Friday, February 26, 2010

Mother Nature, You Bitch.

"Would you," she said.

"Would you teach me how to play guitar?"

* * *

He lighted a cigarette and took a puff.

The coffee outlet where he was at was rather empty. It was one cold Monday morning, slowly getting warmer from the heating ray of the mighty sun. There were less vehicles on the road, and there were even less people walking by, despite the fact that the day was a public holiday. There on the steel chair he sat, overlooking the road, all by himself with nothing else but a box of cigarette, his mobile phone, a somewhat worn-out old-fashioned lighter, and his car-keys; all arranged neatly on the coffee-brown colored table.

A waiter approached him with his tall glass of cold milk coffee.

He sipped it, and he swallowed it. They say that good coffee, combined with the bitter taste of a cigarette, makes one's day; and this was precisely what he was experiencing. He sipped it one more time, and he took another puff of his cigarette. He felt refreshed, energetic. He felt alive. He felt, for some strange reasons, happy, and though this was quite an interesting matter to ponder about, for he was quite an analyst, he could not be bothered at all.

For there was something else that at the time that had him completely bothered.

* * *

To him, she was just another lady.

Height, average. Weight, average. Shoe size, slightly above average. Though the first three sentences of this paragraph sounded as if they were describing the star lady from the motion film (500) Days of Summer, the lady this story is progressing to describe however was no Summer Finn. But she indeed, for still some strange reasons too, had him, although not completely but at least significantly, enchanted.

He first saw her in an art class; the only art class he ever attended his whole life, despite his charming language and heart-melting wit he possessed, as an all-time writer. He decided to take the chance to throw himself in a group of people from which he thought were more or less like him; generally misunderstood, bitter, sad, poetic, suicidal, and the such - the sort of feelings great artists usually be blessed, or rather cursed, with.

Now it is wise to note that in the class he was a complete stranger, or at least he thought so, for nobody had so far addressed him or talked to him, and he liked it this way. It's better to stay in the shadow he thought, one part because he was not someone who enjoys the limelight, and one part because he was having his own limelight on someone else who happened to be there too; someone whom he was having his interests in since the class began, someone whom had gotten his attention, and Mother Nature - as naturally and as mysteriously disturbing as she always was - just to screw with him, had him seated so close to this particular someone he was having interests in. In fact, she was sitting right next to him.

At this point the lessons taught in the class, regardless of how interesting they happened to become, had no longer be an interest of his.

He saw her fair-skinned face. He saw how she made her gestures to be so calm, so feminine, so charismatic, so alluring. Stunned he was, but he tried to remain as calm, to no avail he looked more or less like a monkey who has some minutes ago received some series of bitch-slapping from an agonizingly angry woman, for no particular reasons at all. In his mind played many things, but the only thing that was worth knowing, for every other was completely rubbish, was that he developed a feeling for this one particular lady, who at the time was smiling and laughing and all. He saw all these, and he slowly melted, like his readers did whenever they read the pieces he wrote in the past.

To cut this beginning-to-get-longer story short, he got her number by when the class ended.

* * *

Remember how annoyingly joyous you were when you first got you first bike?

To summarize, that was precisely what he felt.

And so days went by and they started contacting each other. It was dandy and natural, and both of them were happy about it. They started to exchange knowledge and information about each other to one another. They started to laugh with each other. He learned that she had a thing for guitar, and he being quite an enthusiast in guitar playing, offered his knowledge to teach her guitar-playing, to which she excitedly agreed to.

And just to screw with the man again, Mother Nature added more vibration to what he felt towards her, but being quite a clueless bastard he was, he didn't know what she felt for him, in fact he couldn't read her at all; one part because he was quite dumb when it comes to woman, and one part because...well that's about it - he was just dumb when it comes to woman.

Only to add to the effect of the relationship, this lady has somewhat a good friend. And to add another to the effect, this friend of her worked at the same place with him. And just to add more to the effect, this friend of her happened to have some bitter, bitter past experience with him.

