Part Deux
I almost cried on my way to work. It was so hard living between two equally demanding women who would spare no quarter in keeping me near them. Thinking about this would only give me a headache. I turned on the radio, and lost myself in the music as I drove to work like an automaton. This day was already turning out bad. What a great way to remember my birthday.
I met Bruce Calwall, my friend and co-worker, in the lobby as we waited for the elevator to take us up to the offices in which we worked.
“Hey Curtis, did you finish your article? I know you were having a lot of trouble with ideas for it,” said Bruce. Bruce was a twenty-four year old who I had known during college. We were both English majors, and became writers.
“No, still slogging it out.”
“Don’t worry, man, it will all work out. You have a few more days.”
“I hope it does, or I have to listen to Harriet scream again,” I said, a grimace on my face.
“Harriet shmarriet. You’ll be all right. Hey, what’s today’s date?” he asked.
“The thirtieth of May,” I replied, almost smiling
It was going to rain. I looked out of the window, almost expecting to see the ominous gray clouds moving in from the horizon and blotting out the sun. I wish it would rain. Only then could I go out and let loose those emotions bottled up inside of me. The steam rising from the coffee brought my attention back to my current situation. I must have been really out of it; I did not even notice the cup being refilled by the waitress. I took a sip and looked down at my notepad. All I had written was my name and filled the top left corner with a doodle that resembled a tornado. I winced upon looking at my watch; I had been sitting there for three hours with no work to show for it!
As the outside world was giving me no inspiration, I looked around in the coffee house for something to write about; I had a deadline to meet and a very strict editor who was already nipping at my heels. “Curt,” she would say, “you better start looking for another job if that article isn’t on my desk in three hours.”
Too many distractions! I needed to focus. I started by clearing my mind of extraneous thoughts. Out went the price of the coffee, the absurd shirt being worn by the man with the goatee seated near me, the waitress’s long hair that smelt like roses, and the short skirts that the college girls on the other side of the room were wearing. All those thoughts faded away as I closed my eyes, and started to inhale slowly. She had taught me this during our first year together. She would rub my temples, and breathe slowly along with me, her breath slowly brushing against the back of my neck. My head ached for her gentle touch again, and my hands involuntarily rose to massage my temples. The moment they touched my head, my eyes fluttered open, in hopes of seeing her behind me.
It was not going to work. Every time I tried it, I thought of her. Even though my eyes were taking in my surroundings, her face came into view. Those light brown eyes, almost hidden by the fringe of her long auburn hair, accentuated her perpetual smile and never ceased to inspire me to my best works. But now, her dearth brought me nothing but melancholy.
Mariam was the prettiest girl that I ever loved. She was not the first, but she was the one that helped define what my life was going to focus around. We both graduated in the same- why does this matter? I’m distracting myself again! Mariam has nothing to do with my article. ‘Literature Monthly’ and Mariam were always vying for my attention, and sadly, work won. Now that she’s gone, she has my undiluted attention.
She always said I worked too hard. My editor, Harriet, said the exact opposite. I would take my work everywhere with me, writing during lunch, dinner, or even movies at times. We used to fight because of it. Mariam said that she wanted me to be with her without having to worry about work. It was true, I was too tense, but I was more concerned with being able to keep a roof over my head, and eventually, our heads. I thought love could wait.
I regret letting her go; I was relieved for the break at first, expecting her to be back in a few months. She was going back to India for the summer for a vacation. The call I received the day she was to return, however, changed my life.
“Curtis. I have something to tell you.” I could feel my muscles tense up as I heard those words. She was crying as she said them, too. Faltering over her words like a child’s first steps, she continued.
“I am not coming back. And I don’t want you to come here either. We are through. I am getting ma-married to another man. If you ever loved me, please forget about me.” I could not believe what I was hearing. It was so incredibly out of the ordinary; a brick wall would have had a softer impact on me.
“But-” was all I could say before she hung up. That was three months ago. I tried calling her back, to only get an answering machine. I implored her, via the machine, to call me back and explain this odd twist of events. I begged, pleaded and cried to that little box, but in the end, it was useless. I called back one last time, and the only words I said to it were, “I love you.”
That was three months ago. I busied myself in work after that day; at least, I tried to. I thought about her all the time. Whether I was writing, driving or sleeping, she occupied all my thoughts. ‘Mariam, Mariam, Mariam, Mariam.’ Her name echoed through the silence in my skull, and I turned to desperate measures to try and forget her. Alcohol became a constant companion, and nary a night went by without me passed out at home with her name and liquor on my lips. Her name brought back the flood of happy memories I had with her, and the sad ones without her presence.
“Sir, I’m sorry to disturb you, but we are closing for tonight. Would you like your coffee in a to go container?” said the waitress, snapping me out of my reverie. It was 6 o’clock, and I had yet to start writing an article. Hell, I didn’t even have a title! I declined the offer from the waitress, paid for my meal and started walking home. The rain clouds had moved in, just as I had hoped. It started as a whisper, and escalated into laughter; little peals of thunder cracking to signal the coming of the downpour. Mariam laughed exactly like that; I smiled weakly as the memory of her laughing and running in the rain popped into my head. It was an image I could never get out of my head.
Walking home in the rain, I thought of the article I had to write. But then again, I had more pressing matters. I had to go see her. I had been to India with her the last summer, and met her folks. Her family was very friendly and cordial, and the welcome I received was warm. Which is why this sudden change threw me off. How could something change this drastically? They had essentially accepted me as their son-in-law; all that was left was the actual marriage proposition. Now they would not even speak to me, let alone with me.
