The number you’re calling cannot be reached at this moment, please try again la- I cut the call.
Gaddamit! Shitty network. I immediately start redialling. I have been trying to reach her for close to thirty minutes but this shitty network keeps telling me I ca-
Oh hello, sup are you in your room? I’m about leaving to your place…
Okay… o …okay, see you in a bit then. I hang up.
Thirty minutes later I find myself outside her door, giving it a rasp knock. She opens and steps aside for me to enter, without a word of course. Typical of her. I enter her room and find myself looking at a well-laid bed, which reminds me of mine. I smile. I continue looking around, trying to take in the little details ordinary people might ignore – but I’m not as ordinary, am I?
Her slippers are neatly placed under her bed. Her array of footwear is arranged on the shoe-rack, according to sizes and material used. Books on the shelf in alphabetical order, taking the type of paper-back into consideration. I roll my eyes at this point as I try to ignore how the inside of wardrobe looks like. Oh goodness, I’m itching to see her bathroom.
I hear three metallic clicks behind me and I make a mental note that no-one is going to be disturbing us, at least not anytime soon. I turn to her as she walks from the door and offers me a seat on the couch nearby. I pretend not to have heard the offer and and proceed to her laptop which was on the table, playing songs from – I sigh. I don’t even know what playlist this is.
I remove my Chuck Taylors and kick them under the bed, knocking her soldier-slippers off their various positions on the square tiles. The act catches her attention and she looks up at me. I return her look squarely and crack up grinning. Her hard jawline softens up and her face splits into a wide smile. I enjoy tantalizing her with my little acts of defiance because I know it sets off her OCD urges. I feel my horns growing an extra inch – The mean devil, ain’t I?
I hop onto her bed, messing it up. I think I hear her heart miserably squeak twice. She’s livid now. I feign cluelessness and go on to tinker with her perfect playlist. She rushes to take the laptop from me and I close the lid just in time; she trips just as she gets to the bed and she falls on me. I’m caught by surprise. Wait, I should’ve been caught off guard, but I’m not.
She looks me in the eye and I hold her gaze for a couple of seconds. I see a glint of spark in her eye for a fleeting second. She blinks and the spark is gone. She mumbles a gibberish apology and tries to untangle herself from me. She gets up, tries taking a step back but I grab her, pulling her to fall on me again. I catch her off guard and kiss her. She kisses-me-back-not. She reels back from my grasp and I feel disconcerted. I keep my head low for some moments. Silence hangs in the room from the aftermath of her rejection, deepening my abashedness. Shit, I messed up?
I get off her bed, no, not to leave. I go to the table and fetch my bag, no, not to leave. I look inside and bring out a brown paper bag. I make a mental effort to ward off thoughts on the prior, errmm, situation. I feel her gaze on me as I unfurl the paper bag. I’m here to hit blunt for the first time, so it’s high-time we get started. I pour the contents of the bag onto the table. I’m not really an expert at this so I don’t know the strain or type of grade it is, not that I really care. I see her beam beside me at the sight of the grass. She is not a first-timer, neither is she an expert. Pfft! We’re just a duo of amateurs about to get high.
I bring out a pair of scissors from my bag and start cutting up the weed, chopping it up into very small pieces. Kai! I have no idea what I’m doing or why. I’ve only seen some other people do that, so here I find myself. We start the session soon enough. I cough twice, one each after my first two hits, and I feel okay, I guess. Twenty minutes into the session and I’m feeling light-headed. I grin, I don’t know why but I do. I’m based on the bed, grinning like a fool. I glance at her only to find her trying smoke tricks. Okay she might not be an amateur after all.
I’m high but I’m not sure. I’m not sure because I don’t know how it’ll feel like, what to expect. Everything seems fine to me, I keep on hitting anyway. I’m on my second or third roll, I lose count. See, it doesn’t matter. I watch her get up to the fridge and bring out three cupcakes. I get curious. She walks over to the table and sprinkles hefty heaps of the grass onto the cupcakes. I laugh out. Okay I’m behaving stupidly – I chide myself.
She comes to sit by me on the bed with three hemp’ed cupcakes on a serving tray. I excitedly gobble one down, same as she does her’s. The third piece sits between us as we stare at it in silence. My mind starts fogging and I try desperately to clear it. She eats the third cake without sharing it with me – the greedy bitch.
My G-shock beeps, signalling that it’s midnight. I hear the tray clatter onto the floor and feel myself getting pushed to lie back on the bed. She sits on top of me and takes off her top, staring down at me in her bra. I get confused and just stare back. Just a while ago, she rejected my advancements so I try to figure out what this is about. She bends over and kisses me, covering my entire face with her hair. I kiss her back surely.
I keep slipping in and out of clouded thoughts. I don’t notice when my shirt and trousers even come off – I feel the cool air from the ceiling fan against my bare legs and chest. Am I raping her? She looks at me amused. She tells me it’s okay. Oh shit! She has super-powers, she just read my mind. I wonder if weed is an aphrodisiac and discard the thought. I’m quite caught up in the mood as well.
I barely notice I’m stark naked now, okay except for my socks. After a lot of fondling with my erection she positions herself to sit astride me. The fog lifts momentarily off my mind, just before my tip pushed past the lips which form her labia. I ask if she has protection. My inner Poseidon knocks my head hard in the back, and threatens to stab me with the Trident if I don’t shut-up. She assures me nothing will happen, but I’m not willing to take the chance. I squirm uncomfortably beneath her and get her pissed off. In a flurry of movements, she gets off me, dons her undies and she’s at the door. She unlocks the door and kicks me out, only giving me time to put on my boxers. I cling on to my jeans trousers, shirt, Chuck Taylor’s and bag, in one crumpled heap on my chest.
I shiver as I step outside; cold night. I maneuver through the poorly lit neighborhood, hoping to flag down a taxi back to my place. I glance at my watch – 2 a.m. In the spur-of-the-moment I hear quick movements somewhere behind me but I’m too slow to react. I feel a heavy blow to my head with a club of some sort. I utter a short cry. I see lots of blood. My blood…then oblivion.
I stand by helplessly as I watch the three ritualists drag my limp body into the dark night. A midget trails them, carrying my Chuck Taylor’s. I’m left stranded, a ghost. I extend my arms in front of me taking a look at my surreal form, clad in only boxer shorts and a pair of socks. I shake my head and smile as I trace my steps back to where I just came from. The girl who cried “Saman,” here I come. I try out a good impression of an eerie high pitched laugh.
In a flash, I’m standing outside her door.
“Saman” – Ghost