I continue my novella, in the post below. If you’re new here, read the first part ‘A Novella, In Progress’ before you read the one below. (Though it really doesn’t matter too much – I planned it that way).
Like it or hate it, leave a word. Or not. Whatever.
It’s my novella. Ciao.
Lenka went about her puppet routine on the telly.
She smiled inspite of herself and resumed looking for her phone. He had admitted to a crush on Lenka. ‘High cheekbones, nice legs and an incredible smile’, he had said. Thoroughly smitten, looking at her with those brown puppy dog eyes of his.
A text beeped into her old Nokia, and she found it. Was that him again? Nope, just another of those annoying promotional texts. She knew he had run up a record phone bill the previous month. And they had met precisely a month ago.
She hadn’t called him or left a message the first time around. He had simply arrived on her doorstep and they had driven off in his excuse for a car. He had been (and still was) incredibly naive and hesitant. Almost shy. He had opened the door for her, and asked her to direct him to her favorite spots. They had driven down to the river, and spent hours talking. As the sun set behind them, with cheese, crackers and wine for company. She still was amazed at how it had all fallen into place. It was as if they had been friends all along. They had opened up to each other with strange ease, and zero discomfort. The conversation was amicable, and the silences even more so. That was their first real talk, and it had been choreographed to perfection.
And then the movie. Fighting work, uni schedules and exams, they had emerged exhausted but victorious at the loud robot movie’s premiere. He had slain the parking demon and won through after a slight scratch – a parking ticket. She had conquered the serpentine queue, and had rushed into his arms with the movie tickets. Dressed in classy black, looking for her at the theatre entrance. She had simply flown into his outstretched arms, handbag, mobile phone, tickets and all. He gathered her up in a tight embrace. (Too long to be a hug, she had decided.) Funnily enough, they had both let go and turned aside at the same moment. They still hadn’t told each other how they felt, and were still ‘friends’.
‘Megan Fox? Yep’, she had told him. ‘The only good thing in the movie. And yes, I would turn gay for her.’ ‘Hugh Jackman’, he had replied to her question. And they had then been hushed for the umpteenth time. Giggling their way through the mindless action, they had then walked along the river. And ridden the giant ferris wheel locals referred to as the Brisbane Eye-sore. Nothing ugly about it that night, she thought. And despite the awkward silence at the top, they had simply held hands and watched the sun set over the city skyline. And then driven home, in even more awkward silence.
One month. Two sunsets. And yet, nothing official. He had broken all the usual ‘guy’ rules, and had swept her off her feet along the way. Maybe he wanted her to make the first move. Maybe he was shy. Maybe she was wrong.
No.
Maybe..
Lunch. Perkier but with still nothing to do, he was incredibly bored. All the while thinking of her. Enveloped in the soundtrack to his life, despite the radio (or in this case, an iPod dock) blaring out incomprehensible noise on one of the cluster of FM stations. He spent his time furtively looking at Firefox tabs he wasn’t supposed to have open, while mulling things over. Which was a pretty normal thing for him to do. What was unusual was that though he suddenly had an incredible urge to do something, there was nothing for him to do. And that pretty much summed up the current state of his life. Despite an abundance of energy and desire, he did not know what he was going to do with the rest of his life. Like a million other tweenies, all he knew was what he was not going to do. As far as he was concerned, that was even worse..
No, wait. There was one thing he knew was inevitable in his life. Her. He simply knew he was going to be with her, the rest of his life. Even if he had to endure countless hardships like Aragon along the way. Someday, they would be together and theirs would be one of the greatest love stories ever. He looked around at the geeks pecking away at their ergonomic keyboards and wondered for the umpteenth time whether they were happy doing what they were, and if so, how? The answer eluded him, or maybe it was right there in front of him and he couldn’t fathom it. Maybe one required a special kind of sense to be happy doing what you were doing, and not aspire to something different. Maybe it was the money that kept them at it. Or maybe they really were stereotypical geeks born with silicon implants (in their brains). Or still maybe, they were unhappy but masking it. Unlikely, he thought, looking around him once more. And then another one of his frequent thoughts struck him. ‘Do they even know I’m here?’, he wondered. Atleast one or two do, he concluded. That did not comfort him. He turned to his Twitter feed again and checked to see if they were talking about anything less depressing. Someone had posted on the ‘advantages’ of being short, and despite the fact that the poster was a woman and therefore in a far better situation, he chuckled and agreed with a retweet. And then he thanked the Special One (they called it God) or who/whatever was up there for the fact that she wasn’t much taller than him. They made a perfectly matched (and annoyingly cute, he had heard someone say, although they weren’t officially a couple) dynamic duo.
Still waiting for directions, he wondered if he would even be missed if he stepped out. He would love to, but it would have to wait. Turning back to the screen, he realized that unless he did something incredibly radical, he was going to spend the rest of his life staring at screens of various hues and sizes. From humongous monitors at work, to the marvellous touchscreen on his iPhone, to the tiny television screen he wished were bigger, flatter with higher definition..
Maybe he would be a lecturer, a dashing Indiana Jones/Robert Langdon hybrid, equally comfortable in the classroom and in the tropics. But he would naturally be comfortable in the tropics, as his parents were Indian. Maybe he ought to change that to equally comfortable at the Poles and in the classroom. Yes. He had always had trouble with chilly climes, and not so much the sun. Though he would readily relocate to the Arctic if it meant he could live happily ever after with her. He hadn’t even told her (yet) that teaching (or public speaking) held a fascination for him. He had only discovered it while helping a group of unlikely and unruly peers at the height of the exam season. Or maybe he would become a writer. He had always wanted to be one, and known he had it in him. Several short stories and essays he had written early on had met with something akin to welcome. But he was penniless, and could not afford to slow down enough to write anything substantial. What would he write about? He always knew that whatever he chose, he would write something that she could connect to. Even if it were high-flying fantasy, or entirely depressing Poesque stuff. Yes. Maybe he would start writing in the little time he managed to snatch between uni and work, which was spent staring at yet another screen showing American sitcoms or dramedies (always something that made him laugh, and yet cry). That would ideally be the kind of stuff he would write. Paradoxical love stories, that would make him laugh and cry, sometimes at the same time.
Enough gathering wool. He looked at the clock and was pleasantly surprised to find that it had finally shown some urgency and taken some strides forward. One small step for the clock, one huge leap for him.
And then, he thought of her. Again. Would she miss him enough to text him that night? Granted, they had texted each other a mere six or seven hours ago, but he still had this crushing sense of loneliness engulfing him. He had found her, and was incredibly frightened she wouldn’t love him or even like him enough. Although this fear was overwhelmingly outweighed by the fact that he also felt that they were destined to be together. It was a strange paradox that caused him to alternatively quiver with pleasure and shrivel in fear. Maybe that was what they called love. Whatever it was, he knew it was right. He also wanted to know if she knew it. But, he had just met her and was too scared that he would scare her off. He would wait. Even if it meant a lifetime of enduring that madness. He would wait, and then they would be together. He had already had to live 20 years without her, and on the other side of the world, blissfully unaware of her existence. Now he had found her, and had lost himself in the process..
TO BE CONTINUED.
I intend to try and write a Novella. I begin today, in a few more minutes.
Disclaimer
Although certain characters and situations may seem painfully obvious, please note that all characters and situations in my novella are ENTIRELY fictional.
Please feel free to support/comment/criticize/pat-on-the-back/applaud. (Dare I hope?)
