Thanks everyone for the lovely messages and for appreciating my writing. As I have said before, I only have one story in me, my own. I would love to narrate my entire story in one post, but who would read them? People usually scroll to the bottom to see if there was a happy ending. I can tell you now that my story has a happy ending as seen in the pictures I posted, they were taken last week in Montreal.
I screwed up making the lamb, overcooked them to a mush and had to go out for Chinese take out. While I was ordering food, a blonde walked in looking absolutely gorgeous. Women are amazing, the very reason for our existence. I love all of them, brunettes, blondes, redheads. But blondes have a special something about them. This blonde was still at the counter looking at the menu while I had ordered my food and was paying for it. I had to lean across her to get at the paper napkins and my arm 'accidentally' brushed her arm, and she looks up at me and gives me a lovely smile. I give her my shy smile and rush out to light my cigarette.
So here I am outside, smoking, squinting at myself in the tinted glass shop front (practicing my look) and waiting for her to step out in the rain. I have my jacket on and next to me is a Ford taurus which i assume is her car. She comes out of the restaurant, gives me a knowing smile, because she knows why I am standing (like a fool) in the rain and walks away to a mustang, hops in and drives away. Ok, what just happened? Am I losing my touch, or did I never have it in the first place? I don't know. I think its my hair, its grown long, need to clip it.
I usually delete all my messages after I read them. This is not because I need to hide anything from anyone but am used to the old Nokia 3310 I had in Delhi. This phone did not have a memory card so I had to delete messages to clear space for new messages. The habit stuck and I still do it. Amanda gets to the phone first and reads all the 20 messages from Renee (20 squeaks). She does not say anything, just puts the phone down, finishes her wine, switches off the lights and goes to bed. I am left standing in the dark and looking down at the cars whizzing by on the 401.
How low can any guy stoop to? I felt miserable. I had never cried for ages. The last time was in 1996 when my dad died of a heart attack. But sitting out in the balcony looking out into the night and the gaily lit up CN tower in the distance, my eyes welled up and I cried. I cried for the love I had lost, I cried for Lori, I cried for my mum and most of all cried for my unborn kids with Amanda. I had lost her. I was crying, but God was smiling. I had one more chance, but I did not know of it then, I thought I had lost her. I was wrong.
And that brings me to the second reason I lost Amanda. My nemesis, my culture, my tradition. Back soon.
