Quiet warmth, smooth and glittering on top. Calm. Collected. Peaceful. ......Deceitful.

002:    AUTOPSY OF A FAIRYTALE.

The air is stale, buildings distant. Seagulls cry as though grieving the daylight, their dark forms faint in the waning rays of prematurely bemoaned twilight. Amid stark juxtapositions and a striking view, sinking wood-posts mutely observe the falling of night.. Gentle waves. A rising tide. Salt on my skin and the feel of ocean wind on my face. I like the ambiance. It’s very ….tropical; you don’t get that often around here.

“So you hang out at the pier now??”   She looks pretty. Glowing smile, delicate features, the long, jet-black hair flailing freely in the breeze. Standing all the way out here on the harbor, it seems almost …right. Rays of sunlight reflect off the shimmering water and mellow the contrast so it resembles an old movie, with the rainbow light-spots dancing in her eyes.

“No. I just come here every once in a while to think.”

“ …Oh,… ‘Moment of Zen’..?…” she says sarcastically.

“ Yeah. Something like that.”

“So I guess I shouldn’t be here then, -I feel like I’m interrupting.”

“You are. But it’s okay. Didn’t know YOU come here…”

“I don’t. Tommy told me you might be here.”

“He doesn’t know th-“

“Okay! I followed you.” She says quickly, apparently hoping it will sound less creepy. I laugh. “but it’s only because we haven’t really spoken since you got back. Admit it. You’ve bin avoiding me…”

“ I haven’t actually. Just been really busy, what with trying to catch up and everything.”

“Oh. How’s that going by the way?”

“…not too bad. I’ll live.”

It’s been less than a fortnight, and the stress levels are already through the roof. I’m still covered in a mountain of work, and I’m buried in so deep, there’s no hint of a light at the end of this tunnel. Not to mention the fact that I have to constantly keep traveling back and forth for a few weeks. But I don’t mind it. I like keeping busy –it makes me feel …alive. Here’s the kicker. Since my roommate needed to pay rent for the six months I was absent, someone else moved into the apartment. That essentially renders me homeless on arrival. Thrilling, huh?      Then there’s the Ex. Until now, she and I have somehow managed to avoid meeting. We broke up seven months ago in what I must say is the most organized manner I’ve ever seen. It was a very mature, amiable conversation that left things in a delightful yet precarious balance. But when something ends that clean, you KNOW for certain that at some point down the line the aftershocks will follow. This, was that point.

Here’s the summary. Apparently after several months of soul searching, she has decided that we should give it another shot, …an idea which I think  would be tantamount to suicide on my part, especially considering all that I have to deal with right now. You see, ‘love’ can be a very demanding mistress. Relationships take time. Effort. None of which I have to spare at the moment. We like each other. We always did. But the reason we broke up in the first place, was coming to the realization that after half a year together, these ‘feelings’ were in fact not what we thought they were. -So why go back??

Our conversation titters on the edge of this, but she gets a phone call about some dorm-room emergency, and has to leave, before we get to it. Can’t say I’m disappointed.

Now I’m generally not in the habit of lingering needlessly around social spots, but it has recently become common practice for me to waltz down to this classy little college bar where most of my  friends spend part of their early evening chugging on watered down American beer over juke-box rock n roll and hilariously juvenile anti-establishment banter. It’s a little crowded tonight, but I find Annie on a return trip from the bar, with a fresh round of cold ones which interestingly enough, happen to include a Tusker. (Yup. It surprises me too.) There’s very few seniors in the place tonight, so ordinarily the sophomore and freshmen co-eds would be enthusiastically ‘getting to know each other’, but this is spring, which means talk is probably sports dominated. I’ve got 2 words for you. Basketball and baseball. Sitting at the table, I try to change the subject, but it’s like trying to stop a train with a pebble. Contrary to the custom, no one offers me anything. This is due to the fact that none of them buys into my statement that I really don’t drink. They had already started a tiny, revolving bet on when I would eventually break -of which a week has passed. After ten minutes getting an earful about some very questionable statistics on the Lakers’ chances of making it to the playoffs this year, I decide I’ll just go to the bar, maybe do a club soda, then leave. ..and it is in this process that I run into someone I haven’t seen in a while.

Let’s call her …‘Y’ (although most of you probably know her as ‘the Naked Lady’ from the prologue.) What you do NOT know, is that ‘Y’, just so happens to be my Ex’s sister.        That’s right.

-which explains my reaction when I woke up that day. ….and no. We’re not and never were we at any point involved (except for that one time she kissed me, BUT that was long before I met her sister. –sometimes she can be a little exhibitionist, that’s all) So you can now put away that judgmental, little smile you have on your face.  As for the ‘Prologue’ incident, they had come to visit me just before Christmas and ‘Y’ had spent the night for reasons somewhat irrelevant to the present. I had totally forgotten she was there and woke up to quite a surprise the next morning.     -I KNOW you thought there was something more, but you were mistaken.      Suckers.

Sassy is her thing, and our chit chat goes on for almost half an hour; the subject of her sister coming up once or twice. From what I gather, the Ex (let’s just call her ‘X’) now has it in her mind that we might be ‘Soul-mates’. I had noticed her throw that word around a few times when we were together, and it had always bothered me.

