A Comedy of Errors
She walked in nervously into the brightly lit restaurant. “ I can’t see him” It coudn’t be the wrong place, not at this time of night. No familiar face, just curiousity written on the faces of those who glanced at her. They’re probably wondering what she was doing there alone at one o’clock in the morning, looking more anxious than hungry. She turned to her left and saw with relief the man in blue, signaling at her from the brightest section of the restaurant.
He looked familiar yet different, the suit exchanged for a casual blue shirt. He looked tired yet his eyes were alert and assessing behind the rimless specs. They exchanged greetings cautiously and she sat down opposite him, totally unsure of herself and what she was doing there. Ordering a cup of plain tea, she settled herself to study the man she knew in an official capacity . He was also the man whom she had flirted intensely with over the mobile and the net over the past two weeks. The last chat was steamy and intimate to the point of him propositioning her and she rejecting it. Being conditioned to please frustrated men, she wrote an email explaining her reasons and describing her feelings. Never coy, her honesty must have struck a chord in him. She followed it up with an sms accepting his proposition to meet and received a reply of “ I’m flattered but..” and here they are, meeting for the first time since then at his request or was it at her behest? Based on four sms requests from 10 pm to 12.30 a.m ( he fell asleep in between) and even after she assured him a raincheck was fine, the meeting seemed to be at his request.
“So tell me about Malay weddings” he asked nonchalantly, tucking into his supper of rice and fish curry. She looked at him quizzically, took the question at face value and launched into a exposition of how expensive Malay weddings are and that her children will have to earn their way and pay for their own wedding. At least, they didn’t have to talk about why she was really there. And so it went, official personas firmly in place, they conversed about work, comfort food (his was bak kut teh, hers was banana leaf rice), his poor eating habits and that after a rice meal, it should be two hours before a man can sleep. The last being a gigantic hint that he’d better stay awake for another two hours!
They walked out of the restaurant at the same time yet not together, the Malay woman in a headscarf some steps behind and the Chinese man on his own, looking back almost as an afterthought at the woman who had come to see him. ‘To know each other ‘ in the Biblical sense wasn’t possible without knowing each other in the semantic sense, at least that was her argument. Did he really want to know her in either sense of the word – that was the predominant train of thought running through both their minds.
There was seemingly no place for them to be together for a quiet chat so she suggested a ride in his car – a Honda City or Jazz, she could never tell them apart, on the pretext he can show her the road back so she won’t get lost again. In the car, he tells her he has a girlfriend who left two weeks ago for work. It clicks in her mind that would fit the first time they smsed in a non-official capacity. “I thought you believed in serial monogamy, one woman at a time”, she protested. “ He quipped, “one woman today, another one tomorrow”. She punched his arm playfully but at the same time she asked ,” What am I to you then?” He didn’t answer and she started to unravel.
The magnificent voice of the tenor and beauty of the music instead of soothing her, seemed only to emphasise the gap between them. “I listen to alternative and sentimental hits – either my children’s or my uncles’ tastes – what do I like?” she wondered, irrelevantly. “ We are so different, he has a girlfriend, what am I doing?!”
He parked his car in the middle of the road next to her small compact. She should have just said goodnight and go home and maybe the flirtation could have continued or maybe it would have turned into friendship or less. More didn’t seem to be on the cards. Instead, she made the very mistake women’s magazines invariably warn against: “she wanted to talk about the relationship” before any even existed. Plus the man was sleepy and exhausted – not the best combination for the dreaded talk. Obtusely, she plunged ahead.
“You’re new at this, aren’t you?” he said, gently.
“ Yes, which is why I would like you to teach me” she entreated.
“I’m not the one to do it. What with my schedule, it won’t work” he explained
“Why not? I understand demanding work schedules” conveniently forgetting that she had been agonising over the fact he had not contacted her for the grand total of three days.
“I’m sorry you had to drive so far but you did say you wanted to see me” he said, referring to the last email she wrote.
“ I thought it was you who wanted to see me”, she said, referring to the four smses he sent. “ I just need to know whether you meant any of the things you said over the net” – That was a big mistake. She realised it as the words left her mouth and he was looking distinctly uncomfortable. All her fears and memories of being fooled and manipulated by her former spouse came to the fore, the panicky feeling obliterating any sense left in her supposedly intelligent head. “Was it all just a game?” She just had to say it, not realising that it was always a game. The problem was just that she didn’t know the rules and that was so obvious to him, but not yet to her. He didn’t answer that question either.
“You write beautiful letters”, he said suddenly referring to her heartfelt missive, smiling gently at her. At his look, she touched his cheek and asked him again, “ Then why not continue?” “ It won’t work, You don’t need someone like me. I’m sorry”, he said firmly.
Why did he have to look at her that way? All gentle and indulgent with that half-smile, was it of pity? All she wanted was to get out of his car and go home.She had gambled with her emotions, yet again and lost, yet again. “The door is locked”. He reached behind her to open the lock. She was looking down into her hands clutching her bag, trying to control her mortification. It didn’t register in her jumbled mind until later that the car had central locking mechanism and that he didn’t have to unlock it manually and that if she had looked up, things might have taken a different turn.
She got into her car and drove off in the opposite direction to what he had shown her earlier. All she could think about was she messed up again and missed the opportunity to get to know a man who could stimulate her intellectually and physically without even laying a finger on her. But to be played for a fool again was something she could not risk, even for a man like him.
He shook his head, noting that she took the wrong direction but knew she would not get lost. “Such a little car, one bump on the highway and it’ll just roll over” he mused. As he drove back to his apartment he could not help feeling relieved. They were different on so many levels, it cannot work. Plus there was still the girlfriend. He had to admit to just a hint of regret though. “Sepet 2* was not to be”, he smiled wryly to himself.
