Q&A

“The intricacies of life I don’t expect you to understand” Zoe said, her slender figure wrapped in a gold yellow linen dress and stretched out on the floor. Her head rested on the pink satin cushion as she gently stroked a piece of ribbon with her slender fingers.

“And I do not understand, not the intricacies just the stupidity” Stella shot back. Zoe turned her eyes upwards. Stella’s sturdy figure towered over her. Her arms fiercely crossed and her dark eyes firm and furious as she stared at Hannah. “Once. Twice. Thrice. I get it. How does a perfectly intelligent human being like you managed to get screwed over seven times” she continued.

Hannah shook her head and dried up her eyes as she huddled further on the couch with her legs outstretched. Beside her feet lay the Virginia Wolfe novel bookmarked somewhere at the start of the book.

“Have you seriously been counting?” Zoe asked as she sat up and curled her legs on the carpet. “Yes, as a matter of fact I have. Three years, in which I’ve worked on fifteen assignments, you’ve had three jobs and Hannah’s had seven breakups.”

“seven in three years is a little too much  you know” Zoe spoke as she lifted herself next to Hannah wrapping her one arm around her and pulling away Hannah’s brown hair from her face. “First or seventh she has gone through a break up, it hurts just as much you know” she said to Stella. This was a calming gesture for everyone. “Promise me” Zoë said “promise me that you will consciously stay single for some time, at least a month”

“Six” Stella retorted plunging herself on the chair besides the couch.

“One month” to begin with Zoë said her voice firm and calm

“Fine! but by the end of the month you’ll be having so much fun you’d want to extend the offer for sure” Stella said as she rose to her feet and walked toward the kitchen. She put on the kettle and pulled up three mugs and sat them on the platform. As the coffee boiled Stella stared out of the window wondering how Zoë did it?

“How did she do it? How does she do it every time? For more than an hour I had been yelling at Hannah and Hannah had been weeping away to glory. All she did during that time was fiddle with that stupid ribbon lying prostrate on the floor. Was she even listening to any of our conversation and Hannah that stupid stupid stupid girl just lay there snivelling like a schoolgirl? So weak. How could she? That girl has no self respect whatsoever.”

“I should get changed” Hannah said to Zoë, “this dress is killing me”

Of course sweetie” Zoë said as she lifted her hands from around Hannah.

As Hannah undressed herself and shamefully looked at her flabby body she thought “Promise me? Promise me my ass! How is being single going to help me in anyway? She doesn’t understand that Zoë. She’s beautiful she actually has to decide who to go out with doesn’t she get it doesn’t she know I have literally to live off her scraps. Who in the right mind would want to go out with me?” she pulled down the wrapper dress with all its might “This area it’s the toughest to lose around here the stomach is fine it’s the thighs that store the stubborn fat and that just give me the appearance of a stuffed turkey. I should really go running with Stella. I mean I know I’d never be able to keep up but it’s for my own good at least that way I don’t have to diet, am going to do that starting tomorrow.

Zoe lay on the couch and returned to fiddling with the ribbon. “I wonder how she does it?” she thought “every time she gets her heart broken, cries her eyes out for weeks and before you know it she’s out there dating again and within a few days she actually has a tangible relationship. She’s brave that Hannah! Nothing like myself healing from a heart break I had in high school. Such a sad pathetic loser of me, but then again Stella’s single too. She hasn’t had a boyfriend since I can remember. Maybe she is a lesbian after all or just insensitive or maybe she’s just so focussed on her job she doesn’t quite see anything romantically? Ironic you’d think for a photographer. I wish I could have a teeny bit of that focus so I could have one steady job.”

Outside the sun shone brighter. The day had just begun.

Biscuit Race

A random memory crossed my mind the other day. Seemingly lucid at the time it actually presented itself with a very important life lesson.

When I was about five years old our parish organised a little Christmas get together or was it Easter? My memory fails me there. A get together it was, and like most of these events there were various activities for all age groups. For that age I was a pretty athletic being and running races was a matter of sheer delight. So when I heard that the event for my age group was a race of sorts I could have fist pumped the air. I should have paid attention to what sort of race it was though because that was going to be the beginning of my dismay. It was a ‘biscuit eating’ race. One of the most ridiculously juvenile races and I don’t say that out of contempt. This was the only race where at the start line you saw the fat kid smiling. To analyse the objective of this race, what do you intend to tender upon the young and impressionable minds? That apart from the major rat race you are eventually going to be part of you must also learn to gulp down your meals. Whatever happened to chew you food slowly and then swallow. It is important that as mature adults we rethink a lot of hand me down ideals.

Ceasing to whine about the race and getting back to the events that transpired or rather that did not transpire that day. It was at the start line the ground that played host to the race was a rectangular one with a polished tiled surface. I cannot begin to evaluate the things wrong with the arrangements. Firstly it we were made to stand along the length of the floor instead of the width which by virtue of geometry meant lesser distance to run, secondly it was a POLISHED TILED SURFACE. At the end of the race or rather an insult of a race was plastic chairs upon which sat plates and in them clumps of biscuits. From that distance and with my eyesight it was pretty clear what biscuits they were. The worst kind. The kind you see your grandparents dip into a sugarless cup of evening tea. I hated those biscuits from the bottom of my heart. Naturally I panicked. All the same when the whistle blew I darted towards the finish.

As I approached the plate the biscuits grew larger and larger. Their dry surface searing into my skin like blisters on a cold day. With an absolute heavy heart I lifted one and stared at it. Mustering all the courage I had I bit it. Dry and tasteless the biscuit crumbled in my mouth sending smaller pieces flying into the air. I chewed and chewed for what seemed an eternity. Then with a life long struggle I swallowed it. The next thing I did surprised everyone watching and continues to surprise me to this day. I gently put the biscuit down and walked away.

You see I clearly hated the biscuit. I knew I was a good athlete so winning was of no dire consequence. Whatever the prize at the end of the finish line, it could not have been worth the price to pay. So it has been with life no matter what the end result I have tended to avoid things that don’t suit my sensibilities. It has been tough sometimes and like that day the onlookers gasp in wonder as they try to comprehend why or how I would just walk away. I could try to sit and explain but that would ruin the whole thing really. There is hard work and there is passion, hard work got somebody the prize that day passion gave me the courage to walk away.