This most definitive pillar of Romanticism is based on the concept of ‘predetermined destiny’. Or fate. It takes an almost religious view to the ‘how’ aspect of love.   THEORY: that there is someone specific meant for everyone. That every individual has a perfectly matching partner, usually referred to as ‘the one’ – and that these two complimentary individuals are in fact ‘destined’ to meet at some point, unbeknown to either of them, and somehow determined by a greater force or authority (in other words God, or fate.)  Now that all sounds just awesome but as always, I have a few questions. First of all, there are a few things that need to be clear. Obviously, a ‘soul-mate’ is useless if the two of you never meet. So what we’re looking at here is basically just interaction. It’s HOW these ‘soul-mates’ come into contact. Plus you both have to share a lifetime (regardless of your respective ages) in order to meet, meaning both of you have to be born at two synchronized points in human history. Anyway, lets forget the entire B.C. period of our existence and simply concentrate on the last two thousand and something years of  our calendar (A.D.) Now, for 1,980 years after the death of Christ,  there was No Internet. For 1,890 years, there weren’t even telephones and since you couldn’t exactly hold ‘interactive letter writing’ with a stranger, that then means the only way for these 2 ‘soul-mates’ to meet would be Face to Face thus implying they couldn’t have been too far away from each other to begin with, right? We all know that long distance travel gets more rare the further back you go, so are we meant to believe that this higher organizing power had it EXACTLY so that these ‘soul-mate pairs’ were naturally and accurately distributed within a relatively common geographical area?

-Coz I gotta tell ya; ….to anyone with half a brain, that sounds fucking ridiculous.

In the end, one has to ask him/herself one question. Is it plausible that this whole Cupid system only conveniently applies to us, but not to people born merely 100 years ago? In a world populated with 6.2 billion people, separated by oceans and magnificent distances (most of whom never actually get to leave their country of birth or use the internet) the level of interaction necessary to support those odds is clearly lacking. Which is why I put it to you that people are not Cosmically aligned with some pre-decided line of  human companionship, but simply settle for what they can find, based on all they have experienced until that point in time. The bitter truth is that very few people ever go through life and are lucky enough to find what we call ‘true love’. But in the modern setting, everyone wants to be the star of their own precious, little, pseudo-romantic comedy, so we all believe it. I mean, even if your life sucks, who wants to deal with the reality that you made a mistake and spent years of your life with the ‘wrong’ person? No one. Hence, it’s always easier to assume that this is it. That you’re where you want to be, doing what you want to do, and since it makes you somewhat happy, this is the way it’s supposed to be. It’s all subjective.

Love, ..at least in its modern, super-romantic sense, is a myth. The indoctrination begins when you’re what, like four years old? And whoever reads you the ladybird classics starts filling your head with all that stuff about a handsome prince and a pretty girl riding into the sunset on a white pony, always with the ‘magical kiss’ and the ‘happily ever after’s……? …I mean, come on. The story is sweet, sure.. but the resulting stereotypes last with us long into adulthood. They’re all you have at this time, so they’re all you can use to begin forming a perception of ‘love’ even at this tender age. You define romance, by what you see in those colorful illustrations, and the infection begins to grow long before you get to puberty and have the media, magazines and Spanish soap-operas to delude you even further. As expected, women are the most affected, and sadly, it always the poor men in their lives who suffer for it. These stories tend to portray a fictional perfection as the main attribute of ‘love’ which is a staggering conflict with what you learn later in life. If you doubt it, then see if you can FOLLOW THIS TRAIN OF THOUGHT: ….it’s always a tall, strong, handsome prince that gets the girl. Never some raggedy, unshaven, toothless peasant farmer (and yet later in life they’ll try to tell you that love transcends barriers…that it’s not about what’s on the outside, but what’s on the inside?? ….Please.) The theme of ‘love’ aside, it’s always about the poor, petite but pretty girl miraculously marrying into the money, right?? –and the rich guys are never the snooty, middle-aged prince Charles look-a-like types, are they?  No. That would just put a wet blanket over the whole fantasy, which is just unacceptable. The prince ABSOLUTELY has to be a long-haired Brad Pitt in tights and a feathered hat. The woman needs to be pretty, little girl-next-door Jennifer Aniston, only slapped with a more vivid ‘Rags to Riches’ complex. They have to ride into the sunset on a pedigree unicorn-white pony [ which was the medieval equivalent of a Lamborghini Gallardo] and all the way to a magnificent castle […which in this day and time should read: ‘mansion in Beverly Hills, Cabin on big-bear mountain, and beach house in the Hamptons’..]  PLUS …yes. I used Brad and Jennifer so I wouldn’t have to explain to you that the real life ‘fairytale’ doesn’t always go as planned. The way it ended between them kinda says it for me.

Now, now…… calm down. I’m not saying that sleeping beauty faked a coma, or that Snow white was a ‘gold-digger’ [pun emphatically intended.]  -actually, that was more the job of her seven little dwarfs, none of whom (you’ll notice) ended up with her. Yes, I appreciate the fact that there’s a couple of life lessons to be learnt from fairy tales…… especially considering all the obstacles the characters  have to face and overcome before their love graciously unites them. How anything is possible and if you want something badly enough, then you have to be willing to hang in there because in the end, goodness always wins over evil…. Et cetera.   –BUT- at the end of the day, here’s how I’ve always seen it:  [Warning -find something to hold on to for this one-] …  Cinderella and her ‘Fairy God-mother’ are basically running a scam on the prince. Cute, orphan girl masquerades as a noble so she can gate-crash the royal ball (on the night the prince is to choose his bride) and steal his heart – moreover, they succeed! You know what I learnt from that part of the story??   ….Manipulation Works!! Coz if THAT isn’t an elegant con, then I don’t know what is. Which is probably why a little after pre-school, I remember asking my English teacher how come when the magic ran out at m id-night the glass slipper that the prince found didn’t turn back into whatever it was before. After all, it only makes sense that just like everything else, once the ‘enchantment’ (fancy word for witch-craft) runs out, the slipper should transform back into a tiny, wooden salt-shaker or whatever it was, right? I just couldn’t understand how everyone seemed to miss this gaping hole in the logic. After a rather long, blank stare, you know what she said??

