I Don’t Remember What I Wrote…

I actually don’t. 

I got back home late last night and had to work on some other things (and pray 😀 ) Anyway, I dozed off praying when I got nudged by the spirit of this website. It gently but firmly told me, ‘You have not written today’. I replied (in my mind), ‘But I don’t even have internet data to post what I write.’ And the spirit of the blog replied, ‘Well, you promised to write, not post’

So I woke up and ran my fingers over my keyboard, occasionally collapsing on my bed and groggily propping myself up again. 

Reading through it this afternoon, it was hard not to squint. I restrained myself badly not to change anything I wrote. I only edited the bad grammars

Here’s the result:

Prompt:

12 March

Erasure

You have the choice to erase once incident from your past, as though it never happened. What would you erase and why?

‘It’s simple. I’ll erase the time I erased my number from Chuks’s phone.

Chucks is my ex-boyfriend who died without hurting me. My self-proclaimed world class therapist would say that that statement is a reflection of my inherent selfishness and the inability for me to separate independent life occurrences from myself and my feelings.

To me, that’s all just big grammar. Chucks was perfect, in every way. No, scratch that, he was NOT perfect. You see, as despicable as death seems, it does a neat job of painting over sins. Want someone to stop asking you for the money they owe you? To forget how truly rude and irrational you were? To empathize with you and find a justification for the bad things you have done? Then die.

And that’s what Chuks did. He was not a perfect boyfriend. He forgot our anniversaries (all the different ones), he sometimes lied to ‘protect me’ and all sorts. He also never remembered my phone number. Looking back, I realize that it was a petty thing for me to have taken so seriously. But I always told him that if he did not learn my phone number (which I considered as easy), I’d break things off with him.

He would laugh and say something snarky like  ‘Is your phone number the password to heaven?’ or, ‘Babe, let me first learn all the crap they are forcing into my brain in school before I’ll consider learning your number’ or, ‘If only these numbers of yours would convert themselves to actual money to pay for  this Masters’ tuition, that’s be great’ And most times, I would reply him, ‘Oh really?’ or something like, ‘Wow…’

I never really had the greatest comebacks for him.

Then one day, I asked him to please call my number – I was looking for my phone. Then I looked over at him and saw him searching for my name on his contact list. I nodded. Few minutes later, he smacked his head and said, ‘I forgot! I’m supposed to call this girl’ ‘What girl?’ I asked. ‘Silvia,’ he said, ‘Remember? That my International students classmate that always helps me keep space’ Then he brought out his phone and punched her number from his head.

As he placed the phone on his ear, I dragged it off and cut the call. Without looking at him, I scrolled to my contact in his address book and deleted it without thinking much. I was so stupidly infuriated that I stormed off.

I know this story seems too dramatic to be true but that was the last time I saw him.

When a loved one dies, you always think about what you could have done to save such a person.

You think about even your most remote actions, and worry whether they in a way had an effect on their death. I have thought of so many ways the erasing of my number had an impact on his death.  In one of those ‘thinking times’, I got a theory:

Chuks loved me dearly but he could not possibly communicate with me because I had erased his number.  He could not stand to live without me… so he sat down. When he sat down, he still realized that he could not live without me. So he lay down, but even then, he realized that all his thoughts were about me so he decided to sleep. But I’m the woman of his dreams so he could not escape even then. And it was then it dawned on him – as long as he was alive and could not reach me, he would slowly die. And so he died.’

*********

This was the statement submitted  by a girlfriend who was found in the apartment of her boyfriend with a bloodied knife on the table beside her while she kept texting on her phone. Evidence shows that she had stabbed him multiple times in his throat and must have listened to him choke on his own blood and pains from his gutted throat.

She would commence her sessions at the Intense Psyche Ward for the Federal Psychiatric Criminals tomorrow.