The wind is blowing roughly and the curtains are swaying violently with the flow of the wind. We’re enveloped neath my cozy quilt on the lap of Goddess Nox. I’m half naked, with my left hand under him and my bosom pressing against his back. He has a sheeny gloriole above his head while I’ve a pair of Prada horns.
It is a lazy Sunday morning. “Bah bah bah!” I’m awakened by the woof of my neighbor’s bitch, blowing off the house-card-pipe-dream of mine. After the shower last night, I’d slept off in my bathrobe. Probably, I was too woozy and stressed. In the washroom mirror, sitting on the white pot, I notice my hair is a mess and I look leech-sucked. Flushing and brushing, I lug my bare feet through the aisle to the kitchen to make some hot coffee and oats for myself. I reckoned to wake up and find him in the bed with me. But he? He left me. In fact, he ran away like a pussy. Wasn’t it just a week before that we dallied on our favorite ball game in the lawn?
I take a pan-shot with my optics. The décor in my hall consists of beer bottles, tequila glasses, unemptied ashtray with cigarette butts, some dried leaves, pizza boxes and an empty KFC bucket, a couple of movie DVDs and magazines which I picked up a couple of days ago from the nearby shop. The rack on the left is a book maze and the flowers on the dinning table bowing to seek blessings of the sun God while the iPod plays the ‘Bacardi Mojito’ song. The sheet on my bed is crumpled and the floor is carpeted with stilettos and trainers, smelly socks, stockings with holes, dirty t-shirts, Tommy Hilfiger black jeans, used tissues and a pack of unused rubber. The kitchen has a black dotted red thread marching towards the remains of the chocolate brownie and empty Lays packets and Coke bottles. The dishwasher is overflowing
with stainless steel. It could pass for an art object made of filth. It’s been weeks since I cleaned up my house.
Fixing my arse on the stool on the grass, I sip my regular cup of caffeine that smells so strong. And still, without his hirsute body against my smooth skin, it tastes like a cup from the puddles after the clouds evacuate their bladder. The serene clouds seem to me like a white monster on a blue canvas. On the green dried noodles, I hunt for our foot prints while the honey-makers buzz around, the pigeons kiss and the crow shits. Last week, I erred by going on a binge at my ex-boyfriend, Raul’s villa. Aso was so prophylactic and possessive. “Oh my puppy!” I would tease him back. Sleeping over at my ex is an unforgivable crime. I still haven’t forgotten the dick-like look on his face when I returned home after the binge. So drunk I was but that look, “Oh my boy!” His memories stalk me. The TV is showing our favorite morning show and the digital frame on it flashes our smiles, all for Canon! I text my friends if they can help me locate him but my hopes are not half as high as me when I am not doping. My Facebook status publicly speaks of my misfortune. Slugging on the couch with his belt around my bare waist, I feel nostalgic as the memories played a flashback – the first time I kissed him on his nose, the first shower we had together, the first swim party in my mini pool at the backside of the court with my girlfriends feeling him and the unforgettable moment on a sunny morning when I took him fishing by the countryside.
May be I should call up my mum. When gloom-wrapped, a mother’s lap is what we all seek; don’t we? It seems ages since I’ve spoken to her. I am not a prodigal daughter nor do my parents live in a ghetto-like but I feel too occupied to call her and heed to the family scuttlebutts or about the neighbor’s daughter having an amour with the Pizza delivery
boy. “Hey mum! How are you?”
“I’ve been waiting for your call sweetie. You’re calling after so long huh? How have you been? How is work and don’t you miss us? You don’t even call and oh yes! It is your dad’s birthday this weekend. Why don’t you come over? Your grandparents are coming over too. They’ll be very happy to see you and I miss you so much. Hope you’re keeping good health. Have you built up on your haemoglobin?” It’s like a recorder turned on, on the other side of the phone.
“Take a break mum. Breathe. Just felt like talking to you.”
“Oh my baby, my kid. You don’t sound fine.”
“Yup mum. Don’t worry. It is just that…” I recounted the wretchedness I’ve been going through. In a very not-so-mordacious tone, she confronted me. “Darling, you should act matured and live in the real world. Today or tomorrow, he was destined to leave you. After all, he is just a…”
Interrupting her midway, I said, “Bye mum. Take care. Love you.”
He is more than a mere dog to me. ‘Aso’ may mean a dog in Filipino but he is so much more than that. I feel the tears rolling down my cheek for he is the only one who accepted the barbarian me while I didn’t care enough in return. After all, even animals seek love and affection but I just used him for my pleasance. Pleasance of seeing some one waiting for me when I return home.
I feel as if I’ve mauled my back with my own nails. I’ve dug my own grave and buried myself under the gravel. Now, my life is only filled with gloom. Regret is what I inhale and tears I exhale. Or may be, I still have a chance to live a better life. M still young – only 21! A life more meaningful and worthy.
Tweet
