“What sign are you?”

“I’m a Balloon”

Kind of like saying, “the road to hell is paved with good intentions”.

Body for sale.

Used, in good condition.  Heart broken.

Rapu writes beautiful little stories, so when I first read them, instead of crying I picked up the phone and dialed his number. I was lucky that he wanted to talk. We talked and talked and we had never seen our faces though I’m sure both of us had already dreamed us waking up next to each other. When we finally met, we had both been caught up in the dream long enough not to let it pass. We decided this was a fairy tale that we could live. And we do live it.

Other people wonder. If they don’t, they are simply indifferent. No one has said anything good about us, no one has given their stamp of approval. I don’t know why. I think they wonder why we send letters to each other while living in the same house. They also wonder why we laugh so much. they also wonder why I call him Rapu when his real name is such a beautiful one. We see these things as normal. And if one day, Rapu stops sending me letters and I stop giving him ice cream promises that will be the end of my world.

On Sundays, we sit around and write little stories. He writes about me and I write about him and then we read them and smile. We also listen to fairy tales from old tapes we found in his parents’ attic. One Sunday, a friend of mine dropped by. She literally ran away, she thought she had entered “a madhouse”, she later told me. We still laugh about that.

Rapu always told me I am mad. He didn’t want to see me in case I wasn’t. I didn’t want to see him cause I thought he would be fat, short and ugly and my superficial nature would not stand that. My superficial nature committed suicide cause she had not counted on the intensity of his eyes. Sometimes, we are afraid to hug. We are afraid that we may not be able to part especially if it’s Monday morning and we have to go to work. It happened once and we had to use a very lame excuse not to go to work (we parted on Tuesday morning).

Whenever I speak of Rapu I use the present tense. I have to get over it, I know. Rapu died one Thursday morning.

“Sure, that makes so much sense. I’m sure you’ll have the time of your life with the ones that hate you”

***

Hours later, he insists: “Would you write about me?”

 Darling, of course I would … but you’ve got me tongue-tied.

- Sure! Let me get my pyjamas!

Any rumours regarding the arrest –shortly after last Thursday’s events- of former presenter Ms. Linda Jones on counts of indecent exposure and use of profanity on national television, will not be further commented upon by the Association.

The Association would like to take this opportunity to congratulate Ms. Jones for winning the $60 million jackpot.

Outside the bar, across the road. You put the music on and turned up the volume, opened the door of your car so they could listen. It was December and I stepped back willingly, felt I almost disappeared as I was watching you move to the melody. You were happy. You were with friends and I was with strangers but I was with you and I was smiling. I couldn’t decide whether the next year could be better than the last; I had lost people but I had found you.

That night, I was the outsider looking in but I saw friends listening to music, on a beach, in the cold.

That night, that scene…was beautiful. That’s all.  

If and when you realise it, there’s only one choice; to oblige.

To find some beer, some candles, a comfortable chair or enough space on the floor to dance.

To dance and sing to the summer breeze.