She closed her eyes and surrendered at last to the sky as it gently wrapped midnight around her and delicately put her back among the stars.
Let’s dance beneath the night sky, love
As the stars dedicate us a tune
The universe is yours and mine, love
Let’s celebrate by the light of the moon
My future is mapped in your eyes, love
And I won’t be low when this night is through
For only when I greet the sunrise, love
Will I believe that this dream came true
(To Alexander and Sasha on their Wedding Day)
I remember having this conversation with you once before, only you weren’t around that time.
It played out alot like this too, with me at my desk, not looking up until you moved towards me with the increasing momentum of a meteor entering Earth’s gravitational field. You even blotted out the sun momentarily before the devastation began. All I could do was give you this same pleading look, hoping you would reconsider the pending outburst due to the crowd of people meters away.
Ah. just like that time…No… such.. luck..
As you narrow your eyes and suck air in through your snarl, I don’t need to look around to know that everyone is watching us. I brace for impact.
As predicted, your well-prepared speech begins and your voice is like a crack of lightning across a silent sky. It causes all of us to flinch involuntarily and stare at you without blinking or closing our mouths properly again. I feel myself staring stupidly at you as you release the same verbal avalanche on me that many of the onlookers have been ploughed over by before. The words “useless” and “braindead” are screeched in higher pitches, and my inability to collate reports and serve coffee while it’s still hot are highlighted. I feel the room filling with the sympathy of my colleagues.
Now, when I played this out previously, this is not how this conversation went. In THAT one, I cut you off midsentence with a steely glare and my most level tone of voice. It was brilliant. I reminded you that I am not your fucking assistant just because I have breasts, and that I rewrote your entire report for you because it was a load of crap that would cost us that client. The boss was in earshot, too, which you hadn’t realised until I pointed him out. I closed my retaliation by telling you to make your own coffee and watch your mouth around my workspace.
Yes, we have had this conversation before, and you should have been there that time. You don’t get to hear any of that now. Instead, I’m quietly enduring this nipple-twisting and nodding numbly at everything you say until you run out of steam and finally fuck off.
Everyone takes great care to not look at me once you’re gone. I miserably eat the rest of my Rolos and flash forward to our next conversation. You won’t be around for that one either. Pity…. that’s the one where I admit that your badly collated report had the word “cuntcake” hidden in it…… and that cold coffee I served you was laced with laxatives.