[To Be Continued]
Z
I met Bruce Calwall, my friend and co-worker, in the lobby as we waited for the elevator to take us up to the offices in which we worked.
“Hey Curtis, did you finish your article? I know you were having a lot of trouble with ideas for it,” said Bruce. Bruce was a twenty-four year old who I had known during college. We were both English majors, and became writers.
“No, still slogging it out.”
“Don’t worry, man, it will all work out. You have a few more days.”
“I hope it does, or I have to listen to Harriet scream again,” I said, a grimace on my face.
“Harriet shmarriet. You’ll be all right. Hey, what’s today’s date?” he asked.
“The thirtieth of May,” I replied, almost smiling
It was going to rain. I looked out of the window, almost expecting to see the ominous gray clouds moving in from the horizon and blotting out the sun. I wish it would rain. Only then could I go out and let loose those emotions bottled up inside of me. The steam rising from the coffee brought my attention back to my current situation. I must have been really out of it; I did not even notice the cup being refilled by the waitress. I took a sip and looked down at my notepad. All I had written was my name and filled the top left corner with a doodle that resembled a tornado. I winced upon looking at my watch; I had been sitting there for three hours with no work to show for it!
As the outside world was giving me no inspiration, I looked around in the coffee house for something to write about; I had a deadline to meet and a very strict editor who was already nipping at my heels. “Curt,” she would say, “you better start looking for another job if that article isn’t on my desk in three hours.”
Too many distractions! I needed to focus. I started by clearing my mind of extraneous thoughts. Out went the price of the coffee, the absurd shirt being worn by the man with the goatee seated near me, the waitress’s long hair that smelt like roses, and the short skirts that the college girls on the other side of the room were wearing. All those thoughts faded away as I closed my eyes, and started to inhale slowly. She had taught me this during our first year together. She would rub my temples, and breathe slowly along with me, her breath slowly brushing against the back of my neck. My head ached for her gentle touch again, and my hands involuntarily rose to massage my temples. The moment they touched my head, my eyes fluttered open, in hopes of seeing her behind me.
It was not going to work. Every time I tried it, I thought of her. Even though my eyes were taking in my surroundings, her face came into view. Those light brown eyes, almost hidden by the fringe of her long auburn hair, accentuated her perpetual smile and never ceased to inspire me to my best works. But now, her dearth brought me nothing but melancholy.
Mariam was the prettiest girl that I ever loved. She was not the first, but she was the one that helped define what my life was going to focus around. We both graduated in the same- why does this matter? I’m distracting myself again! Mariam has nothing to do with my article. ‘Literature Monthly’ and Mariam were always vying for my attention, and sadly, work won. Now that she’s gone, she has my undiluted attention.
She always said I worked too hard. My editor, Harriet, said the exact opposite. I would take my work everywhere with me, writing during lunch, dinner, or even movies at times. We used to fight because of it. Mariam said that she wanted me to be with her without having to worry about work. It was true, I was too tense, but I was more concerned with being able to keep a roof over my head, and eventually, our heads. I thought love could wait.
I regret letting her go; I was relieved for the break at first, expecting her to be back in a few months. She was going back to India for the summer for a vacation. The call I received the day she was to return, however, changed my life.
“Curtis. I have something to tell you.” I could feel my muscles tense up as I heard those words. She was crying as she said them, too. Faltering over her words like a child’s first steps, she continued.
“I am not coming back. And I don’t want you to come here either. We are through. I am getting ma-married to another man. If you ever loved me, please forget about me.” I could not believe what I was hearing. It was so incredibly out of the ordinary; a brick wall would have had a softer impact on me.
“But-” was all I could say before she hung up. That was three months ago. I tried calling her back, to only get an answering machine. I implored her, via the machine, to call me back and explain this odd twist of events. I begged, pleaded and cried to that little box, but in the end, it was useless. I called back one last time, and the only words I said to it were, “I love you.”
That was three months ago. I busied myself in work after that day; at least, I tried to. I thought about her all the time. Whether I was writing, driving or sleeping, she occupied all my thoughts. ‘Mariam, Mariam, Mariam, Mariam.’ Her name echoed through the silence in my skull, and I turned to desperate measures to try and forget her. Alcohol became a constant companion, and nary a night went by without me passed out at home with her name and liquor on my lips. Her name brought back the flood of happy memories I had with her, and the sad ones without her presence.
“Sir, I’m sorry to disturb you, but we are closing for tonight. Would you like your coffee in a to go container?” said the waitress, snapping me out of my reverie. It was 6 o’clock, and I had yet to start writing an article. Hell, I didn’t even have a title! I declined the offer from the waitress, paid for my meal and started walking home. The rain clouds had moved in, just as I had hoped. It started as a whisper, and escalated into laughter; little peals of thunder cracking to signal the coming of the downpour. Mariam laughed exactly like that; I smiled weakly as the memory of her laughing and running in the rain popped into my head. It was an image I could never get out of my head.
Walking home in the rain, I thought of the article I had to write. But then again, I had more pressing matters. I had to go see her. I had been to India with her the last summer, and met her folks. Her family was very friendly and cordial, and the welcome I received was warm. Which is why this sudden change threw me off. How could something change this drastically? They had essentially accepted me as their son-in-law; all that was left was the actual marriage proposition. Now they would not even speak to me, let alone with me.
[To Be Continued]
Z