Amelia Earhart

Friday, October 27, 2006

Vignettes

I pull open the wooden rack, displaying thirty-odd pairs of shoes wrapped in blue plastic bags. Blindly, I open a package on the top deck. Another one on the middle deck (oh no, I'm going to be late). And another on the bottom deck. Ah hah, finally, the black velvety heels with white dotted lines. It'll look so fine with my black and white outfit today. And then I remember: "I've got to design a better system."

***
Ten past ten. People are still streaming in. Thank God, I'm not the last one. Take my seat, say hello to people, get up, go to the coffee dispenser outside, out pours diluted coffee into an economical styrofoam cup, spot the finger sandwiches on the side, toss a few onto a crisp serviette, and go back to my seat. Look around, make eye contact with T and exchange a smile. He has unleashed a song into the chilly, sedated room. A song I don't recognise, through his iPod connected to twin mini speakers - no doubt to show how we can learn to write better by listening to gut-wrenching lyrics. I'm inspired already.

***
Drop by my old office. My old pass still works. Cool. Lift myself up on my toes - to peer over columns of grey (and greying) cubicles to see if F is at hers. She is. Strut over, hoping no-one will hijack me. F greets me with sleepy eyes and an even sleepier smile, but doesn't stint on the hug. "Let's go for smoke," her opening line is. An offer I can't refuse. Side by side, we go out to the balcony. Light up the cancer sticks in silence. Never mind the haze. In between puffs, she announces: "I've separated from my husband." What? Just after one year? "Oh, what happened?" Can't live with him, she says. Wants to be a man but acts like a boy. "I thought something was not right before your wedding." She confirms: "I got cold feet the night before the wedding, but the invitations were already sent out. Didn't want my parents to lose face." You're brave to face up to it, instead of languishing in an unhappy marriage, I tell her. "That's why I'm still single," I sum up. She nods knowingly.

***
T's not much taller than I am. But nearly twice my age. His hair is silver (was he blonde before?). His beer belly protrudes, obviously from one too many drinks after playing catch-up with one too many deadlines. But oh, he's sexy. It's in his smile that generates warmth, his eyes that twinkle with his passionate speech and his carefully measured opinions. So unlike many Americans who have crossed my path. Gosh, I could fall in love with this man. And then he says: "I should get home soon. My fiancee is waiting."

***
My earpiece is at home. Sigh, a long 35min train ride without music thumping in my head. At least I have a seat in the crowd (my heels are bearing down my spine). What's there left to do, except to stare. Discreetly. Zoom in on subjects. Look away when they're looking. Two female lovers. Coiled in each other's arms. The taller one with spiky, gelled hair, full Pizza Hut ensemble, one ankle on the other knee. The petite one, surely not a day over 15, her giggles rising above toned-down conversations. Then, they drift off to a blissful sleep, against the chug-a-chug of the train. How nice.

***
An annoying SMS. From A. "Hi, I've just returned from Brunei. Missed you!" Never know when he's coming or going. Not even a decent phonecall. Does he think I wait for him, like his shoes?

4 Comments:

Blogger pingcat said...

Interesting .... go on? ...

12:42 am  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Great writing Amelia. Give us more!

6:45 am  
Blogger Lois Lane said...

Yes, do go on!!

8:04 am  
Blogger Amelia Earhart said...

You bet I will! I'm so sorry that I haven't had the time to visit your blogs. My entries are mostly done in 15 minutes flat. However, I assure you I'll be back in full blog mode after next week (when I'm finished with the pile of assignments).

12:20 am  

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