Myroz
June 2006
* “Sepet’ - Malaysian film about interracial love story
He looked familiar yet different, the suit exchanged for a casual blue shirt. He looked tired yet his eyes were alert and assessing behind the rimless specs. They exchanged greetings cautiously and she sat down opposite him, totally unsure of herself and what she was doing there. Ordering a cup of plain tea, she settled herself to study the man she knew in an official capacity . He was also the man whom she had flirted intensely with over the mobile and the net over the past two weeks. The last chat was steamy and intimate to the point of him propositioning her and she rejecting it. Being conditioned to please frustrated men, she wrote an email explaining her reasons and describing her feelings. Never coy, her honesty must have struck a chord in him. She followed it up with an sms accepting his proposition to meet and received a reply of “ I’m flattered but..” and here they are, meeting for the first time since then at his request or was it at her behest? Based on four sms requests from 10 pm to 12.30 a.m ( he fell asleep in between) and even after she assured him a raincheck was fine, the meeting seemed to be at his request.
“So tell me about Malay weddings” he asked nonchalantly, tucking into his supper of rice and fish curry. She looked at him quizzically, took the question at face value and launched into a exposition of how expensive Malay weddings are and that her children will have to earn their way and pay for their own wedding. At least, they didn’t have to talk about why she was really there. And so it went, official personas firmly in place, they conversed about work, comfort food (his was bak kut teh, hers was banana leaf rice), his poor eating habits and that after a rice meal, it should be two hours before a man can sleep. The last being a gigantic hint that he’d better stay awake for another two hours!
They walked out of the restaurant at the same time yet not together, the Malay woman in a headscarf some steps behind and the Chinese man on his own, looking back almost as an afterthought at the woman who had come to see him. ‘To know each other ‘ in the Biblical sense wasn’t possible without knowing each other in the semantic sense, at least that was her argument. Did he really want to know her in either sense of the word – that was the predominant train of thought running through both their minds.
There was seemingly no place for them to be together for a quiet chat so she suggested a ride in his car – a Honda City or Jazz, she could never tell them apart, on the pretext he can show her the road back so she won’t get lost again. In the car, he tells her he has a girlfriend who left two weeks ago for work. It clicks in her mind that would fit the first time they smsed in a non-official capacity. “I thought you believed in serial monogamy, one woman at a time”, she protested. “ He quipped, “one woman today, another one tomorrow”. She punched his arm playfully but at the same time she asked ,” What am I to you then?” He didn’t answer and she started to unravel.
The magnificent voice of the tenor and beauty of the music instead of soothing her, seemed only to emphasise the gap between them. “I listen to alternative and sentimental hits – either my children’s or my uncles’ tastes – what do I like?” she wondered, irrelevantly. “ We are so different, he has a girlfriend, what am I doing?!”
He parked his car in the middle of the road next to her small compact. She should have just said goodnight and go home and maybe the flirtation could have continued or maybe it would have turned into friendship or less. More didn’t seem to be on the cards. Instead, she made the very mistake women’s magazines invariably warn against: “she wanted to talk about the relationship” before any even existed. Plus the man was sleepy and exhausted – not the best combination for the dreaded talk. Obtusely, she plunged ahead.
“You’re new at this, aren’t you?” he said, gently.
“ Yes, which is why I would like you to teach me” she entreated.
“I’m not the one to do it. What with my schedule, it won’t work” he explained
“Why not? I understand demanding work schedules” conveniently forgetting that she had been agonising over the fact he had not contacted her for the grand total of three days.
“I’m sorry you had to drive so far but you did say you wanted to see me” he said, referring to the last email she wrote.
“ I thought it was you who wanted to see me”, she said, referring to the four smses he sent. “ I just need to know whether you meant any of the things you said over the net” – That was a big mistake. She realised it as the words left her mouth and he was looking distinctly uncomfortable. All her fears and memories of being fooled and manipulated by her former spouse came to the fore, the panicky feeling obliterating any sense left in her supposedly intelligent head. “Was it all just a game?” She just had to say it, not realising that it was always a game. The problem was just that she didn’t know the rules and that was so obvious to him, but not yet to her. He didn’t answer that question either.
“You write beautiful letters”, he said suddenly referring to her heartfelt missive, smiling gently at her. At his look, she touched his cheek and asked him again, “ Then why not continue?” “ It won’t work, You don’t need someone like me. I’m sorry”, he said firmly.
Why did he have to look at her that way? All gentle and indulgent with that half-smile, was it of pity? All she wanted was to get out of his car and go home.She had gambled with her emotions, yet again and lost, yet again. “The door is locked”. He reached behind her to open the lock. She was looking down into her hands clutching her bag, trying to control her mortification. It didn’t register in her jumbled mind until later that the car had central locking mechanism and that he didn’t have to unlock it manually and that if she had looked up, things might have taken a different turn.
She got into her car and drove off in the opposite direction to what he had shown her earlier. All she could think about was she messed up again and missed the opportunity to get to know a man who could stimulate her intellectually and physically without even laying a finger on her. But to be played for a fool again was something she could not risk, even for a man like him.
He shook his head, noting that she took the wrong direction but knew she would not get lost. “Such a little car, one bump on the highway and it’ll just roll over” he mused. As he drove back to his apartment he could not help feeling relieved. They were different on so many levels, it cannot work. Plus there was still the girlfriend. He had to admit to just a hint of regret though. “Sepet 2* was not to be”, he smiled wryly to himself.
Myroz
June 2006
* “Sepet’ - Malaysian film about interracial love story
posted by pearlyrose @ 10:19 AM
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