The remote control

I walk into the living room. I grab the remote lying on the coffee table, lean back and switch on the television. I tune into sports. Some old tennis game between Agassi and Sampras. I put it back on the coffee table and sigh. Life is truly about these little things. How I miss them.
She walks in with a heavy tread. She grabs the remote and angrily switches it off. She is in a mood, that's what it is. She goes back to the bedroom.
I think I will play with her for a little while. I so love irritating her. I switch the television back on, tennis again, but this time a little louder. She runs into the room and switches it off and runs back again. She doesn't even look back. Hmm..I can play longer. I turn it on again. This time she doesn't come running. So I switch to music. I play my favorite, "Scarborough Fair". The tunes are haunting. I listen to her quickened breathing. She walks out of the bedroom. She is a convert too. She hated this song initially, but grew to love it.
She sits on the couch and stares at the unchanging screen. Tears stream down her face. She closes her eyes.
I sit beside her.I hold her hands in mine. She gasps and sucks in her breath. I close my eyes too.
I miss these little things in life. How do I move on? I look at her ring finger where the pale skin shines. She only removed the ring yesterday. Maybe I ought to let her move on too. I kiss her forehead.
I switch the song off. She looks around, sorrow and relief fighting to be foremost.
I walk by the withered flowers that our friends sent. I walk by the phone that has unheard voice mails, no doubt carrying sympathy and condolences. I walk by the pictures, the memories that I share with this woman. Life was truly about the little things.
I walk out, through the door.

Excellent genes

"Wow, you really pack it away don't you?", she questions me.
"Of course! If you are hungry, eat up..is what I say". I shine my smile on her.
I now see her picking through her food. Then she breathes in deeply and asks the waiter to take it away. I still am eating my third course in the meal. I signal the waiter to bring in the dessert. Mocha lava cake with strawberry ice cream. I sit and savour each spoonful of heaven.
She says, "My treat" and grabs the check before I could lay hands on it. Fine by me.
"I have never seen you exercise. And yet you put it all away. How do you do it?"
"Oh well! Excellent genes." I smile back.
She says she will drop me. I negate it and hitch a cab. I tell the driver my destination. He looks up and down at me and his faces lights up in recognition. And gives an conspirational smile. I hate it when they do it. Like they know my secret.
I get down, pay the cab, tip him pretty well. Encouraging him to think what he wants to. I walk in to the building. "00" is the name. I go around the reception, there is a heavy waiting crowd.The girl there waves at me. I go in to the cubicle. And change my dress.
The doctor comes in. "How are you?" And shows his pearly whites. I shrug at him. I hate this part. The part where he pretends that I am a new customer.He has my chart from the previous visits. My body is my temple. Nipping, tucking, sucking, lifting, pinning-all of it regular procedures. I come in regularly at least thrice a year. I also schedule visits for Botox and teeth whitening.
Excellent genes, my ass.

I love you but...

I can not remember my last conversation with you.
I woke up this morning and tried recollecting what we had spoken the last time. I can not remember. What I remember is that you wore a grey dress with a blue belt. You decided to pin a small red flower in your hair because you were feeling adventurous. You smelled of Chanel no 5. I hated that perfume. You wore black heels and you still had to stand on tip toes to kiss me and you wrinkled your nose after that. But I can not remember the words.
I know we had cereal for breakfast. You weren't sure if it would stay down since you were in the first trimester. I coaxed you into drinking orange juice. You stuck out your tongue at me and you drank the juice. You touched my face and said something. I can not remember.
It was 20 minutes after this you left. We spoke a lot, we usually did. But I can not remember what we spoke.
I am now in a panic. I rush to the bathroom. The bottle of perfume is almost empty. I spray some into the air and take a deep sniff. I then come out to the bedroom with the bottle in my hand and go to your closet. I touch the clothes, feel the sleeve of a jacket and rub my cheek on a stole.
We spoke of happy things, our future. The baby and the new house we'd put a down payment on. Reconnecting with your father. I now remember.
Your last words were "I love you, but you smell!"

The odd boy

You are a strange boy.
You smiled at me to seem friendly and the next day you frowned because I smiled back. You spoke to me to promote friendship and yet when I texted you, you remained silent. I walked alone and you did not bring your bicycle after that. You argued walking was better than cycling.
You loved to argue. You said that what you felt was the result of hormones. Yet you wrote long letters and sweet poems for me. You thought buying flowers on Valentines day was a conspiracy and yet you did that to boost economy.
You argued that Big Bang was the reason for our existence. Yet when I knelt before God to pray for my ailing grandfather you could say the same words of prayer with me.
You said you could not guarantee a secure future for me. And still you picked out china patterns that would be on our dinner table.

Why, oh why did you then break my heart? Only to say it was good for me?!

Oh!

Baby cries. Really hard. No one is able to soothe it.

Mother- I will take a leave of absence from office tomorrow and spend some the day with her. She is missing me. She probably feels she doesn't know any of us since she goes to daycare. Maybe she is frightened of all of us. Maybe we are strangers. I think I might even quit my job end of the month. I feel so guilty.

Father- Maybe we ought to change our daycare provider. Maybe they are not giving her enough attention. Maybe they are giving too much that she misses all that at home? Maybe some of the older kids teased her. Maybe someone yelled at her. Maybe she is overwhelmed by elders.

Grandmother- Maybe it's the food at the daycare. You know, making her tummy hurt..Maybe it's the food at home. I told you she was too young for cake even if it is a small bite. Maybe the water,are we filtering it? Does she have a temperature? Does she have a cold? Are her ears hurting?

Grandfather- Move away from the baby. Give her her space. You have been smothering her. She will be alright in sometime.

Baby's brother- (sniffs and makes a face) Baby poo-poo!!

#13

There are only two great pleasures in life- breaking the bubbles in bubble wrap and to physically contort and reach the itch on the back and give it a good scratch.

The protest

I wipe sweat from my forehead. The ground is giving off heat waves and I can see the steam rising from where a few drops of water were spilled. I look around. My boyfriend is on the edge of the crowd talking to a couple of police officers. As the head of the protest, he is assuring them that this will be a peaceful one.
I heave the heavy placard once again. I look at the cement and steel monster in front of me with its many glass eyes. They are so bright it hurts my eye to look at them. In spite of it I see people staring down at us. Wondering about the sense of it all. This corporation is responsible for carrying out tests in nuclear and biological warfare. They carried out tests in a remote part of the country; they thought it would remain a secret. This world that we have, this world that we leave for our children is not safe. And we are protesting against it.
All of a sudden there is a shriek, from the back. No one knows where it is from. We see some company enforcers stand up straight around a girl. She is hurt. This throws us all in a frenzy. A harsh word here, a shove there. We are soon in the midst of a mob. I search for my boyfriend. He has a gash from his forehead. I hold his hand and pull him gently on his feet and take him to the line of corporate and police enforcers.
I stand there with the placard in my hand, not word out of my mouth. The rest of the gang slowly joins in.
We hold our banners aloft. Our protest lives.
"Give peace a chance", "All we need is peace".