“…I don’t know honey; That’s just how the story goes.” A polished, well educated, very highly qualified 25 year old adult, and THAT’s the best she could come up with. ‘That’s-just-how-the-story-goes.’                    Lovely.

See, we are brought up believing that logic and sense don’t apply to matters of the heart. That they’re occupants of the spiritual realm and are not supposed to be subject to any form of mental or objective criticism. So we don’t even bother trying to understand. We’re not supposed to, therefore we can’t.  ….. And I maintain that such is the shocking amount of naiveté and perpetual ignorance that would allow someone like her to be stymied by such a simple question. (And hence proceed to give such a circular answer.)

On my way out of the bar I decide to pass by the bathroom, and before I leave, I look at myself in the mirror. There’s no sign of any internal turmoil or strife. My eyes are a little dull from fatigue, but the entire result is in itself not unsatisfactory. They convey passive resistance. A quiet warmth, smooth and glittering on top. Calm. Collected. Peaceful.      …. Deceitful.

Perfection is a load of crap. Hell,…fairytales, are a load of crap. But it’s crap that makes us happy. Crap that entertains us as children (WHEN we don’t know any better) … and crap that still holds promise for us as adults (DESPITE the fact that we know better.) It gives us hope. And what is romanticism without hope?…indeed, what are WE without hope?                                            Lost.                   That’s what.

This whole modern-day idea of ‘Soul mates’ is the seductive venom that has inevitably resulted from blind, careless belief  and to this day, it continues to poison society; the most afflicted being our over-enthusiastic generation of love-thirsty, media-frenzied ‘Mr. and Mrs. Right’ seekers. And for all of them, the search shall go on. Even for the very nice, very hot, very good-hearted ones.

I dial her number on autopilot, as I had done so many times before. Only this time, the conversation is not going to be quite as pleasant. Five rings, before she picks up.

She sounds pleased enough to speak first. “Hey,… I was hoping you’d call. We need to talk.”

“ … Yeah. We do.”

[ACTIVATE SOUND FILE] http://www.jango.com   /ml?artist=Snow%20Patrol&title=You%20Could%20Be%20Happy

*                           *                             *                             *                          *                               *

They say it’s better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.

At times like this ….that equates to what my editor would call ‘Hogwash’ (which is basically just a fancy word for crap- more specifically, Swine excrement, which as far as varieties go, is probably the worst kind.)

If it wasn’t, she wouldn’t be pissed at me right now, and I wouldn’t be the ‘bad guy’ in this whole situation. The only difference between me and most others out there, is that I’m straight with myself and with those around me, whose lives I affect in one way or another by the decisions I make. And occasionally, I’m brave enough to say what needs to be said and do what needs to be done. It always proves to be harder than I thought, but in the end, it’s the only way to live with no regrets. I mean, don’t get me wrong, that little sentence makes sense if you look at it in the broader perspective. And I’m sure if you ask the 89 year old widow who lost her husband after sixty glorious years of marriage, then she’d definitely agree.   But, that’s the big picture. And when it comes to matters of the heart, we do not like to look at the big picture. In fact, we H.a.t.e. the big picture.    Why?      … Because it glares with a blinding truth -a light that shows us the err of our ways and a heat that sears through our bequeathing blanket of forced ignorance to mistakes made, and lessons learnt.    … Because it  reminds us  of who we really are- where we’ve come from, and where we must inevitably go to atone for all the sacrifices we have made in the name of love at our own expense.         … And because, we judge those around us who shun it as captives of fear …Yet always conveniently forgetting that we ourselves are prisoners of our own ‘desired destinies’ and try as hard as we might to hide from reality, the truth remains that at some point in our quest for a better life, we are all selfish, little, short-sighted, glory-seeking, happiness-obsessed, common sense-deprived, comfort-craving, satisfaction-addicted base animals, crawling the face of the earth perpetually looking for somewhere to fit in, and for love, and acceptance, because as we get older it’s the only thing that at the end of the day gives us even the vaguest sense of self-worth.

It’s shameful, I know.            But hey; …it’s true.

–and somewhere deep down, each and every one of you knows it. You’re just too afraid to accept it.

[… to be continued.]

]]> http://masternaught.wordpress.com/2009/06/21/a-tale-of-two-cities-part-2/feed/ 2 masternaught clip_image002 http://masternaught.wordpress.com/2009/06/04/a-tale-of-two-cities-part-1/ http://masternaught.wordpress.com/2009/06/04/a-tale-of-two-cities-part-1/#comments Thu, 04 Jun 2009 16:07:43 +0000 masternaught http://masternaught.wordpress.com/?p=46 ]]> The night was dark and cold. Their enthusiasm was fueled in part by the knowledge that what they were doing was unforgivably wrong. Yet it only served to make their temptation even more. It wasn’t their fault. They couldn’t stop it. No one could. After weeks of silent longing, they eventually had to succumb to the mixture of desire and denial that had tormented them so. Right from the very beginning, they both knew they were merely postponing the inevitable. Which is why when they met that evening, they both knew what was going to happen before it left their sinful lips. Off came the clothes, and as they fell to the floor, there descended with them the walls of cumbersome inhibition. As they lay there consumed in their passion, thoughts of consequence were suppressed, the only witness to their indiscretion being the small noises emanating from the dark. A chilly draft wafted over them from the slightly ajar bedroom door; and with it, the soft sultry scent of betrayal.                           Screw morality. Tonight was theirs.

