Of The Irony

And it was Mister The-One-Who-Got-Away...My-Ass! (TOTGAMA) who calmed me down. I meant for this irony to take place, that the one who turned me into a manic depressive to start with, was the same person who restored order. 

I emailed him; I asked if he was free to talk. We can meet. I am in town, he replied. 

TOTGAMA and I, we met at my first job. He is of Punjabi descent, with dark, seducing eyes and skin as fair as his Aryan ancestors. He was worldly, a free spirit. I was born wayward and sad, and TOTGAMA noticed that. 

In fact, had it not been for the fact that we worked in the same office, our paths would not have crossed. We lived different lives.

Five years ago, embarked on an affair which lasted for six months. I was not proud of the fact that I cheated. 

Not long after the affair, he gave up the corporate necktie that was choking him, and moved to Australia to pursue his passion, whatever it was.

If he left Penang with short curly hair, slightly pudgy around the midsection from the excessive drinking, he came back forty pound skinner.

To prove a point, he got himself dreadlock.

“So, what happened? Why didn’t your boyfriend want to significant other you?” He asked. “Is it because he found someone hotter than you?”

“You are still very insensitive”

“I’m sorry. I’ll stop being a jerk.” He apologized.

[Good boy].

And then he added, “I heard he used me as an excuse.”

I nodded.

“Do you buy it?”

I nodded. Then I shook my head. Then I buried my face in my palms.

“I cannot wrap my head around it. So I stopped trying to.” I sat back on the chair. “How can you still be the elephant in my relationship? It has been five years. We’re having coffee and I feel nothing, except well, I’m thankful you’re taking time off from your busy dating schedule to have coffee with me.”

He took a drag of his Dunhill menthols, eyes squinting from the smoke, “So what have you been up to? Out dancing every night?”

"I’ve gone back to reading.”

Curly said, “Very typical of you. Here.” He handed me a Billabong shopping bag. “I got these for you”

“Wow. You are not the type to buy gifts for female.” I took out the contents. It was a pair of khakis. I put it back into the bag. “Thanks”.

“So what happens now?”

“I don’t know. I think years of resentment can make him confuse.”

“I agree. And I think you should not date anyone. Not until your head is in the right place.”

“We have moved on from our mistakes, but he hasn’t. This is clearly not your problem to solve. He needs to sort this out on his own without your participation.”

“So, no calling him?”

“Have you?”

“I only did once.”

“Leave the man alone. Can’t you see he’s tormented by our actions?”

“Honestly, I don’t. I have spent these past years making up for it. How can he be tormented?”

He paid for our coffees. The cashier at TGIF flirted with him, asked about his dreadlock.
And he took a good two minutes paying for the bill and flirted back.

I stood next to him, invisible, but it did not matter.