The resemblance was certain. It was the point of his life where he thought he was at the outlook looking towards a shambolic rusted train station. This was his escape. His vacation. His vulnerabilities all rolled in to one. He was the Messiah, Jesus, Buddha all encapsulated in one body.
He was a thin man with a pin moustache always dressed in chequered clothing. The first time I met him I didn’t think much of him. We were at the Sheesha Bar as we had often done back then. A haze of smoke clouded the large bar as if it was awaiting impending doom. He was also wearing a barrette.
We sat next to him since he was by himself and the rest of the bar was filled to the rim. He didn’t say much at first. Just puffed away on his hookah (water pipe) quite contently. It was a good half hour before he decided to say anything to us.
‘Hello’
‘Hi, how are you?’ we asked warmly, always interested in meeting new people, hearing new stories, learning things about someone and therefore learning something about your own self.
‘I’m great. Say, you people come here often?’ His accent seemed to be Irish.
‘Yeah of late. We dig the atmosphere. You?
‘Yeah I’m here every second day of the week of late’ and laughed nervously.
This man did seem odd but there was something curiously interesting about him. Firstly, as noted earlier, he was wearing a barrette so we knew that he thought much of himself and that we shouldn't take him too seriously. Anyone who wears a barrette is not worth the attention that they seek. You don’t wear a barrette to NOT get noticed, do you?
He was wearing a dark shirt with purple pants that clashed revoltingly, and then he began to talk about ‘substance’. I will explain.
Once he realised that we were enjoying his company he began to open up and open up he did. He couldn’t shut the hell up! He rambled and ranted, segwaying through four different subjects within the one dizzying sentence. Hair, Russian literature, football, hashish and then ‘substance’.
When he began his whirlwind tour of information that was ‘substance’ we knew we were in for a ride. He crept uncomfortably close to all of us and would rub his thumb and forefinger together, like someone does when they are talking about money and he would say that what he was doing, that very act, was something of substance and that was the only thing that mattered.
We asked him what substance was and he would then rub his two fingers again whilst glaring into our eyes like we should know the answer already. How could we not get it?!
It took four long months to find out.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Monday, July 7, 2008
SMS
Dear Ioju,
The doctor says that you will be making a full recovery over the next few days. I’m sorry I’m not there with you but I’m too scared to be involved in whatever you’re mixed up in. I hope your well when you’re reading this. Your luggage is still at the hotel.
Love,
Samantha
---------------
That was the note I found lying on my hospital bed side table when I woke up from my four day medically induced slumber. I threw up after reading it.
The doctor let me check out of the hospital after a week. I was heavily bruised and missing a few teeth but they were able to stop the internal bleeding which was the critical thing. The doctor advised me that I probably should go see a dentist right away. I waved goodbye and smiled at him showcasing my mangled mouth. He smiled back uncomfortably.
I walked over to the pharmacy to get my prescription of pain killers. The pharmacist, an elderly man with spectacles that were too big for his face, looked at me up and down apprehensively. He studied the prescription and eyed me up and down once more. I tried to appear that I didn’t mind what he was doing but it was starting to become uncomfortable. I smiled at him so he could hopefully relax. He looked back repulsively and then vanished to fix up my script. While I was waiting I observed the various brochures on the front desk with all the helpful hints you may need for whatever illness you may have. I started to think what the best one would be. The most manageable of the lot. I went with Tinea. Tinea would be my chronic illness of choice.
He came back five minutes later with my prescription ready in his little white tub. He didn’t say how many I should take, he just told me how much they would cost and he never smiled once.
I walked back to my hotel and tried to find my belongings. The concierge who was visibly agitated by the way I looked ran to find my stuff before ‘I shot a cap in his ass’ or whatever he thought I was going to do to him. Fair enough too. My suit was still stained with dry blood and dirt. I had missing teeth and my face was swollen to a pulp. I wouldn’t fuck with me either.
When he found my suitcase he handed it to me with another envelope. I thanked him for getting my belongings and hired another room for one more night. He asked me if I needed a double bed but I told him a single would be fine. I walked up three flights of stairs, found room 307, went in, swallowed three of the pain killers and went to sleep.
My dream revolved around a small pigeon. I was sitting in front of it asking him where my shopping was. The pigeon said that it was behind me. I would turn around and then find my groceries a metre behind my back. The pigeon smiled. I smiled. We both smiled. He then got onboard a gold carriage that was parked nearby and rode off into the sunset. It was a weird dream.
I woke up feeling pretty groggy but at least I wasn’t in any pain. I lit the last of my stale Dunhill Reds and tried to recount what had happened to me. Although my memory was blurry I could remember that Samantha and I did go to the funeral together. We then went to a restaurant for some lacklustre Thai food and then went back to the hotel. That’s it. I couldn’t remember how they were able to take me, where I was or when exactly it happened.
