Karma takes Time

Have you ever seen how pigeons almost seem to have serious discussions once in a while? This one there is telling the other one, “Hey, my interview sucked! This guy was such a prick!”, and this one’s saying, “It’s okay man! Apply in other places. In fact send me a copy of your resume, I’ll see if I can do something, send it to a few folks, maybe…” “Thanks man I was just hoping-”

“Hey Abhijit? Hey?”

“Um Sir, yes? I was just, uh, going over the statistics in my head”

“Mm hmm, and what do they indicate to you?”

“Sir, well I think the current production needs to be vetted and there has to be a thorough process flow of things. The market demands are not being met, and there’s too much backlog, so we need a strategy. Right?”

“Er, right…”

After a few more minutes of such officious sounding crap the meeting got over. So I need to now go back to my cubicle. Where there will be no pigeon sightings. Where I’ll have to see other people who I don’t want to see. Where I’ll have to see people, period. Why can’t we have pigeons instead of people? Pigeons are smarter. Pigeons get it.

In walks Ms. Precious. Oh wait Mrs. Precious. Bitch. I can’t even hate her properly. Why does she have to look all smiley and chirpy? I mean be a bitch, but at least look the part. Confusing us like that. She looks over at me and her smile falters a bit. But credit where its due- she’s good. No one would ever know of the slight hardening at the corners of her mouth, or they way her eyes seemed to glaze over, or the way her nostrils flared for a micro second.

No one would and has known, for instance that we were once together. Together together. Deciding to spend our lives together. No one knows that we spent nearly every waking moment together for the last year and a half. A year and seven months and a week. But who’s counting?

No one knows that now Ms. Hoity Toity has gotten married to someone else, and had informed me a week before getting married to Mr. Man. One week. One. Fucking. Week.

The reason I’m in a kerfuffle today (Kerfuffle, hah! I love that word. Makes me think of kittens) is that I’ve had a night yesterday. Oh boy. What a night! It was my birthday yesterday, so naturally I spent it in darkness, downing some vodka. As you do.  And then some friends of mine came over, in high spirits. I mean what the hell. All I did was manage not to die for 365 days. Which, all things considered, has been a feat. They seem to want to wake up the dead, and take them for a night out. All they wanted me to do was give them an excuse to get stoned. So I did. Fine. Whatever.

The only problem is that today I feel like vultures picked on parts of my brain. Specifically the part that had been trying to keep it under control and being civil to people. Yeah, that’s gone. Also with it, gone is the part where I was trying to forget everything. Forget that we ever were with each other. Forget that we ever sat with each other, sharing secrets, laughter, kisses. I can’t seem to turn it on. The switch where I remember to forget everything, every single day. Today has been an assault on my memory and senses. My senses triggering memories that I had thought I had put to sleep. My heart is a werewolf and today’s full moon.

What the hell is WRONG with me? Where am I getting my lines? I’m making myself sick. Like physically sick. I have to stop. I can do this. All I really have to do is concentrate on my earlobes, or my nails or my work (yeah right), and before I know it this day would have been done. I’ll climb into my single bed. My flatmate would have already been sleeping and I’m just going to lie there. In darkness. I can’t wait. Meanwhile there’s also going to be lunch. That will be one hour gone. So how many are left then? Three, four… anyway a few more hours left.

I’m only beginning to get back into control when she again slips past me. Giggling. She has the nerve to giggle. She’s talking about her husband. I swear I’m so tired of this. Tired of smiling with everyone else and then giving a fractured fake laugh at her marital jokes. Tired of never saying anything to her. Not saying that I’m angry, not saying that she hurt me. That I really miss her, and hate her, and love her. I think right now, I hate her more than I love her. Way more.

I sit at lunch. Not bothering to smile. There’s too much else to occupy my time. There is food. Why do they call it munchies? Because of the sound you make when you eat? Interesting word. Hmm. So much rice. God, the curry is amazing. I could eat a gallon of this. And why haven’t I noticed the pickle. It’s SO good. As I’m vacuum cleaning my plate of food I see her again. She’s talking about her honeymoon spent shopping in Bali.

I am filled with so much rage, I wish I had poisoned her food. Not enough to make her die- just run to the toilet some twenty times a day for a week at least. Or maybe three of four days.

I have a plan. In the bigger scheme of things, it is nothing, really. After the lunch I’m sitting and napping at my desk. As we do. “Abhijit, could you please come here?” “Uh yeah yeah. I’m here.”

Informal meeting on the floor. I stand near her and give her a smile. She looks uncertain because I haven’t smiled since her wedding. Which was 23 days ago. But who’s counting? “Meetings after lunch, right? So drowsy!” I whisper to her. “Yeah…” Tentative smile. I think she thinks she’s off the hook. Bitch. “Do you want some coffee? I’ll get some”

“Er, yeah sure, Why not?”

I excuse myself, and get two coffees. One cappuccino with extra sugar, and one latte. In which I spat.

I take it back to her. She seems grateful for the latte. Takes it almost to her lips, puts it back. Does this routine twice before she actually takes a sip. And then…wait, has she figured it out? No! “it’s very hot. Haha” “haha” I say, obediently.

During the meeting, I feel happy. I don’t concentrate on the meeting. Productivity, blah blah, motivation, blah blah. I’m truly happy. Redemption. One coffee at a time. I mean, even I know it’s petty. But I want to be petty, okay? I’m allowed. I’m the dumpee.

After serving her 57 lattes over the course of 80 days, I’m done.

I’m done being angry. She doesn’t like the lattes anymore. Wonder why.

 

 

 

 

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