Of stumbling out of trauma into something i don't get
And Somebody told me that you’ve got a boy friend …
I wonder how I was supposed to react.
I don’t really know how I did react.
I was actually typing up a report about the state of women’s education in Nurpur Thal, I was in fact in the middle of a very solid argument about how it’s our cultural dystrophy rather than the purported religious fanaticism that has caused the current dire straits our women find themselves in.
It sank in slowly, like a bitter wine more so than a stab at the heart. My zealous fingers slowed their barrage upon the keyboard. The cursor’s horizontal sprint slowed down to a crawl and eventually stopped.
After about 3-4 inquiring helos from my friend on the other end of the phone tucked perfectly between cheek and shoulder, I muttered an uh-uh.
“Whew.” She went. “I thought you’d had a heart attack.”
“Heh.” Went I .
“So, how do you feel about it?” She asked. God bless her, she still thinks there’s hope for you and I.
Silence again. This was several weeks ago, and there is still silence in my head about it.
The keys began to click as my fingers found the fervor to carry my thoughts through again. The keys click now too, but I’m still looking for the answer. .
Several more helos ensued.
“I dunno.’ Was my irritated answer.
“Come on man, what? Pissed, aren’t you?”
Let’s see… yes there was a momentary flash of you smile in my head. There was a half a second long desire to kiss your lips. I think for a few moments I even saw you rubbing some random white dude’s chest like you used to rub mine. All this caused a second of red hot jealous rage that started from in between the loins somewhere and rose up my digestive tract like bile, but fleeted away like fart on a windy day almost before I could even register it.
“No… not pissed.” Cuz I truly wasn’t. I’m generally pissed so I know what being pissed feels like. I’ve been pissed at the you for so long that not being pissed is in fact an alien feeling. But to this news, I might have been a lot of things but I surely wasn’t pissed.
“Hurt?” She asked in that nauseatingly jovial voice of hers.
Hmm… hurt… yes, a bit. But not nearly as hurt as I was when that hugely disappointing news about your antics made its way down the grapevine. Not even remotely as hurt as the time you picked a fight over that friend of yours. Basically you’ve hurt me a lot worse than this before and so by default this slight head smacking bit of aww-crapness can not be construed as hurt.
“No, yaar, not hurt either.” This too was true. Much to my surprise. I had actually planned being fucked up over this. In fact I had asked you to tell me yourself when such an eventuality arose. I guess you couldn’t decide if one night stands counted as the kinds of associations I wanted to know about, huh?
“Disappointed then? Like. Come on man, you gotta feel something….”
“But I don’t.”
“I’m not F, you know that.”
“So then what’s the point in telling you if you won’t even react? Gimme some action yaar, life is so boring.”
“I got work to do yaar, and I seriously don’t have a reaction. I’m surprised myself. And really should stop doing this.”
“OH, pooh… “
I hung up. She stopped keeping tabs, but she’s a gossip whore. And you’ve never been very cautious anyway. She’ll come up with some scoop again soon, I’m sure. According to her you’d have been a damn good celebrity for the tabloid industry.
My sweet little girl is now a woman of the world… I’d be proud if I could still feel anything. But if I could fee,l then I’d probably feel the pain.
You have a boy friend and I couldn’t care less. I try to picture you smothering him with your… well… lets keep this civil… and still nothing. I try to invoke the most passionate of scenarios between the two of you and god damn it, it’s like watching gonzo porn, no reaction besides repulsion.
This is strange territory.
I don’t know how to be numb to you.