I was also upset with Samantha although I understood why she left. I would have as well.
All this didn’t leave me in the greatest of moods so I put on the TV to entertain myself for a little while. It was about two thirty in the morning so my viewing consisted of infomercials for the latest thigh fat burning blaster, phone sex adds, SMS sex adds, horoscope SMS adds and any other advertisement that you can think of that included the acronym SMS in it. Oh and something about Jesus loving me for who I was if I donated fifty dollars to the church. I would burn in hell if I didn’t, obviously.
I suddenly remembered the other envelope that was handed to me by the concierge earlier. Another note from Samantha? Maybe! I opened it in a rush but realised that it wasn’t from Samantha and no, it wasn’t from Catherine because I know that that’s what you were thinking. It was from someone that I hadn’t spoken to in five years. It was someone that I had shared the best of times and the worst. It was someone I didn’t want to hear from ever again. That moment five years ago was now coming back to haunt me. I must admit, I haven’t been telling you the whole story.
The doctor says that you will be making a full recovery over the next few days. I’m sorry I’m not there with you but I’m too scared to be involved in whatever you’re mixed up in. I hope your well when you’re reading this. Your luggage is still at the hotel.
Love,
Samantha
---------------
That was the note I found lying on my hospital bed side table when I woke up from my four day medically induced slumber. I threw up after reading it.
The doctor let me check out of the hospital after a week. I was heavily bruised and missing a few teeth but they were able to stop the internal bleeding which was the critical thing. The doctor advised me that I probably should go see a dentist right away. I waved goodbye and smiled at him showcasing my mangled mouth. He smiled back uncomfortably.
I walked over to the pharmacy to get my prescription of pain killers. The pharmacist, an elderly man with spectacles that were too big for his face, looked at me up and down apprehensively. He studied the prescription and eyed me up and down once more. I tried to appear that I didn’t mind what he was doing but it was starting to become uncomfortable. I smiled at him so he could hopefully relax. He looked back repulsively and then vanished to fix up my script. While I was waiting I observed the various brochures on the front desk with all the helpful hints you may need for whatever illness you may have. I started to think what the best one would be. The most manageable of the lot. I went with Tinea. Tinea would be my chronic illness of choice.
He came back five minutes later with my prescription ready in his little white tub. He didn’t say how many I should take, he just told me how much they would cost and he never smiled once.
I walked back to my hotel and tried to find my belongings. The concierge who was visibly agitated by the way I looked ran to find my stuff before ‘I shot a cap in his ass’ or whatever he thought I was going to do to him. Fair enough too. My suit was still stained with dry blood and dirt. I had missing teeth and my face was swollen to a pulp. I wouldn’t fuck with me either.
When he found my suitcase he handed it to me with another envelope. I thanked him for getting my belongings and hired another room for one more night. He asked me if I needed a double bed but I told him a single would be fine. I walked up three flights of stairs, found room 307, went in, swallowed three of the pain killers and went to sleep.
My dream revolved around a small pigeon. I was sitting in front of it asking him where my shopping was. The pigeon said that it was behind me. I would turn around and then find my groceries a metre behind my back. The pigeon smiled. I smiled. We both smiled. He then got onboard a gold carriage that was parked nearby and rode off into the sunset. It was a weird dream.
I woke up feeling pretty groggy but at least I wasn’t in any pain. I lit the last of my stale Dunhill Reds and tried to recount what had happened to me. Although my memory was blurry I could remember that Samantha and I did go to the funeral together. We then went to a restaurant for some lacklustre Thai food and then went back to the hotel. That’s it. I couldn’t remember how they were able to take me, where I was or when exactly it happened.
I was also upset with Samantha although I understood why she left. I would have as well.
All this didn’t leave me in the greatest of moods so I put on the TV to entertain myself for a little while. It was about two thirty in the morning so my viewing consisted of infomercials for the latest thigh fat burning blaster, phone sex adds, SMS sex adds, horoscope SMS adds and any other advertisement that you can think of that included the acronym SMS in it. Oh and something about Jesus loving me for who I was if I donated fifty dollars to the church. I would burn in hell if I didn’t, obviously.
I suddenly remembered the other envelope that was handed to me by the concierge earlier. Another note from Samantha? Maybe! I opened it in a rush but realised that it wasn’t from Samantha and no, it wasn’t from Catherine because I know that that’s what you were thinking. It was from someone that I hadn’t spoken to in five years. It was someone that I had shared the best of times and the worst. It was someone I didn’t want to hear from ever again. That moment five years ago was now coming back to haunt me. I must admit, I haven’t been telling you the whole story.
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