Monday, December 28, 2009

Marlboro Man Part 4

The morning sun shone brightly.

She sat on a rocking chair at the balcony of the infirmary. From the second floor, she could see the beach and the open sea quite clearly. The blue lagoon looked terrific today, especially with the effects made by waving tall coconut trees, slightly low clouds, some wave-boarders and relaxing beach-goers. The whitish sandy beach took her by the heart quite as immediately. She felt very calm, very happy.

She was grateful that she had six more days to spend on the island, even though the incident when she missed her flight upset her somewhat. She took a deep breath in and tried to enjoy the hot, sweet and salty air that traveled gently through her nasal cavity. She smelt the warm sea breeze, so hell refreshing. She closed her eyes, smiled and took another breath in, this time even longer than the one before.


She opened her eyes instantly and let out the air she had been inhaling in just one blow upon hearing the voice. She held her neck by her two arms and gasped for air. She tried to scream but she couldn't. She couldn't even breath. She waved one of her arms in the air, signaling for help while her face showed a similar expression shown on the face of an unsuspecting spectator upon seeing a 1000-pound mad bull comes charging at him without anything in the middle of both during a matador show. Tears started to emerge from her eyes.

It was her asthma attack.

Suddenly a hand appeared in front of her handing a set of inhaler. She grabbed it and quickly applied the med, inhaling the breeze the inhaler let out after every push. After a minute or two, the attack lessened and she laid back on the rocking chair, tired and still shocked from two things: first was the asthma, second was the voice. As she panted for air, she looked to her left. And almost as instantly her temper hit the maximum.

"You!" she screamed. "You almost killed me you God dammit!"

"Relax," he said casually. He threw the newspaper he was holding onto the side table and pulled a chair next to hers. He tapped his cigarette ash into the ashtray as he sat onto the old rattan chair and took the newspaper back again. Without looking at her, he said, "you didn't die, did you?"

"What if I did? Huh?!"

"Then what to do? We just attend your funeral then," he replied as he flipped over the pages. He didn't even look at her at all. His eyes were totally on the newspaper and his cigarette stood still at the edge of his lips. This drove her even madder.

She took the ashtray and threw it at him. He defended himself by lifting the newspaper all the way up, creating a quick barrier. The ashtray went right through the newspaper, creating a large hole in the middle of the pages. From the hole, he saw her red face, the teary eyes, biting her lips. She was trembling mad. Slowly he put down the newspaper onto the table and took the ashtray from his lap.

"That," he said as he pointed to the newspaper, "I just bought it. Cost me one-fifty. And this..." he pointed to his shirt, "...will cost me two-fifty for laundry service."

He put the ashtray onto the table before he continued, "And both will go into your bill."

She did not respond to his words but started to sob. Why would he be such a bully? she asked herself. Did he not have any sympathy at all? Never she ever felt so sad. She bent her legs up close to her chest, rolled all her fingers into two knuckles and rubbed them on her eyes as she sobbed her sorrows out. Her shoulders shook every time she sobbed. And he just sat there doing nothing, with his cigarette still slowly burning in between his lips.

Let's examine his feelings.

He was stunned, worst, completely clueless. And he did not know what to do at that very moment, due to the fact that he was actually afraid to do anything at all. Do I comfort her? he asked himself. Would she go even madder? He had that feelings that by just sitting down looking at the crying beauty in front of him made him quite a jerk. And he didn't like it at all. So he stood up and took a seat on the footrest of the rocking chair.

"Hey," he said slowly. "Stop crying."

(For information purposes, it is wise to note that he is a total loser when it comes to comforting someone, despite his career that requires him to.)

"Hey," he spoke again after realizing that his first attempt went straight into the drain. "Please stop crying."

What happened after that was, she cried even louder. From just series of heartbreaking sobs, now she went into a total chaos. She now let out long sad howls of sorrows. And this drove him panic. He took his cigarette and threw it off to the ground. Then he took a look at the crying beauty again.

He admired her rosy cheeks and her wet pink lips, bitten by her row of pearl-white teeth. He adored her hair that fell to cover the upper portion of her face. He loved the small knuckles that rubbed continuously on those teary perfectly round eyes. Slowly he raised his left hand and touched her shoulder.

She pushed his arm away using one of hers. He tried again. And she did it again. Why do you want to comfort me? she said in her heart. You almost killed me you know? Why did you do what you did? Did you not see that I have a lot of troubles already? She was so sad, so sad.

It was only after two attempts that she finally gave up pushing him away. He rubbed her shoulder slowly and then the back of her shoulder, against the soft, white cotton pajama she was wearing. Some of her tears dropped onto his arms. He looked at the drops and he crooked his brows.

Without one of them realizing how this happened, she was already sobbing on his chest. He hugged her tightly and sank his nose into her messy hair while whispering 'hush, hush' sound from his lips. He smelt the sweet odor of her hair. He felt the warmth of her body against his. Strange, he said to himself, that one who snores so loudly could also cry as loud. He rested her head on the base of his neck, put a hand on her hair and tidied it up, while in the same time his other hand tapped her back gently. She crawled into his large arms slowly, and she suddenly felt comfortable in them. Nonchalantly, her sobbing slowed down. She just let him pampering her.

This went for quite a while until he caught a movement at his left side. So he took a look at it.

To his surprise he saw Stacy standing at the door to the balcony. She didn't look very happy, her lips were bent to a shape similar to the alphabet 'V', only upside down. Her nurse cap was in her hand, and after close look to it he saw a burnt mark on it. Next to the burnt mark was a dead cigarette butt.

Oh no, he screamed in his heart, not another woman trouble!


woody said...

at last~
thanx jack

Mohamad Nazmi Zaidi said...

no prob yaw