Conversations with an Absent Lover, Part 1

February 10, 2005 at 8:31 pm | Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Bong walks over to serve two cups of coffee, and he knows exactly my pereference: two sachets of both sugar and cream.

“You have no idea how much fat is in that stuff,” he says, referring to the creamer packs.

Bong asks if we want anything else, and I decline.

“Maybe we’ll have some cake later,” he says.

“And you’re warning me about fats?” I smile.

“Thought you were conscious about your weight,” he reminds me. “I’m not.”

“I am. A bit. Uhm, yeah. I’d say so, yes.”

“There you go.”

“It’s just that I had to do a lot of work on this,” I tell him, meaning to say my body. “I shouldn’t probably tell you this, but I used to be a 36 waistline.”

*he laughs*

“Oh no. I knew it.”

“No, it’s not that.”

“Then..?” I shift in my seat.

“It’s just that.. I don’t know..” he pauses. “Don’t you think it’s weird?”


“It’s weird,” he says again. He bends over,reaches for his bag below the table, a black Jansport piece with huge zips in the front and teflon straps on the back. He reaches inside and brings out his PDA. “Don’t you think it’s odd how people nowadays are so obsessed over hte way they look..uhm, I ah, I mean, uhmm. Yeah it’s important but..” he continues, without looking up at me, scrolling with his stylus on his PDA.

“Haha. You’ll say it’s not important..” I begin to rebut.

“Yeah, it’s important,” he interrupts me midway through my sentence “but it’s just that..” he stops and looks up at me.


“Do you think I wouldn’t have gone out with you if I imagined you were fat?”

“Maybe, I don’t know,” it was my turn to be vague and elusive. “some guys wouldn’t.”

“Yeah well, too bad.” he says. “Too bad for them.”

The flattery isn’t lost on me. And while I do not want to fall for them, flattery always have a way of getting to me. And it shows. I blush.

“Nice. Score.”

“Point?” he asks, smiling, solid white teeth shielding the depth of his mouth like soldiers in pristine armour.

“Sure. Point.” I smile back, feeling awkward with my British teeth and nicotine overloaded lips.

He glances down back into his palm pilot and shows it to me.

“Here, look.”

“That’s you?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he proclaims. “Was.”

Empathy. Like a thought that one could read direct from another person’s mind. Two seeds in the middle of an apple fruit, ripe, the wind battering the crust, falls upon the ground. The earth consumes the thick layer of succulent fruit and exposes the seeds. The seeds separate only to grow into one tree once again with the passing of a season.

My feet are planted where I am seated. Earth on my feet. Seeds in my stomach. The coffee loses steam. Eyes meet smile.


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