Her

-- a blogger whose diary I read quite often, this is her work. --

"Her" -- A. P.

Sometimes I relive the day it all began… the day I bumped into my college sweetheart, 9 years after we had last seen each other. It’s been about 14 months since that day, and just thinking about these months gives me a rush. I look up at him from under my half-closed eyes. It’s all a dream come true, I think.

Well, almost.

Why…

I turn up the music. Always works to drown out questions I know I can’t answer.

His lips linger from my hair, to my ears, then my neck, and I know he’s not leaving, not just yet. He straightens, checks the bedside drawer, shakes the empty condom box and throws it into the trash. His mischievous smile again.

Always time for once more, but never time to stay and just talk later.

He strolls out, flinging a “Be right back, honey”, above his shoulder. Immaculate as always, I think. Never takes a shower, but always dressed to the nines.

I check the clock. About an hour till he goes back.

Back to that damn…

Bitterness stung like bile in my mouth.

Why can’t he get that damn divorce soon?

The music system is blaring now. Next to it is a photo frame from our college days. I’ve lived 11 years with that frame, right there.

He has the same brilliant charming smile. That particular photograph had been taken just three months before he told me his parents had found a girl for him. He had spent the next few weeks convincing me he didn’t want to, but had to.

He didn’t want to? Yeah, right.

I’d seen her.

She was gorgeous.

Ah, well. It’s all gonna be o.k. He was going to tell her about me any day now.

…. Why not till now? The voice in my head asks, above the blare of the music.

I jump out of bed and start pacing. Maybe I can out-walk my thoughts.

It’d just been one thing after another, she’d been sick first, and then, you know, his parents were visiting.

Her face flashes before my eyes before I can blot it out. Was the perfect wife.

In their perfect home.

The image doesn’t go away even if I crush my eyes shut. Like the past few nights in my dreams.

Argh!! Why do I see her in my mind, every evening, every single evening, after he leaves? I have got to stop thinking about her.

His cell phone starts ringing. I check to see if he’s back yet, and quickly check the caller-id. An unknown number.

It rings insistently.

I toy with the phone, my alarm increasing as it doesn’t let up.

The caller keeps calling back, four, five, six times, and he isn’t back yet. I start panicking. What if it’s an emergency? Should I pick up the phone? If it’s her, I can always say it’s a wrong number.

“Could you please inform Mr. K that his wife has gone into labor?”