Beauty Killed The Beast Ch2

“So it’s been a month now, can I ask you something?” you tell me. “uh-ha,…?” “So really, why do you work for your uncle at the newspapers, when you’ve already got offers a thousand times better?” “okay you got me, I wont bull you with all that crap of him being the only family I’ve got, but see, I enjoy writing in a news paper, true I’m not a reporter, I just like speaking out loud. The pay isn’t all that good, but hey, I got a place to stay and food on the table”

Silence fills the air for a moment; I could see in your eyes a thousand words and allot more questions formatting deep inside your mind... I hold your hand tighter and tell you to “ask me anything, you should know by now I don’t get offended all that easy” you smile and tilt your head downwards for a second then look straight into my face and tell me, “lets have something to eat, lunch’s on me” I whistle for a cab and as it drove by the ocean I could’ve sworn something out there was smiling back at me.

There’s a deli just down the street where I live. We didn’t speak that much though I still remember you examining my every move, as if you wanted to carve every motion deep into your memory for years to come. “oh I forgot, these are for you” I picked a bundle of roses from the shelves as we passed by them.

We picked a few pounds of beef and some delights before we went up to my place that year. “So now I have to do the dishes?” I scrawl. “haha, no silly, its all on me today”. I knew those roses would do the trick, so now I kick back my shoes and rest in front of my laptop preparing for my next article. I hear you speaking but I’m not listening. Those aromas gently sliding from my little kitchenette start making my stomach grind its gears. “Baby, how much longer do I have to take this torture before I actually get to eat something?” I shouted with agony. “You do know my arm has still has a cast on, open a window or something before I bust a cap up your ass!” Damn it, I really am hungry now, and I can’t help it any longer. I slide my arm under the TV cabinet searching for that bag of lays we didn’t finish last night. “Uh-uh.. Food is ready little burglar”. “Well it’s about time”.

It’s was the first Monday of the month again, and I have to walk the ocean where my mother drowned many years ago. I usually don’t speak to her as if she could hear. I just start to wonder in my brain, and I know she hears me and solves all my silly problems. Well that’s how it works between my mother and I.
Though it’s forty six years today since that day, but it all feels like it was only yesterday. Sometimes I start to wonder what could’ve life had for both of us if we hadn’t bumped into one another that night?

Silence rests all around me slowly as I start to ignore all sounds of life around me and listen to worlds of emotions starting to collide inside of me. I feel troubled from something, it’s like flames eating the inside walls of my mind. I used to walk through my mind on floors of marble, but that cold marble underneath the souls of my feet became the very tongues of fire filling me with uncomforting feelings. Why? Till this day I couldn’t find an answer, but I guess it’s just the feel of a family that I’ve missed so much.
A football jumps next to me and breaks this silent rumble inside of me. I hear a kid shout behind me, “Sir, would you please be kind enough and kick our ball back?” sure, I flipped it back in their little court made from a set of shoes and Pepsi cans. “Play safe and be careful not to shoot at the running cars behind you kiddo”
I now start to cave back into myself and continue my torching thoughts, just searching for my mothers comfort in times like theses.

Now an old ragged man comes to my side, and politely asks if he could share a conversation with me. Sure, life is give and take, for all I know, he could have all the answers to my so many unrequited quarrels fighting in me. He lights up his pipe and stairs at the ocean with a gaze like wisdom dripping off him. “Oceans hold so many answers, she learns from sailors of many epochs ago” he spoke to me. I agree and find nothing intelligent to speak of. I search for my cigarette pack and slide one between my lips and take a deep inhale of that grand smoke. He looks at me as if I were too young to smoke with an age like this “Well, you probably been through allot more then what I have” his eyes speak to the ocean as I understood him directing his speech to me. “You don’t seem like a student, too many scares of life show on your face, do you have a job?” he asks. “Well yeah, I’m sorry we haven’t been properly introduces” and then speak my name and job to him waiting for him to speak more of himself. All he told me was that he’s the grandfather of those children that play with the ball they toss my side. I still do remember the family having a grill on fire. But why isn’t her sharing their family love. I couldn’t ask really, I thought it’d be too rude of me to ask such an intimate question so soon.

Though we silently speak and exchange our conversations and thoughts of life, I was wondering what happened to you. It’s almost sundown, and you haven’t called me still. The family’s grill is almost done and the father sends one of his kids to come and invite me over as he told his grandfather. I checked my mobile for time and excused myself to leave. After a thousand nags from the kid and the father to join them, the grandfather said it was rude to insist on me. Even more surprising he told me to call you and ask if you’d allow me to join them! I was shocked, we barely spoke of anything and still it’s like he could see right through me. Who was he really?

I had a few bites with the family and then left home to finish my article due for tomorrow’s paper. I sat trying to grab a line from what I had already written and continue this political scandal I believed Saudi was falling in but I couldn’t get that grandfather’s character out of my head. Hours passed by and you still haven’t called. I was a mess that night. I called your house, and your sister answered telling me you were asleep all afternoon.
I pulled up a blank file and started to my keystroke drawing that day into words. I even elaborated on this mystery grandfather I met. I wrote down all our conversations that no one knew about but me, him and God. I ended up writing five pages, and titled it “people you don’t meet everyday”
The editor was sick of me not answering my phones and when I did, I told him to give me till midnight. My uncle called around 11, and shouted madness; I should’ve given in my paper at nine. He started to blame that if tomorrow’s paper didn’t come out I’ll pay for that loss. I told him that I have a different article I’m working on and it could be a good substitute for this I didn’t finish. Time was cornering him so he agreed.

My column was published and all was good. Actually it went beyond good that week. He got fan mails for more of articles like mine; people said it was closer to their everyday lives. Now my uncle sends me to write more about stuff like this. He also asked me if I could write about you and I. of course I’d have to consult with you first.