The Fan
Looking at my fan spinning in a blur I realised that I am going
through life like one.
Looking beyond the piece of machinery that attempts to cool me down
with debatable results is a view through my window from the tenth
story. A view of the concrete jungle that defines Singapore.
What caught my eye though, is a figure of the human female along
the street. The morning sun rendered a translucent image of her
figure through her skirt that fluttered in the cool morning breeze.
Ah, she's home. My love, my life, that's her.
Nevermind that she had just alighted from a Beemer that belongs to
her boyfriend. Nevermind that just moments before I spotted her,
they were in the car planning the next rendezvous. At least she has
come home to me, albeit with only her body; her heart belongs
elsewhere.
She avoided my eyes as she walked past me at the front door. Just
as well, my tears were impossible to hide. "Good morning", she
managed, as she proceeded to the bedroom to prepare to lie on the
bed I had just made. Maybe she'd like some hot chocolate, I wonder
silently.
I put on my shoes, took a deep breath, and went to work.
The train is a little crowded tonight, I thought to myself on the
way home. No, it's not the train. It's my thoughts. It's so crowded
that it's blurred. I immediately remembered my fan. Well at least
there's one thing it's good for.
I opened the front door while undoing my tie. She bought this tie
for me. It's my favourite tie. Why is it my favourite tie? Because
she bought it for me. Ah. The door is open. Might as well go in.
Maybe I'll start counting the tiles on the floor instead of
introspecting.
I have always loved listening to the piano. She has always loved
playing it. For me. After counting the third tile I realised the
living room was filled with her piano playing. With each melodious
note my heart quivered with anticipation. Was it my imagination
again?
The baby grand hadn't been touched for what seemed like years.
Actually it was only yesterday. What a long day I've had.
Indeed, she was playing with all the grace and charm that would put
angels to shame. She glanced over her shoulder as I laid my
briefcase on the floor below our wedding photo. I refused to look
at the photo just like I would refuse a blunt, serrated knife
stabbing my heart.
I took my place next to her on the piano chair. She was wearing an
old, tattered oversized t-shirt of mine, and nothing else. The
stretched collar managed to fall off her left shoulder and revealed
her collarbone sensuously. Her hair was in a beautifully messy tied
back sort of way. A thick strand of hair had come loose and covered
her face in a way that accentuated her flawless facial
features.
Tentatively, I tucked that strand of hair behind her ear, and she
turned instinctively. I backed off, but she smiled. Her eyes met
mine for the first time that week, and like a single sunflower in
an open grass field I saw in them her heart. It was here. That
couldn't be, it wasn't there that morning.
Her heart spoke to me through her eyes. No words, just the sweet
melodies from the baby grand through her delicate fingers. It was
then I realised: she still loves me.
That night I turned and faced my fan again. At least it knows the
purpose for its existence...
*~~~*
