen minutes now. And I am not even making a portrait or anything. I keep
staring, sober, as you slowly open your eyes, blinking, taking in the light.
“I wasn’t staring, I was about to wake you up” I retort, my eyes
firmly on the pillow which has your messed up spikey hair sprawled all over it.
“Pink pillow.” I smirk as I say that. It is ridiculous,
those tiny little white bordered hearts on the pillow.
“Shut up” You say with a mischievous grin. I am genuinely
curious how that piece of mush found way under what I assumed to be your masculine
head.
“Are you gay?” I blurt.
“Are you still drunk? It is not normal to still be reeling
from last night. Maybe we should visit the shrink” you laugh as you say this.
“You are gay. You didn’t answer my question.” I say.
You just shrug it off and rise from your sofa. Yes, you
slept on your sofa. The host of the drunken party of two. And I let you stay
abandoned there, while I slept on your big bed - which had interesting things
laid out near the stand by the way. I intend to ask you why a palm lotion, an
eye-mask and an unmentionable bottle of a certain something is doing there. But
I want to get you breakfast first. I am spoiling you I guess. No one really
gets you breakfast every morning. But it is my birthday, and someone needs to
be treated special, and it is okay if it is not me. I have no option anyway, you
don’t remember it. I am hoping in the next 10 minutes that you wish me. If not,
my revenge plot is to bring up the discussion of the unmentionable bottle. Your
embarrassment will give me joy, it might be overkill too.
Revenge and overkill.
Wow. Way to maturity, you 26 year old.
That sarcastic voice in my head says as I head over to the
kitchen, your perfectly organized kitchen. You are still brushing your teeth,
unaware that your now-sober friend is moving around stealthily, serving
breakfast and all. You are mumbling some song in between your brushing noises,
singing in a tone which sounds hilarious. I don’t want to interrupt your
singing, so I don’t ask which song, but I am curious. I go about arranging the
cutlery as if it is some geometrical challenge. The breakfast table (which I
cleared off, stacking your clichéd Car magazines which I am sure you have put
there simply to look cool, not because you understand any of it) is fancier and
less practical. I need to drag a chair and arrange some of the stuff there.
I look at the shiny silver clock on the wall as I settle
down on your sofa after arranging everything, and it is 1 pm. Your lame singing
has subsided and I hear some shuffling and then some footsteps. I feel nervous
as I hear them heading to the living room. It is not every day you make
unsolicited breakfasts. Maybe this was a bad idea. Leaving your house would
have been a smarter choice.
“What is all this?” you exclaim, eyes wild open, as your
enter your own living room.
This equals an
orange juice, a few butter toasts, a steaming pot of tea, tissues, water. I
don’t really understand what is so surprising. Maybe it is not enough for your
appetite. I stare back, big eyes wide open, trying to decipher.
“Do you need cornflakes as well?” I ask in a way too
innocent tone.
“No. I am just… “ you take a deep breath and smile and
chuckle “Surprised”
You walk around the arrangement and start blabbering.
“Wow. Amazing. Come over every night. I mean every day.” You
chuckle again, not taking eyes off the feast I have laid out for you as I feel
proud of my toast making and tea making abilities. This is ego boosting stuff.
You settle down beside me probably wondering whether to
bring up the elephant in the room which was our weird encounter last night.
Which reminds me of my birthday.
Wish me already! The
whole world did today morning while you were sleeping.
“So is this all for me?” you ask, still in a trance. It is slowly
becoming pathetic how you are so awed by it all.
“Obviously not” I snap playfully, trying to lighten the
mood.
You smile and slowly pick on the toast. Pick on, since you
don’t eat like a normal person today. The surprise of having a friend who can’t
go beyond making tea presenting you with this
has probably blown your mind. I have had the tea tested though, it is
perfection. Maybe just birthday luck.
“So last night…” you speak to your
tea cup.
Finally you address the fact that there had been a last
night. That it wasn’t my imagination, the whole crying and laughing episode. And
I just needed a confirmation. It wasn’t any path breaking moment for me, but I do
remember a pleasant distinct feeling of relief. Something heavy which I felt until
yesterday had evaporated. I felt free from a part of me which I hated. Something
magical had happened and solved something that I didn’t even realize was a
problem. And I just want to confirm that it was real even though I wasn’t in
the best states of mind. I smile and look at you, giving you my full attention,
hanging on to what you will say next.
“…where did you sleep?”
Great, because that is exactly the kind of discussion you want
to have, practical and soulless.
“Your bed, obviously” I answer, flat toned.
“Shit”
“Why?”
“Nothing” you say looking embarrassed
“No, seriously, why?” I prod.
“I didn’t say goodnight” You lie. You are a bad liar.
“You snoozed off on your sofa, I helped you lie down on your
heart filled pink pillow.” I add.
“I know that”
“Is that what I did?” you add.
