Boredom, Contd.


It was a week since the 'incident', as I had come to think of it. Nothing out of the usual had happened again, except maybe that I had kept to my out-of-office lunch. That I had not backed off and snuck back to my cream cheese and lettuce sandwich and carrot juice at the office surprised me; I had no idea I was possessed of such strong will power, for want of a better word. Work was the usual, though the new care with which I was regarded at the office was a bit tiring. I wrapped rubber bands around wads of money and continued to wear white socks every Sunday and Tuesday. That is, until the Sunday after the 'incident'. Looking back, I should've seen it coming, really. It was sort of expected. I mean, what else could have happened? If my brain hadn’t been so dull from the monotonous boredom my life was, I may have figured out the connection by then. As it was, I didn’t. On the bus home that Saturday afternoon, I was pulled out of my blank day-dreaming by the realisation that, for the past fifteen minutes at least, I had been looking at the back of the red-haired head of the girl I had seen twice before and whose identity I had no idea of. Before anything had the chance of happening at all, her stop arrived, and she got up and got in line and got off the bus and got going. Either she didn’t know I was on the bus (which she must have because I had gotten on the bus after her, at least I think I had) or she didn’t care, either way she showed no sign of recognition and walked briskly away from the already moving bus without turning around. It might not even have been her, but it was literally impossible that anyone be dressed in exactly the same attire as her. That I had seen her three times in a row wearing the same clothes should've rung a bell, but like I said, my brain was nothing more than a tired piece of grey tarp that neither held water nor kept the wind out. Later, at home, I looked carefully in front of and around me for brooms or stray dishrags or discarded banana skins that would be lying around waiting to trip me, or anyone else, up. I found none. I crept up the stairs as carefully as possible and made it to my room safely, but still felt an impending disaster near by, although why I had no idea. Come to think of it, I suppose my brain had started to make the connection after all, if only at a subconscious level. The day passed uneventfully enough to keep everyone happy; we had our regular Saturday-night dinner of steak, mashed potatoes and broccoli, and later on were allowed to go out for our regular Saturday-night ice cream. I even had the same flavour I have all the time: plain old chocolate with raspberry sauce and chocolate chips. We all watched our regular Saturday-night movie (one of them old black-and-white things where everyone gets up and sings every 10 minutes), and then retired to our regular Saturday-night beds. I suppose I had been so caught in watching for the change that I had worn myself out. Or maybe it was just relief that nothing had happened, either way I sunk into deep, dreamless sleep a few minutes after lying down, and woke up the next morning to an exceptionally beautiful, sunny Sunday morning.


  1. Hey Reem Congrats on the blog :)
    It's really refreshing to be able to read your work again after your shamarat boycott :p


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