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…. 8 hours earlier.

Life is a tempest with troubles and storms abound. they say the sun is always shining above the clouds. But I ask,- …of what use is it to us who dwell below them?

001: CHAOS THEORY.

The voracious roar of thunder distracts me from my train of thought.

I’m on a bus. From my middle window seat, I can see only four other passengers. The two behind me have either fallen asleep or just gone very, very quiet. It’s almost empty, and the interior is an extremely uniform and uncomfortably sterile shade of gray-white that reminds me of the subway, and an inescapable urge to address the unspoken isolation. Outside my window, it’s apparently about to rain. The sky, which was barely an hour ago, a glowing sunset orange, is now laden with murky grey clouds; and the scent of dampened dust is in the air. It’s gonna come down hard.

The road ahead is wonderfully clear, as we speed from the quiet, intermittently vegetated suburbs into the huge mass of concrete jungle looming before us. It’s a tradition of mine that every time before I leave, I have to take one last walk around the city. So when I finished packing, I simply hopped on a bus, and here I am. On the opposite lane of the highway, rush-hour traffic is starting to build up as people head home. I love going in opposite directions with the crowd -as long as we’re on different lanes that is. As I get to my stop, the rain begins and people quickly clear off the sidewalks.

Perfect.

I love crappy weather. Plus it’s Sunday evening, so the town center is largely devoid of traffic. There’s nothing as beautiful as a deserted city caught in a rainstorm. As the rest of society scrambles to find shelter, a hallowed peace descends with the precipitation outside. The resilient howl of wind through empty streets … the simultaneous spatter of a million tiny raindrops on the dry, thirsty, concrete-paved ground. It’s the only one time anyone can sneak in a reflective thought, while stuck in this overpopulated monstrosity of life. The atmosphere is wonderful. Almost therapeutic. I guess the old, white-bearded nicotine addict from Austria was right. The sound of falling water really does calm the human mind. In this semi-hypnotic state, I like to walk in the middle of the road; and as I make my way past the Hilton and proceed up the street, I’m confronted by a somewhat sudden acknowledgement of where I am. For once, my mind slows down. A rather deft string of thoughts builds up in my head, as I look around at everything and everyone. The lightness of their pace. The urgency of their stride. The looks on their faces, the resoluteness of their forward gaze and for a brief moment, the temporary sense of purpose etched in their eyes. To get home. To get out of the rain and back into the warmth of their families.                                  Salvation from the storm.

It’s the story of their lives. See … the city is a dark and evil place (which explains in part, why we love it so much.) It’s a wholly self-contained, structurally sound, yet inherently chaotic microcosm of existence. Like a….. miniature universe. Everyone is always in a hurry to get somewhere, to do something (or to get out of doing something else). The impersonal culture of life here is drenched with uncertainty –for the successful, about whether they shall be so tomorrow, and for the destitute, about whether they shall be there tomorrow. Shallow relationships and constant awareness characterize everyone. Mental rifts divide us, and the upper social elite co-exist almost amicably side by side with the poorest of people, sharing common ground, but living in very different worlds. From an aerial standpoint, above all the noise and quick motions, we’re just a massive flood of individuals flowing slowly to and from doorways and crevices through the streets of life, as one giant mass, but each constantly obsessed with their own personal state of existence. A sort of….. ‘Rhythmic chaos’ that slowly sways us all back and forth through life’s failures and fortunes. But behold, press the play button and you quickly fall back to the ground. Back to reality. Back to your assigned place in the scheme of things. Playing your part in the system. Surrounded by all kinds of cars, with all kinds of appearances (…all kinds of price tags) with all kinds of owners, carrying all kinds of people, wearing all kinds of clothes, going all kinds of places, for all kinds of reasons, all waiting for the same, single traffic light. –and when it turns green, they ooze slowly away and disperse down identical avenues, but each one following a separate path to their own ‘destiny’. For all anyone knows, two ‘soul mates’ could be seated adjacent to each other on the road for those few moments when everyone stops, but then separate to never find each other again. It’s all part of the dance. Here, you live your life in segments … work nine to five, sleep 11:00 to five thirty, and in what few hours you have in between, desperately try to scrape together the ability to juggle family, social life, love life, and self. (-a task which to most people often proves insurmountable. At the end of the day, at least one of them flourishes, but always at the expense of another.) In a place like this, systems are everything. Everything is allocated with specific times and places with different components and methodologies. Communication is imperative and punctuality (or lack thereof) is of unimaginable consequence. Calendars, traffic lights, bill-boards, Wrist watches, alarm clocks, microwave beeps and oven timers, ringing cell-phones and incoming messages, looming deadlines and anticipated plans. ….Yes. The acquired complexities of everyday life. And then begins our response to all of these, until the end of the day when we wake up tomorrow, to do it all over again. And that is for just one person, in a city of millions. The systems hold. They do their part, and in the process delude us into believing the recurring illusion of a fictional stability. One that we crave with every fiber of our being. Systems that I maintain, are nothing more than ….organized confusion. The beautifully clashing collage of existence. A miniature universe.

