I’ll follow her tonight. At last, it’ll be revealed what she’s been doing…where she goes to every Sunday night. This is the one day I might find out what the hell she’s been up to. I know I could have discovered what was going on much earlier. If I had only opened her journal when I had the chance. That time she left the key right there in front of me. It would have also saved me all that time I tried to pick that damn book’s lock…unsuccessfully.
I rented a car just for this. Parked across the street and waited behind its tinted window. She came out, hair self-styled enough for an event or a significant occasion. I turned on the engine, not remembering to wait until she was on the 43 bus. At that exact time, what occurred to me was this huge thing that I’m seeing happening, where everything else were like amoebas – insignificant and too trivial to even matter. As opposed to what I feared I’ll discover. I’m sure it would cause my heart to just shatter.
I followed the bus and stopped far behind when I saw her get off. She crossed the street at the lights, and crossed again to the north side. Protecting her self-curled hair’s style, she held her locks against the side of her head with her hand that wore a stylized intertwining silver bracelet that I hadn’t seen before. It looked strikingly similar to an anniversary gift I almost got for her. It bothered me at the same time that she was wearing a new bracelet worn to impress, that it should have been one that I’ve gotten her that she was all of a sudden so fond of flaunting. She looked around as if she were wary of being followed. Was she looking for someone? She did this when she waited at that first bus earlier.
She waited for a second bus at the stop adjacent to where I had parked. She kept looking at her watch, oblivious of my presence, not even giving a glance in my direction. I half wanted her to notice me. I was suddenly desperate to and wishing she’s come to me instead. Maybe…I know things have been so messed lately, but why do you have to do this, baby?
I trailed that bus all the way to the west side of Queen Street. She got off at Adelaide. I knew right then where she was headed – Toronto Poetry Slam at the Drake. This was where she always tried planning a date with me and I kept cancelling. You couldn’t stand to wait for me any longer. Now I’d have to see you with another man. I hate…
I walked tried waiting a whole half quarter hour after she entered, but 10 minutes later, I was already paying the five-dollar cover. I wanted to keep slim the chance of me missing her new or would-be-lover. I saw her seated close to the stage so I stayed at the far dimly lit corner, behind a big enough cluster of the audience to keep cover.
My occasional glances were inconspicuous enough, until I saw a man approach and hug her. Right there, I felt like such a sucker. Motherf… Wait. He just left and sat down with some other people. He was just an acquaintance. Then another came and greeted her in a similar way…and another. You have these new friends I don’t know about…
I ordered drink after drink as I watched her with anxious eyes. Watched her enjoying the performances, periodically scribble in her journal, and do that thing she does with her lips when her smirk becomes that captivating smile that stops just shy of producing that amazing laughter that I used to chasing after. That adorable laugh. Her…
The host, this guy David…silverware? David Builderberg? David something, he’s supposed to be a big deal. Whatever, he was on stage, holding a white sheet of paper and announced the time for the open-mic segment for such a smoking night. One after the other, the poets spoke their words, some poured out their hearts. Oh how I wished I were one of these poets. Some of these guys could just write on the spit and perform it perfectly on the same night. And oh, the things I would say to the crowd…what I would say to her…oh the things would say…
I looked at her face. Studied the expression. Confident and…was that regret or disappointment? I started speaking to her the words I would say, pretending I could make them flow and rhyme and be heard by her from across the expanse of the packed, loud room. I was talking to her. Oblivious, unaware yet she still ignored me anyway. She turned and got up as I confided and confessed. She walked away as I offered my heart and professed. She walked away from me, towards the stage. Oh Davey Smilderschmerk had just called her name from the piece of paper.
‘Welcome her back to the stage,’ Damian Silverberg continued. ‘Performing you already know what – Oblivious!’ The room erupted into a mushroom cloud of cheers and applause. How was I so unaware of this? This must be like Peter Pan unawareness of Tink’s longing to give him a fairy kiss on his very lips.
So she got on the mic and started speaking in a rhythm familiar to the audience. Her voice moved the crowd, my heart amongst them as their lips moved in unison to what she was saying…to me.
She said, ‘To my dear, dear husband. Oh how I wish you’d just run
to be by my side like you used to. Being us was such fun.
The games we would play. We would laugh and be competitive.
It’s changed. Now you’re deceptive with excuses so lame,
to be excused, you would say how you’re already late and must run.
U leave me hanging in the dust, Hun. But now I’m here choosing the stage.
Every time I get up here, I feel adrenaline rush. Stun
my mind as I glance around the crowd,
wondering if you had finally followed me around now.”
StilI, I wish I never found out how u screamed at my family out loud
About how I suffocate you and you’re just trying to breathe out. Owww.
I tried everything I know, and many more that I didn’t.
I even left the key to my journal on the coffee table in the living
Room for you. What else to do but sit and brood? The one thing that kept sticking
to my time-bomb-ticking-heart was to just call you out by spitting
on the mic about the way that you’ve been ****ing on my grief stricken
soul. Hit so hard, you’re blowing apart
my centre then expanding that hole in my heart,
then hitting bullseyes like a marksman when throwing explosives like darts.
How many Februaries passed where I didn’t get a rose or a card?
I don’t even know what goes on with you anymore. Are you holding a dark
secret that would mess me up again, that’s not where I want to be in.
It’s like your once golden heart that shone like a star,
had suddenly lost it’s glow and its spark. While we’ve been growing apart,
you’ve gotten cold and just dark like the night snow in the Arctic.
How do we stay together when we keep growing apart?
We used to stroll in the park with me holding your arm.
We used to boldly embark in adventurous and journeys.
Now you’ve disconnected yourself…’
She stopped speaking when her eyes met mine in the crowd. Her right hand clasped over her mouth. Amidst that expression of surprise, I saw something that I hadn’t for a long time. A hint of relief. That was the thing that had just sparked a glint of hope in me.
The crowd had already turned towards me from following her gaze. From their looks and murmurs, it was evident that they knew that it had been me she was addressing in her poem. She had been doing this, talking to me through performance every Sunday night, hoping I would just care enough to make an effort and find her.
I walked towards the stage. Towards her. Through the crowd and as they started to boo me. I don’t blame them. She was their sweetheart. She was my sweetheart until I ruined it. Until I hurt her, and they knew that. I was happy how they cared.
When I finally met her, I was surprised and relieved that she opened her arms to me. She had tears in her eyes, as did I. She did that adorable, amazing smile and we met in the most fantastic embrace. Reunited to start over. To start right and continue from where I messed up. The boos stopped. Applause and cheers enveloped us.
Becoming Writer 2016 Anniversary Contest 