(Authors Note:There is a lot of anticipation that goes with this post.I have not written anything in the past one month.I have my reasons.I promise (No,I won't break this one) I
will tell you what kept me off from my second favorite (first being the worn out faux leather couch on which I read) space on earth.I feel like a student who comes to his class with out a leave letter after being absent for a long long time.)
I hated her the moment I saw her at the door. She was tall, lean, and young. She was dressed in a pale pink chiffon top, white pants and matching white sandals. Her thick black hair, carefully brushed slung over her right shoulder in a low pony. I eyed her carefully in a careless manner. Ah! The cheap perfume! Nothing misses my eye or, in this case, my nose. I could smell the flashy thing a mile away. I flashed a polite smile whilst battling my urge to strangle her at the threshold itself. I smirked inwardly.” She is going to replace me. What a pity Al!” I ushered her in and quietly returned to my room to pack my trivial belongings of a few clothes and, well, a truckload of memories. The luggage charges are going to be paid by Al and for the memories, I have to pay with whatever love I have for Al and our home. That is going to be some heavy baggage charges!
It was not my idea to move in here. It was Al’s idea. I was happy coming in on week day evenings and keeping the weekends for myself. Al suggested I move in to this house so that I can be around always. George Albert Rizweigh is a spoilt young man. He cannot find his socks in the mornings and cannot make himself a toast without burning it. Therefore, he needed me for everything, all the time and I have no qualms in being his right hand man err woman.
Everything about the arrangement was perfect. Al leaves at 8:30 am sharp. All I need to do in the morning is wake him up at 6:00 am for his daily workout, which lasts an hour. Then keep his clothes ready and his toast crisp by 7:30 am. Once he leaves, the house is mine to rule. Though he has never said anything, I know he silently appreciated my tastes in keeping our home. I made sure the house is neat and there are fresh flowers in every room. I cooked what he liked, making special effort in finding out what he likes. For his age, I should say, he is reticent and fails to communicate his needs. You should have seen the happiness on his face when I baked that mango-chocolate layered cake for his birthday. He squealed and hugged me like a kid. That was the first time he said it aloud in his British baritone,” Susie my sweetheart, I love you so much and I do not know what I will do without you! Promise me, Susie; promise me, that you’ll never ever leave me and our home!”
I was touched; he had said “our home” and not “my home”. I held his hands and solemnly promised. Now he is pushing me away for this minion that has come knocking on the front door of our home. Promises, I always believed were made to be kept. Now I have learnt that some promises you make get broken not because of your fault but because in the first place you had no right to make such a promise. You are an underdog, an orderly of fate! And orderlies never make promises they just suck up to the lowly life laid out to them by their master, Destiny!
My perfect world ended with the arrival of Mrs. Rizweigh, Al’s mother. She took the house by a storm and my perfect world turned in to the movie set of a village with a wild elephant running amuck. I had one in my house too and this one had no control over what she did or what she said. At least wild elephants do not speak!