Think about it. Rapid movements, constantly changing states, complex interactions between both individual and separately grouped chains of human elements, resulting in uneven mixtures of new and old links, all this taking place in a very specifically defined (almost cramped) amount of space, over a background of unbelievably high and low emotional temperatures, and under the massive pressure (or should I say ‘burden’) of our own social histories. In the land of possibility,… where one can find cute, little bakeries standing next to gas stations, and restaurants sharing a wall with the dry-cleaners’ next door and it doesn’t matter one bit, to the people inside that their coffee shop…

-wait.           Coffee. That’s exactly what I need.

Lured by the steaming mugs of chocolate heaven sitting on their tables, I immediately turn into the entrance and no sooner have I taken two steps inside, than I begin to regret it. The entire room is populated with an impressive spectrum of city dwellers. The suits, (no ties today) the ladies in their casual weekend attire, a few foreigners and of course the couples, which I can tell, range all the way from a few prestigious high-schoolers, through campus, all the way to the circumstantially wedded. Everyone is engrossed in light-hearted conversation, which combined with the commotion at the crowded ‘TO-GO’ counter is creating quite a din above the smooth R&B tunes playing in-shop. Two faces immediately catch my eye. Both female. Both very familiar.                     Dammit.

I seriously contemplate turning around and walking out but judging by the delighted look on her face, one of them has already seen me. She happens to be alone and amidst a broad smile, she waves and motions for me to come join her at her table. Ok. The question here is if I can possibly make it across the room without the other one seeing me, because as is ‘coffee-shop decorum’ she (who is at the moment thankfully distracted by two of her friends) will feel the need to do the same and welcome me to join them. My subsequent decline will necessitate her to see where I go and sit and ….yes; who I sit with. Either way, if a situation arises where introductions are a possibility ….this will end very, very badly. Now, given that you’re a fellow city-slicker, I know what you’re thinking. –and no. I’m not cheating on them with each other. In fact as far as I know, all three are currently in relationships (that involve me in no way whatsoever.) So what’s my problem with this particular coincidence?? …hmmm…..

Let’s call them A and B . I guess I could fascinate you with their individual stories, but I have neither the grace nor space for such an endeavor. However, it shall suffice to simply let me summarize it as follows: A and B are 2 women who don’t know each other. They hail from 2 different families, and live in 2 different parts of the same city. They’re variably intelligent, but all reasonably well educated. Their collective pool of occupations ranges from full time college studies to both part and full time jobs. (I can’t be too specific on who does which, for obvious reasons of anonymity). They have different hobbies, interests and hangouts (unless of course there’s a rainstorm and they all happen to wander into the same coffee shop) and absolutely no common friends that I know of, …apart from yours truly. If anything, they’re as much strangers to each other as any two people can be. But little does either of us know, that in the not-so-distant future, their paths will meet. –and the circumstances won’t be so great. I’m not going to go into the details of what happened after that, partly because it’s really not relevant, but mostly because I know the discontinuance will undoubtedly irritate you. However, the amount of information you have gathered so far means this particular flashback has served its purpose. Back to the present.

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OK. Here’s cutting the long story short. Earlier today, in our riveting small talk at the coffee-house, ‘A’ happened to mention to me that she has a date. On my way home, I decide to pass by her place and I find them somewhat (for lack of a better word)…engrossed with each other. So I leave. But not before I’ve had pretty good look at the guy. I’ve definitely seen him before. Only he usually has a different woman’s tongue in his mouth, – he’s usually ‘engrossed’ with my friend ‘B’.                                        Yeah. Bummer.

It’s hard for someone to believe that I really care about people, but I do. Especially her. She’s one of the few genuinely good people I know. Puts her heart into every thing, and gives it her all. From what little she’d told me about him, I can tell she loves him to death. That’s what really sucks. It’s not as much about him cheating on her, as it about what will happen if she ever finds out. She’s one of those people who honestly believes in fate. Destiny. Love. You should see her talk about it. Eyes sparkling and all excited…. Trying to convince me that one day I’ll meet that one special person who will change my mind about everything. A person for whom I would be voluntarily willing to do ANYTHING. A person whom I could trust with my heart. My life, if ever need be. Truth be told, I always found that to be kind of pathetic. Being one of those people whose world revolves around their love-life. It sounds weak. Much too vulnerable for my liking. I can never really see myself in that position. On the other hand, it has to be said that I have never once since the day we met, seen her sad. She’s the happiest person I know. Always glowing,…smiling about everything. I mean there has to be a reason for that; can’t just be coincidence, (can it?). It always led me to think she might have a point. That I might be missing something. Lost somewhere in all that romantic jabber, was there something I couldn’t see? A glimmer of truth perhaps? Truth that is being ripped apart at this very moment. Love that is being betrayed as I speak. See, THIS is why people like her should never put themselves in situations like this. It pays to be a little guarded. Countless times we’ve had that discussion.

