It had been almost an hour since she’d been crying. The trails of tears could still be made out through the pouring rain.
She asked me, “What’s worst that could possibly happen to anyone?”
“Hmm… you’re on your way to the park and the button of your pant suddenly gets undone and you’re spank middle of the road wishing you wore your underpants”, I replied.
“Hmm… you’re on your way to the park and the button of your pant suddenly gets undone and you’re spank middle of the road wishing you wore your underpants”, I replied.
“Shut up! This is the second time someone has done that to me.”
“What? Undone your buttons?”
“No, I’ve been dumped for the second time I mean…” she mumbled while getting back to the daunting task of crying her eyes out again. “What do you do if your dreams turn to dust?”
“Vacuum it!”
“What?”
“For once stop crying and try being in my shoes. Let me give you an instance; you tell me what you’d do.
You wake up as early by 4 in the morning because you don’t want to miss the only opportunity you’ve got, still wondering whether you’ve actually slept, even if for only just 15 minutes. The phone bill feels like concrete blocks in the middle of a lake and yet you grab your phone to make several last minute important calls. You are on your feet by 6.00 am and make a dash for the 6:30 train, even though the meeting is supposed to be at 9.00 just so nothing is left to chance.
“For once stop crying and try being in my shoes. Let me give you an instance; you tell me what you’d do.
You wake up as early by 4 in the morning because you don’t want to miss the only opportunity you’ve got, still wondering whether you’ve actually slept, even if for only just 15 minutes. The phone bill feels like concrete blocks in the middle of a lake and yet you grab your phone to make several last minute important calls. You are on your feet by 6.00 am and make a dash for the 6:30 train, even though the meeting is supposed to be at 9.00 just so nothing is left to chance.
As the time nears, you can feel a surge in your gut. As you approach the office, the inexperienced 21 year old at the desk tells you, “I just spoke with Mr. Carson and he is very sorry that he didn’t inform you yesterday, but your book on wizardry is too childish to publish”.
The words coming from the lady’s mouth screeches in your ear and sounds even more appalling than nails on a blackboard. All the preparations, the time, the hard work, everything seems to spit on your face because the only chance you had just slipped out of your fingers.
You can’t even call your husband because he just divorced you last week. Cursing your luck even though you never believed in it, what you do? You got three options:
1. 1. Call your mom and cry your heart out as you did the last time when that red haired guy left you over a gold-digger. OR
2. 2. Get depressed and don’t talk to anyone for few days. OR
3. 3. Visit the nearest psychologist and get the sleeping pills
Now, amongst the above, which option will you choose?”
“Exactly! Just as I live my life, I should have a say in the options I give myself. I’d probably make my own option – Go to a pub, get a beer and get banged. So don’t let your dreams lay on floor like dust, vacuum it!”
I could see that the wailing had suddenly stopped; she nodded her head in agreement and smiled back at me. We started walking back on the promenade when she said, “Anyways, I read your manuscript and really liked it! I mean it does have a kind of catchy title too! Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone”.
P.S. Characters in the above story are fictional and do not represent any person alive or dead!
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