After the rapture of love comes the wreckage- O is for Outlaw
So, it’s Friday. My worst day of the week. It really should be my best because:
1. I get to wear something else apart from the almighty law uniform;
2. I get to take cool selfies and hashtag them on social media, slaying every single one! ;
3. The next day is Saturday and I get to sleep like a koala;
4. The day after is Sunday which is like Saturday but much more sophisticated.
Anyways, there are just lots of reasons to love Fridays. Not that anyone even needs a reason to love Friday.
But I don’t.
Because my first heartbreak happened on a Friday.
It was a year ago when I loved Fridays fiercely.
It was a beautiful day, where the weather did that thing where it was in between sunny and damp. The sunshine was warm, and my skin was cooperating, for once. I finished classes just before noon an decided to start my weekend early by going to ‘koala’ in my room. I was on the threshold when Christiane hollered from upstairs.
‘Hey Chris. What’s up?’
‘Nothing. So, a bunch of us are going swimming at Daystar’s. Wanna come?’
‘I dunno. Isn’t it a little cool for swimming?’
She pouted prettily. ‘Who said anything about swimming? We’ll just lounge around the pool and look all cute in our bikinis.’
I grimaced. ‘Christiane. You know I don’t wear bikinis’
She sighed. ‘Burkini, then. Or whatever else you wear.’
I shoulda said no. it would have been the best decision I ever made. But I and good decision-making are two parallel lines. So I said yes. And changed. And joined them.
Chris was the loudest of the artsy girls from upstairs and before long, everyone around the pool knew our names and portfolio. As loud as they were, the artsy girls from upstairs were fun. And, boy, did they know how to have a good time.
We gossiped and giggled and sipped juice packs and had a good time.
And then I saw him.He was beautiful. So beautiful. Tall and ripped, he looked like Tom Cruise from Mission Impossible. I had to get a closer look.
So I waited. And schemed. And waited some more.But… Wait. Where’d he go? My prince has just disappeared. No, wait. I didn’t dream him up, did i? I pinched myself. Nope. Still awake. Still with my artsy girls from upstairs.
I was about giving up on him being a figment of my imagination when a head surfaced next to me. Oh my! A cute…No scratch that. A hot, wet guy next to me. In a swimming trunk! Nothing in all my years of ogling Channing Tatum and all the guys of Magic Mike ever prepared me for this.
I raised my hand. Oh, just a feel of that chest and I can die in peace. He smiled his encouragement. And I was transfixed. Ladies and Gentlemen, I drooled. He had the most beautiful smile. And… wait for it… He has a very very sexy gap-tooth. And dimples!
Okay, just for the record. I literally have an organism from the sight of a hot guy. Now, a hot guy with dimples and gap-tooth? I’m legit going to die. I will cease to exist. And you can write on my tombstone ‘Died of overheating’.
Anyways, I was reaching out, still drooling like a puppy at the sight of doggy biscuits when… BAM! SPLASH! SSSSSSSSSS!
Nobody, till date, can explain how it happened. What everyone saw was me being lifted out of the pool like a drowned puppy. Except, a puppy is cuter. I looked more like a hippo. Yes, hot guy and I coming out of that water looked like something from National Geographic channel where the majestic lion is dragging a baby hippo from the water to feast on. Ah! Don’t I wish he had feasted on me!
Now, personally, if I had to get wet in the presence of hot, sexy guy, I’d rather it was in a really dramatic, sexy-as-hell way. Like them swimsuit model s on the cover of Playboy.
However, since I already looked like a reject from boot camp, I decided to make the best of the situation.
‘Thanks.’ Cough. ‘A lot.’ Cough. ‘I’m really sorry.’ Cough.
‘Hey. It’s okay. I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have startled you in that manner.’
Awwwn,could this get any better. He didn’t know I was already married to him with two little kids with eyes the color of the midnight sky. He thought I was startled.
Well. So far, so good.
‘I guess.’ Sigh. ‘We are both sorry then.’ Dramatic sneeze.
‘Here,’ he wrapped his towel around me.
‘Thanks’. I smiled warily.
He nodded. ‘I’m sorry once more.’
I smiled, brightly this time.
He smiled back, obviously relieved I wasn’t dying.
‘My name is…’
‘Yaaaaaarrrrrr.’ I groaned. I had forgotten about my artsy girls.
‘I’m fine’, I muttered stuck between pretending to be near-death for hot guy’s benefit and not wanting to frighten my friends.
‘How did it happen..’
‘You just went in like a bag of cement..’
‘Why’d you go in like that..’
‘But, Yar, you can’t even swim..’
They were all talking at once and no pretense, but I was beginning to be weary.
I caught hot guy’s eyes. And he smiled. Not the apologetic smile. But the sexy, full-on gap-toothed dimpled smile. It made me want to jump in the pool and drown and be saved again.
‘Babe. That was so brave of you.’ Kiss. Hug. Smile. Hold hands. Hold waist. Caress. Female.
‘I’m really sorry,miss. Take care now, would you?’
And gone. Gone. Gone with another girl.
I didn’t even get to know his name.
I went to bed that night knowing how a wife feels when her husband cheats with his young, petite secretary and brings home divorce papers for her perusal.
I might only have been married with kids to hot guy in my head, but wasn’t there some rule as to rescuers and rescued? I mean, it always happened that way in Hollywood.
Or did it really?
My whole life has been a lie!
Now, I’m a heartbroken girl who still dreams about a boy with stars in his eyes, a gap in his teeth and a dimple in his cheek. Whose name I do not know.
And every Friday since then, I would take a cold bath and pat myself dry with the towel (I kept the towel, in case you were wondering) and dream about what could have been.
Oh, and sometimes, I vary the names and sexes of the kids. You know, just to keep things interesting.