Yes. I know I can’t live my life in fear of heartbreak forever. I can’t refuse to get on the bike simply because I know there’s a chance I might fall. I mean sure, if I don’t get on, then I can’t fall and hurt myself. But then again, I’ll never know the joy of riding into a sunset. That was always her point. It’s a pretty metaphor, but at the end of the day, I prefer to think with my brain. Not my heart. When you’re in love, the other person is perfect. Yet, everything else from basic observation to common sense dictates the reality that NO ONE is perfect. Which would mean that ‘love’ is a misleadingly altered state of mind that is worryingly detached from reality? What I would call a ‘delusional state’ that we maintain simply because it makes us happy (at least for as long as it lasts. The moment it’s taken away, we crumble into misery.) then she’d get that frustrated look on her face and tell me to quit applying rationale to something so grand I can’t even begin to understand it.

“ I don’t care how smart you are. You’re not always right about everything, you know…” she’d say. The tragedy here is that I was. And yet, in a world increasingly filled with cynics such as myself, isn’t it only fair to have people like her? People who ‘live the dream’ …. And in some way tell the rest of us that there’s hope for mankind? That love is possible and that not everyone is an asshole. That what you believe is what’s important and the fact that you’re willing to take the chance. In a situation like this, it’s easy to hate the guy. But what about ‘A’ ? She knows. She’s just as much to blame. I mean, if all men are ‘dogs’ that only means that all women are ‘bitches’ [and we’re all right back to where we started.]                     This is life. Where sometimes bad shit happens to good people.            And we just have to accept that.

Here’s my dilemma. A and B are both my friends. There’s supposed to be an unspoken loyalty between me and both of them. And who am I to judge any of them? Like I said, no one is perfect. In telling B about it, I violate A’s privacy. In keeping it secret, I betray my loyalty to B (and possibly put her in harm’s way)…while at the same time, letting her scum boyfriend get away with it. Then again, it’s also right to say that it’s simply none of my personal business. I have no rite to interfere. I shouldn’t get involved. It’s not in my place to say anything, and that’s the truth. So then why do I still feel like crap? When one is put between a rock and a very hard place, it usually ends in a choice between what is easiest and what is right. And depending on the circumstances and the quality of our character, we choose to either stand up and walk away, or stand our ground and get crushed. Whichever the choice, it’s never easy.

In the cab ride to the airport, I turn on the car stereo as I watch the blurry streetlamps pass by outside my foggy window, I try to convince myself that I’m doing the right thing by doing nothing. In any case, I’ll be gone in a few minutes anyway, ….what difference could it possibly make at this point in time? All the way through almost an hour of checking in, a short bathroom break, and two very over-priced cups of coffee at the airport bar, I wrestle with my thoughts and somehow manage to rationalize every question into an answer. To make myself feel better. Somewhere in the back of my mind, there sounds a boarding call for a flight in transit from London to Maryland, Virginia. There’s only a handful of us getting on, and I hurriedly take my last few footsteps on native soil. Time to hit the next city.

It’s drizzling again, and as I sit there staring at the wet runway through my window, I’m startled by the sudden vibration of my phone. It’s supposed to be turned off and looking at the number on the screen, I freeze up. Speak of the devil. …it’s her.

“ Hey! …u still haven’t left yet??”

“ actually, I’m just about to.”

“ ….awww,… I’m gonna miss u. n remember I still owe u a cup of coffee from this afternoon,…so keep in touch.”

“I will.”

“OK. Bye!”                                 -did she always have to sound so damn jolly??

“Bye.” ..and I turn off my phone.                                                     Fuck.    I hate it when I’m right. I really, really do.

*                         *                      *                            *                            *                            *                            *                             *                             *

When you’re floating above the clouds, it’s easy to forget about all your troubles. The universe is a peaceful, massive expanse above, and somehow everyone and everything else is seemingly beneath you. As I stare down through the gaps in the wispy foam, I can see the countless lights of a bright future, stuck in an unfortunately dark and gloomy present. Each of them representing a person. A family. A hope (and at this time of the night, for most people maybe even a few dreams.) The millions of lost souls wallowing in an existence where the only sure thing is uncertainty itself. In this constant state of ‘rhythmic chaos’, each one of them is essentially one of Heisenberg’s particles. Always vibrating to the rhythm of their own heartbeats, and flowing in the direction of fate. Always forced to choose between knowing either one or the other, for it is impossible to be assured of both.

As for ‘B’, she’ll have to make her own mistakes. Learn her own lessons. In all honesty, a little part of me hopes she reads this one day. At least that way, she’ll know why I didn’t ….why I couldn’t say anything. And only hope to the powers that be, that she will be able to find it within her heart to forgive me if and when that time ever comes.

I take a deep breath and redirect my thoughts to where I’m going. I have my own problems awaiting me in a whole other city. From missing an entire semester to an Ex who after six whole months still believes there’s a chance for us. By the time we land in Virginia, it’ll probably be morning.

I really need to get some sleep. It’s gonna be a long drive to Boston.

[ ...to be continued.]

THE NAKED LADY.

As the sun rises over the city skyline, something stirs in the rough edges of perception that are at this time of day, merely remnants of a vacant semi-consciousness. I don’t know exactly what it is, but it wakes me up – so to speak.

See – I don’t really ‘sleep’ much. Once, maybe twice a week (if I’m beat). Most nights, I stay up and always seem to find something better to do with my time. I read, I write, I paint, I…. create; maybe watch TV. Sometimes I even cook….. Whatever tickles my fancy. Unhealthy, I know; but that’s me. The previous had been one of those nights, and I stir to my senses to find myself sitting on a rocking chair in the living room. I look around for a few moments, trying to recover the borderline awareness that comes with fatigue at the end of a day cycle. (-which for most people is usually right before they go to bed. Mine, ends now.)

