She stumbled on her slightly high heels. Her feet were going too fast. The wheels on her suitcase were too slow. “I haven’t seen them in a year,” she thought excitedly. The immigration line was too long. She waited impatiently, continuously tapping her passport against a hand. By the time she went through, she didn’t want to wait for her checked in baggage. But she had to wait. It had gifts inside. A bit later, when she ran out to the waiting area, she saw them all. “They all look older,” she thought. But just like every other year, her aunt handed her a Cadbury chocolate.
“Do you write because they pay you?” It was an innocent question. She was too kind to laugh. “No. Writing pays peanuts,” she replied. “Do you write because it’ll make you famous?” She giggled for a minute. This kid thought that she was a celebrity! She proceeded to get her manuscript into order while the printer threw out pages of her hard work. “Do you write because you can’t do anything else?” This time he was close. “Yes. It’s the only thing that doesn’t feel like work and I can give it my heart and soul.” The kid had his answer.
He meowed at the door. It was just 6am but she was wide awake. “I’m coming. I’m coming,” she yelled to him. Once the door was opened, he cried past her and seated himself on the dining table. “Good morning, child,” she yawned to him. But the child kept on crying, or rather, meowing. He was hungry after all night outside with his girlfriends and male enemies. “Stop crying,” she pleaded. He did stop. As soon as the bowl of fish was placed in front of him.
She ran her fingers through her hair. The long, artistic fingers played a tune against the strands. He was twenty minutes late and she was nervous. She hadn’t been on a date in years. “Just be yourself,” her friends had advised. “You’re beautiful,” her mother had said. But she felt like something was wrong with her. “Who dates at 40?” The question taunted her. Her thoughts were interrupted by a fifty-year-old gorgeous man who had specks of grey in his hair. His smile told her that her mother had been right.
“Should we turn to the right or the left?” She didn’t know. “Is it a house or a building of flats?” She had no idea. “Who else will be at the party?” She shrugged. He was getting exasperated. One more try. “How long have you known them?” She said she wasn’t sure. “Then why are we going to this thing?” She squeezed his hand. “Because you were bored at home.” He almost laughed.