“No, you didn’t do anything. I switched off the TV, helped you lie down, took your calls and told
your friend that you were alright, made this breakfast with my limited cooking
skills, and of course, patiently waited
for you to wish me on a big day of my life.”
I say snappily, a flurry of Is in my sentence, anger lacing my tone. You look taken aback.
“Wish?”
“What is the day today?” I ask
“Saturday.”
“The date stupid.”
“You asked for the day, stupid”
I look at you in a you-are-too-hopeless way.
You pick the tea cup and pour some for yourself, an
extremely small quantity - small enough to be rude. I look at you with ridicule
on my face as you first take in the aroma, and carefully take small sips looking
at me. You finally put the cup down and fill it again, to the brim. I have
almost forgiven you for forgetting my birthday. At least you like the tea. It
is ridiculous how you can forget it, but I have to try.
You sip slowly, lost in your own world of senses. I look
around for the TV remote, but you hold my hand and ask me to sit back. I wonder
what insights you have to offer about the world, you are chatty and people think
I am a good listener. Truth is I just have patience, I am not interested in listening
to you now.
“So last night was amazing.” You say.
“It was crazy” I retort.
“Not crazy, it was amazing. I don’t remember any night in
the recent past which matches last night. Thanks for being here” you say as if I
was here for you.
“I am not exactly used to this situation but it was fun.”
“Too much, we should do it again”
“Not really” I say, looking you in the eye, meaning it.
“Why?” you ask.
“It is not healthy”
“I know, I know. It is not healthy, maybe we should invite
more people over” you say.
“I mean, the drinking is not healthy”
“Oh I thought…”
“What?”
“Nothing”
I am wondering about the conclusion of this chatter. So in
your head drinking is healthy, but not in my singular company. Or maybe my
singular company is unhealthy. I should have reached for the remote, this is
complicated, I have patience to listen to you, but not to decipher you. I feel
your nudge while I am lost in thought. You have poured a cup for me. I take it
still feeling lost.
“So why did you sleep till noon?” I ask.
“I have no idea” you say. “Let’s see what happens next time”
“There won’t be a next time” I state.
“How can you be so sure?” you ask, mock disappointment,
puppy dog look on your face.
“Drink your tea” I reprimand.
“You are an amazing tea-maker” you dole out your flattery.
“Is the tea amazing, or is it me?” I ask.
“Both” you chuckle and wink.
“You are smart”
“No your tea makes me smart” you say.
“You are over-smart”
“It is all your fault.” You say.
“Let’s stop”
You chuckle as you go back to your room. I notice the mirror
in your room and look at myself. I am blushing. I am wearing your old blue
shirt, and my blingy skirt from yesterday night, face cleansed of the makeup
and I am blushing.
What is wrong with me?
I guess this is the point where I should leave before it
gets bad.
This breakfast thing
is probably not me. This whole episode is definitely not me. This staring at
your face for fifteen minutes and wishing you remember to wish me and wishing
you like my tea, this might be me, a part of me, but I don’t want that part.
This whole thing sucks.
It is immature. And I
am twenty five for god’s sake. I don’t have time for immaturity. I had it
before, when I was busy being mature and perfect and disciplined. And I loved and
embraced the abandon but I can’t continue this wishing. It is bound to head
somewhere bad. Somewhere I have decided not to go, since as long as I can
remember and I don’t even remember why.
“Hey there” your voice breaks my sad trance. I turn back, snapping
to reality and trying to put on a normal expression.
“Are you okay?” You can sense it. Maybe you have sensed it
with someone before and that thought makes me sad.
“Yes, I am fine.” You don’t believe me, I can see it in your
eyes. But you don’t comment and make things awkward. That is one of the reasons
I like you more than I should. That you just know and yet, you stick around. I
break eye contact, looking all around, assessing the furniture. There is
something in my eyes that I don’t want you to see, that I can’t let you see.
Something bright and blue that you are holding catches my
eye. I see a perfectly wrapped box tied with matching blue lace in a way which
makes me smile.
You remember. Of
course.
“Happy birthday amazing person” you
say. I jump a little inside.
“Thank you. Is that something for me?” I say, still avoiding
eye contact. Feeling the familiar rush of my childlike need to know what is in
the box.
“Obviously”
You come over and hand it to me. Rather, pretend to hand it
to me as you snatch back like the idiot that you are until I finally get hold
of it. I untie the lace to save it for later. I love opening wrapped presents. Blood
is rushing through my veins and I can feel my ears turning red hot. I can
pretty much feel my heart beat too, as if it is for some marathon. I go through
the possibilities- a watch, a keychain, a tiny frame? I look at you just before
I open the box, and I see an eagerness in your expression. Maybe you are as
excited to see my reaction. I take a deep breath to calm down. I open it. The
calmness evaporates, and I am stunned.
I hope you enjoyed the read. About what is in the box, well I don't know yet, we will find out the next time you are here ;)
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