At this point in time, I’m not really sure whether I had nodded off, or I had just been lost in one of my endless trains of thought. Either way, I’m up. Judging by the level of noise coming from some depressingly happy birds outside, I can tell that it’s still quite early. Apparently, there’s an open window beside me, and I am kissed by gentle gusts of chilly morning breeze with a hint of mustiness faintly reminiscent of deterrent rain the previous night.                          It helps.

Turning off the reading light, I stiffly dawdle past the coffee table, heavily strewn with a wide array of choice literature. From marked and folded scientific journals and torn up Vogue, to several historical volumes and graphic novels. Atop a small pile of comics on the couch, sits a new bible; beside it, a dilapidated volume of ‘the Kama sutra’. (Yup.) Even in my dreary state, the subtle irony strongly perturbs. Making my way to the bathroom, I notice a dull throb at the back of my head (which from past experience I strongly suspect is about to turn into a headache.) I immediately know that I need two things. Caffeine and a hot shower. After putting on the kettle, I turn into my bedroom.
–and there she is.

It’s …unexpected; but some of the initial shock is somehow swallowed by the awe of how pretty she is in her sleep. I can’t see it, but somehow I know that she’s naked. There’s a delicately thin bed sheet somewhat draped over her, and it clings to her body, inevitably betraying what lies underneath. It’s oddly unsettling. Even more disturbing however, is the fact that I have absolutely NO-IDEA who she is.

None. Not even a hint.

Now, it’s unbelievably difficult to try and describe the look on my face with a simple string of limited diction, but put simply, I’m totally blank. My mind is racing, as I desperately try to search my brain. I actually have to look around, to make sure that I’m in the right apartment. My brow furrows, as I try to decide whether I’m hallucinating, or just plain mad. With no memory of having taken any alcohol (or drugs) the previous night,…. That seems highly unlikely. So that only leaves the insomnia. Sleep deprivation can do things to a person’s mind. Make you see things. Hear things. Imagine things. ….and in this particular case,…..very, very attractive things. I have to touch her, to find out if she’s real. But my body won’t move. For a while, I simply stand there, watching her sleep. Her smooth dainty features, the rhythmic rise and fall of her gorgeously contoured body, as she takes soft little breaths… it’s somewhat mesmerizing.

See, here’s the thing. When you wake up to find a HOT, naked woman in your bed and haven’t a clue who she is or how she even got there… THAT is when you realize you have some serious problems. Trust me, there is not a situation on earth that is dumber than a guy standing in his own bedroom, desperately trying to remember if he did or didn’t get lucky last night. It’s unbelievably pathetic, especially because (I don’t need to tell you) –Guys generally tend to remember that sort of thing. The few number of times that this actually happens, the blame is usually easily placed ON ALCOHOL; and also I might point out that if and when this happens you tend to find yourself –IN- your bed –WITH- this woman! ….not on the couch! I frankly don’t know which is more depressing. The fact that I don’t know who she is, or the fact that I’m not in there with her (whoever the hell she is.) Now in my case, fortunately or unfortunately < -I’m not sure which> … I don’t drink. So the whole drunken one night stand scenario goes out of the window. The thing about me is that I tend to be very cerebral. I like to use my head. But when my brain gives me a blank and I can find no logical explanation for something, that’s when the confusion begins. Generally, I’m not the kind of guy who panics that easily, but this is starting to freak me out a little bit.

I mean what do you do in such a situation? Do you wake her up? ….do you let her sleep? ……do you try to find a different way of figuring out how she got there?? …..do you call some- Wait. That’s it. -CALL SOMEONE-. I grab my cell phone and call the last number. A familiar voice picks up after a couple of rings.
“Dude….what tha fuck…dyu know what time it is?!”
“..yeah. Sorry….just gotta ask u a question. Last night, we talked around                                                                                 11:00, right?”
“…uum…yeah- …you said we were writing and I should leave you the hell             alone. …so what- you called me at this time to ask me what you said last                                                                                  night??”
“….Did I say anything else- ?!”
“…Like what?”
“I dunno. ANYTHING. Come on. This is important!”
“…No. What’s going on? …. -what’s this about??”
“….Nothing. –Never mind.”

After hanging up, I tried to decide what to do. ………….I’ve got to wake her up. I have to know! (Right?) I can’t bring myself to do it though. Probably because I really wouldn’t know how to begin such a conversation. I mean ‘Hi. ….What are you doing in my bed?’ doesn’t exactly sound like a good opener…..
-and also because I’m a little afraid of what the answer might be.

‘Come on you gutless piece of ……. Just wake-her-up! –you never know. There might a logical explanation.’ -to why a strange, very hot, very naked woman that you did NOT sleep with is lying in your bed right now?? Reality check. OK. Don’t any of you ever kid themselves into believing that there is a LOGICAL explanation to something like that. It’s just a messed up situation all around.

As I stand there pondering whether or not I care enough to finish this particular line of thought, an extremely loud ringing explodes in my ears. …….that’s when I wake up.

********-I mean REALLY wake up.-********

Wait.            That had to mean that I had actually slept. And true to thought, I looked around to realize I was in bed. Turning off the alarm clock, I quickly look around. There was no naked woman in my bed. In fact, there were no strangely beautiful women anywhere in sight! (-although with hindsight, I’m not so sure that was something to celebrate about.) But hey…at least I wasn’t crazy! It was all just a stupid dream.  But I didn’t care. I had slept.     ….and dreamt!  Staring at the ceiling above my bed, I noticed it seemed a brighter shade of white than normal. Being well rested had its effects. I felt peaceful. Centered. -Happy even. Today was gonna be a good day.

