Monday May 9th
I spot a mess of folded post-its and bits of paper at Anna’s cubicle. I ask the neighboring worker, a feisty 20-something whose hair is bundled up with a pencil exclaims “Oh, apparently she’s taken indefinite leave, to everyone’s relief. She was always such a downer, and kept persisting with notes when the rest of us clearly prefer email”.
Joyce sent me a video message. She was recently handpicked by a talent manager to appear on a show called “Beauty and the Freak”, an undeservedly popular local series that has been on air for 7 uninterrupted seasons. For the next season a few unfamiliar concepts have been planned, with Joyce coming in as the show’s first “hybrid”.
Arriving home I catch a loud shriek nearby, and my cowardly instincts choose to betray me. I follow the sound and chance upon someone’s door left unshut. I push it open, expecting a giant iguana but instead spot a child of about 10 years with her back on the floor. I scan her trembling face, widely-parted eyes and unusually small nose.
This is when I notice an entanglement of tubes running in and out of her clothes, planting holes in her neck and arms. One hand is turned up with fingers caught in a weak spasm, and a few spots of blood show at the wrist where a tube must’ve been. I kneel down and grab some tissue for this, and gently rub the other arm to calm her down. The screams now collapse into a quiet sobbing,both she and I feel more restful. A hand touches my shoulder then, I peer up to see one of the Jasons in an uncharacteristic half-smile. “I can take it from here, thanks Sham” he says with a nod, attending to the girl as I slowly make my way out.
Tuesday May 10th
Kamilia sent me the first draft of her “scandalous but thoroughly honest tell-all”. There a are few chapters pertaining to her teenhood, in which “parental neglect and incurable dyslexia drove [her] into an exile of hard drugs, daytime television and an army of mice who were first attracted to the foliage of rotting food, but were eventually kept for company.” The entire thing seems implausible, and I recall Kamilia’s upbringing to be a joyous time. Upon her request, a Princess-themed birthday was held when she turned 19 for which the house was made to look like a cross between Barbie’s Palace and a 17th century whorehouse.
In the evening I find Affendy and Vikram Singh waiting at my doorstep. Vikram confesses to be “a special healer with links to God”.When I ask which,sternly he says "All of them,yours and mine too". Based on our single "session" not too long ago he has diagnosed me with “chronic indifference, something that still lies in the blind spot of modern therapy”. It is apparently “a disease to one’s spirit, when neither life nor death is preferred. One lies in a limbo of no wanting, before long the Devil’s pull would materialize” and suggests that I accept his offer to “negate all traces of evil from your office, apartment and soul”.
I ask if he could put a curse on Diana, perhaps make it rain frogs on the day of their wedding or have her fiancé turn into a watermelon. Affendy interjects saying “God wouldn’t want you bearing such ill feelings, plus I’ve tried numerous times to persuade Vikram to put a hoax on my heinous wife but he simply won’t do such things”.
Thursday May 12th
After two days of detoxing on cabbage soup and cigarettes, I am a few pounds lighter but feel most fragile. I tried going past 20 minutes on the treadmill, but a trainer stops me to say “I think you should stop running, Uncle. If you were to die here, it would seriously fuck up our gym’s feng shui”.
Mere hours to Diana’s wedding and I still look like a breathing corpse, but more importantly, single and alone.
Friday May 13th
I impulsively decide to take leave in the morning, Mr. Tim Lim begins yelling loudly until I hide the phone underneath a tower of pillows, from which his tiny, cartoon voice squeaks harmlessly. Much later, I start dialing everyone in my phonebook for a fill for "and guest". They all feign some bizarre excuse, and I stand dressed in a suit by the door with just 30 minutes before I have to leave for my own execution,or in plain terms: Diana's wedding.
Fetching a napkin to wipe the sweat off, I notice something scribbled on it. Zimet. For a while my mind wanders, trying to recall. I finally remember the waiter, my supposed path out of unemployment.Before I know it, I am on the phone. “Follow you, to a wedding? Sure, I’m getting bored torturing my Sims anyway”. I tell him to come immediately, not before a minor fix: “see what you can do about that ponytail”.
When my doorbell rings, it is a dashing figure dressed in a black fitted suit, shaved clean and sans ponytail. I tell him that he looks like the world’s most chivalrous doorman, and that I mean it as a compliment. Unaffected and in a wistful, optimistic demeanor he declares “Thought I’d play the part of an adult of one night, see what the big deal is”. My date to my ex-wife’s wedding is a seriously well-dressed young man. I hope others at the wedding will see the humor in this,because I seem incapable to.
I am a nervous wreck of words on our way to the venue, Zimet listens patiently as I rant about Diana and her selfish,predatory ways. At the ballroom, the walls are lavishly decorated with white roses. There is a string quartet playing familiar, romantic songs and an open bar already full of grinning patrons. A lot of thought has been put into tonight, as if Diana plotted so meticulously to erase the memory of our marriage: from her mind and everyone else’s.
Mom strides along with an entourage of six, and we all graciously shake hands. I enquire which of the men she was recently married to, and she proudly proclaims “Oh, that would be the notorious Expat here”, grabbing the hand of one tall, dark-skinned gentleman. “But as for married, we are all wed-locked. We paid a hefty price for a priest in Prague to marry all six of us to each other. The traditional man and woman arrangement seemed unfitting for the overpouring lust, and affection, we all feel for each other. We now live together in a huge mansion in Lyon with all the children banished to a faraway barn full of sharp toys. Knowing well that a marriage of six would allow us to live in total fidelity, although should one of us wish to stray momentarily out of the circle: a minimum contribution of 10,000 Euros to the Family fund would be sufficient”.
I feel myself growing edgy and impatient, “That’s the man she used to be with, isn’t he just pitiful” they must be saying. Kamilia appears seated next to me,reading me like a book: "Don't fret Daddy,things will work out for you one day". All of this dissolves however, when I see the bride and groom enter. Both are dressed in a coordination of angelic white and slick grey, Diana pacing her way slowly with a hand holding the groom’s, whose wheelchair looks fine and polished.
I find the strength to keep a straight face, but some part of me feels festive and relieved. The Olympian turns out to be special in more ways than one. Taking pleasure from this has no doubt cemented my place in hell,or whatever non-nirvana in the hereafter.But consider something else: perhaps despite all of my life’s tragedy,or because of it,the universe has now balanced itself once again.
After the wedding I go to congratulate the pair, Zimet insisting he tag along. “Be nice, just don’t be too much of yourself for one moment”, and indeed I find myself being exceptionally courteous. Diana hugs me coldly, says nothing and the newlyweds merge into in a sea of eager well-wishers. We leave, I drop Zimet at his place and thank him, saying the night turned out quite alright. “This is not the end Sham, this moment- you are new again”, he says. For someone so young and naïve, he shouldn’t say such ominous things I can’t understand.
I drive my way home, pass all the night lights as one empty road leads to another. The quiet of the streets: sleepers all adrift into dreams and nightmares and short-lived fantasies, while insomniacs and drunks prowl about for their numbness to last. In a way, I am stranded in my own darkness: hours blend into hours and time seems stolen its reverence. But not suddenly I find myself where I need to be. I park my car and run knocking on the front door.
It opens and beyond, there is Anna. Tears welled in her eyes, completely unsurprised.
…
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