One thing about woman is that; when another woman, who happens to be her good friend (female term: besties) is having some sort of attention towards a man (female term: jerk) she knows, she will do anything, anything at all to prevent her friend (female term: besties) from approaching that man in discussion (female term: jerk). This includes: blackmailing, warning, embarrassing, socially damaging, and/or criminally incriminating nature; resulting to the man (female term: jerk) to be downgraded to lesser celebrated being (female term: idiot, asshole, loser, blockhead, bonehead, cretin, dimwit, dork, dumbbell, dunce, fool, ignoramus, imbecile, jerk, kook, moron, muttonhead, nincompoop, ninny, nitwit, out to lunch, pinhead, simpleton, stupid, tomfool, twit et cetera).

This act, to a woman, is noble. To a man, it is an act of, well, you know.

It is now worthwhile to note that the man, regardless of how smart, intelligent, witty, charming et cetera kind of man he was, was also both a saint and a sinner. He in his past life, like every other person, both the lady and her friend included, have done mistakes that he regretted. But he learned from this mistakes and he moved on, quite a very wise thing to do. Very little he knew that this friend of the lady had in the mean time been doing some sort of subversive, irregular guerrilla attack at him, by telling the lady many of the stories in his pasts, mostly emotionally-derived and fully-exaggerated to a whole different scale, and by the time he knew this, it was already too late.

A few days after, the time that when it was too late, he realized that the lady he had his interests in had suddenly pulled back.

No, she didn't pull back - she disappeared.

* * *

Weeks gone by empty.

He was deeply in his own wreckage of, obviously enough, his own broken heart. Agony and despair added up to his misery, increasing the intensity of his sorrow, his remorse, his sadness, and his pangs, soon to resort to him being even more bitter than he was before; he was in rage, he was in pain, and worst, he became a monster.

He became a monster.

And he saw the friend of the lady, now uncloaked to his knowledge, as one tiny, tiny little particle that was stuck on the stomach lining of the smallest of ants; an ant he was ready to step on any time now, or maybe kill it with his acidic spit, because he knew, oh he knew this very well, that just by a snap of a finger, that lady could anytime be served on his table for dinner. In fact too, he wanted to kill Mother Nature too; slit that bitch in the throat and see how she dies slowly in front of him while he sits next to her drinking some orangey-bluey-greeny Slurpee he gets from the nearest 7-11 convenient store.

But he didn't do it.

In fact, he didn't do anything at all about it.

* * *

More weeks gone by.

As he was sitting on his chair at home alone at night and there was nothing else to do, he thought about her. He missed her a lot, but at least by then he no longer crave for her. Truth is, he just reminisced her, and that was all about it.

He thought about her smiles. Her laughters. Her charm, her wit, her sense of feminine, her jokes and her everything. And he just smiled to the thoughts. He didn't blame her friend no more, for he made peace with his heart. After all, maybe it was for good. Neither he blamed Mother Nature and Mother Earth too, despite at all evidence this pair of lesbians were clearly having something to do with his losses.

And then his phone rang from an incoming instant message. As most of us did, he took his phone and read the message.

"Would you teach me how to play guitar?"

And like most of us have gone through, this completely indescribable, mysterious and confusing event had turned him nuts.

* * *

He read the message that he received last week again for another time.

Once he was done with it, he smiled to it and pushed on the red button to send the phone into a stand-by mode before putting the phone back on the table. He took a cigarette out from the box and reached for his lighter. For some reasons, the lighter dropped to the floor.

When he bent his body to look for the lighter, at least where he expected the lighter was, he saw nothing that resembles a lighter but a pair of very, very familiar shoes, where in them was a pair of very, very familiar legs, in very,very familiar jeans. Next to them all is a guitar case.

Without bending his body back to the posture he before was in, he instead closed his eyes and smile to that surprise he just had, and he soon began to relate all the things that happened - from how his urge to smoke suddenly appeared, to when he took a cigarette out of the box, to when the lighter fell to the ground, and ended up to which the surprise appeared before his eyes - a very careful plan that was dramatically done in such a play, to which there was only one to blame, and to thinking about this, he felt relieved and sensationally solaced. He now had fully understood, witnessed, and believed.

"Mother Nature, you bitch."


FarA said...

Must he lighted a cigarette and took a puff?

Mohamad Nazmi Zaidi said...

he must, for he is a smoker.