Just then, the shower, which had until now gone unnoticed suddenly stopped running. Wait. Shower?? …..who the hell was in the shower? I was lying right here!!
A few minutes later, she walked out, glistening wet, draped in nothing but a towel. I almost sat up in bed , but my body suddenly felt very weak. Catching the bewildered look on my face, she smiled mischievously.
“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” she said taking a few steps forward. I collapsed on my pillow in disbelief.

Oh boy. This was definitely NOT going to be a good day.

-It was her.
The only difference was that this time, I wasn’t dreaming. ….and…oh yeah. This time, I KNEW EXACTLY WHO SHE WAS.

“Shit.”

[…to be continued.]

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Dimitri was not a handsome man; more like…beautiful. In the real sense of the word. He was tall, remarkably strong, and unbelievably graceful. He looked like a fairytale prince; the kind that only a dream would have you believe. He exuded an aura of gentle perfection, and yet in the process managed to maintain just the right amount of broken vulnerability, that was nothing short of magnetic. He could be brusque and very abrupt at times, but it just made him all the more irresistible. He was an Adonis, but it was moments like these that she remembered why they were together. She could stare into his eyes and get completely mesmerized. They were always so intense. Piercing; like he could see right through into her very soul. They were always glazed, like he was about to cry, and when he spoke, the warmth that filled them stirred her emotions to the point where she couldn’t control them anymore. The sound of his raspy voice, when he whispered into her ear. The way his lips grazed her as he did so. It was too much for one person to bear. He had a pianist’s hands. Smooth, soft palms and long hard fingers that at the moment happened to be in her thick, jet-black hair. They descended very slowly, tilting her head slightly back, until right behind her left ear, he touched her neck. His finger tips slid right under her subtle jaw line, to the tip of her chin, where he ever so gently grazed her bottom lip with his thumb. He always did that. It tickled, but it also had another effect. One she wished it didn’t, especially since it was a little…difficult to hide. Her hands were shaking. Desire is a strong force.

She knew what came next, and without thinking, leaned in. Her eyes closed, and her mouth opened. She hated how the one agonizing moment right before a kiss always seemed to linger. It was like emotional torture. But when their lips finally touched, all was forgotten. Time stopped. The rest of the world vanished, and all of a sudden, they were alone. Unburdened. Undisturbed. Uninhibited by all the trials that came with morality. Memories disappeared, and troubles melted away. There was no past and no future. No right, no wrong. No thought, no choice and therefore no consequence. Only the present. Only what she felt. Only what they shared. And so great was the experience that words could not exist to describe it. Such was the intensity of the moment that it was beyond simple emotion. Whatever it was, it took every bit of her to sustain. It numbed the mind, and engulfed the soul. And once again she found herself powerless in his arms, wishing for this moment to last forever. The feeling of his lips on hers. His fingers running down her back. The way he tasted on her tongue. His manner was elegant, and the kiss was perfect. She couldn’t help but respond. Her mind was racing, as her thoughts wandered to places unfit for a lady of her stature. In truth, they were more of longings than thoughts. It was inevitable that soon she would not be able to hold on to the charade of decency, a fact that her body attested to, as it slowly began to betray its own desire. She was completely taken, and very obviously lost in the moment. And in the true fashion of a teasing obsession, he chose exactly that moment to end it. As their lips parted, she noticed her entire body was shivering, and felt slightly embarrassed at how obvious she was. Staring at him for some time, she came to the realization that she had never wanted him more than she did at this very moment. She felt the weakness, but didn’t mind.

His lips were moving, as though he was saying something; but she didn’t hear him. She was already lost in her dream world. Suspended in time, hanging in his arms, her toes barely touching the floor. Just savoring the moment. Somehow enjoying the almost sickening anticipation of being taken by him. A few seconds later, the expression on his face changed ever so slightly. He leaned in, as though to kiss her again, and almost immediately, she held her breath. But this time his lips sailed right to her ear. The whisper was sharp, and uncharacteristic of the situation. It caught her quite by surprise.

“Come on. Don’t screw it up. It’s your line!”

And just like that, the magic was broken. It was at that moment that it all came back to her. In a single instant, the bubble burst, and reality quickly set upon her in waves. The images came back to her with an overwhelming rapidity. The room. The lights. The resounding echo. The floating feeling she had inside quickly disappeared. Her clothes suddenly felt heavy, and a little constricting- probably due to the corset she wore underneath. A rattling queasiness set in, and for a moment, she thought she was going to throw up. –and that was when she started to ramble on autopilot. Thankfully, the nine hundred other people in the room seemed clueless to the fact that she had almost just messed up a magnificent grand finale. Almost. It was down to the last three minutes of the play, thus every eye and ear in the audience was intently set upon the two ‘lovers’ and the impending tragedy of their demise. Countless times, the director had emphasized that each time he handed them a script, they concentrate and practice, maybe even live certain bits of it, so as to give credence to the expression ‘to know it by heart,’ not by mind. Not to memorize, but to internalize.

That had never really made sense to her until this very moment. Even when her mind had clearly wandered, she had been able to effortlessly utter her words without a single disparity. Thank God for over-rehearsed actresses, he would have said had he realized what had just happened. She felt a little angry with herself, for letting go like that, but mostly just plain humiliated at behaving like a teenager. By how weak she was!