At The Other End Of Town.

"I love you."
"I love you too babe."
"Goodnight."
"Goodnight."

Click.

End of the usual evening telephonic conversation. A routine practice more than anything else. He sought something more. Someone else perhaps. Just before his eyes shut, he sniggered at an ad he had seen on television earlier that evening. "Stupid cunt actually drove across town on his fucking bike." The purple colour of the lava lamp wax eclipsed the celing. He pulled out a handful of pills and sunk in to 'We've Got The World On A String'. Grappelli and Taylor. How could the combination ever go wrong, he wondered.

A rainy night in July and tranquilised melancholy.

"Ah yes, you're all that I need."

¶ ¶ ¶ ¶ ¶


Click.

She wondered if he really cared. The plateau seemed to bother her more than anything else. The dreariness of the relationship was something that she just wasn't accustomed to. Anything was better. Abuse, unnecessary profanities.

The phone rings. An old friend.

"Now? A drive? No, it's too late."
"Oh cmon, it'll be fun. I don't do this everyday. And I haven't seen you in ages."
"But I'm in my pyjamas."
"I promise it's not a problem."
And he laughed. They laughed.

Through familiar streets they weaved. Somewhere, clouds rolled in, and it started to rain. The plan to sit on the hood of their car at Ayub's went bust. But they didn't care. With the windows half open and the warmth of a chicken malai roll to keep them company, the conversation ensued.

"Where to now?"
"Home please, it's late."
"What? We're only getting started!"

She tried to call him to talk. She missed him. She wished it was him tonight. Here. Making her feel.

She'd become so accustomed to early finishes. She felt seventeen tonight. She pursed her lips together, then smiled and said, "Sure, alright."

It was the way he held the wheel. The music he played. He knew what would hit home.

"Do you remember how we danced to this?"
"Shit. Yeah. That was years ago. Man, those were some good times."
The look in his eyes said it all.
He lay back and looked at the road ahead and nodded.
"Yeah ... those were some good times. What happened to us?"



[ Photograph: Unknown ]

The driving rain brought them to Marine Drive. He bought a red rose from a poor child and handed it to her. A seemingly uncomplicated gesture. A true winner.

"I can't ... I'm ... thank you."

They sat on Marine Drive and laughed about life and love. The strange faces, the light drizzle. The cityscape. She felt warm and wet.

He turned up the volume to what used to be their song all those years ago. And she danced like she owned the world. Like she did when she was seventeen. Her wet hair tossed about and the water under a high streetlight immortalized her in yellow. He sat there with his phone camera and caught her dancing and stood transfixed and would look up every once in a while to admire how beautiful she was. And wondered how he could have forgotten. She shied away when she was aware.

Once again, she tried to call him. She wondered if he was intoxicated. It had been a routine for the last three months. He wouldn't even mention her phone call the next morning.

Tomorrow would be different though.

¶ ¶ ¶ ¶ ¶


In the morning, he woke up to a text message: "While you were high ..."