Bad Signal

I was watching the rerun of Sommersby this midday while deliberating if I would eat some toast and weak tea to calm my troubled stomach which is the result of a sinful evening last week (I should not have sampled those tasty bruschetta while chatting with the mother of ‘you-know-who’ after viewing a music performance done by her theater group) or just go out for a walk. The weather is exceptionally fine for this time of the year and I always feel guilty whenever I failed to take advantage of such condition especially on weekends when I have more time to spare.

Looking at the screen watching Richard Gere making a fool of himself alongside a sublime Jodie Foster I thought: I don’t like the guy, never did. He’s too sleek for my taste. But if you twist my arm and force me to choose one among his films, I would definitely pick Sommersby. I like the colour, I’m a sucker for historical period drama and though the plot is questionable the movie could be a perfect companion for an autumn afternoon when you’re suffering from stomach problem and don’t want to think much but refuse to be alone. That was when I heard my cellphone ringing upstairs.

Even without the indigestion/stomach flu or whatever it is I’m having, My RA prevents me from running up and down the stairs. Naturally when I get there the phone was as silent as the grave. No problem, just dial back; only the number is withheld. Hmmm… who could that be? I’m about to put down the damn thing when it rung again. It took me by surprise I almost drop it straight to the floor, (that would not be the first time) it was a voice mail message saying something like:

“I’m sorry. I should’ve told you months ago. Bye.” The rest I can’t understand. Whoever it was must be in the middle of a subway and as it happened, there were trains coming at the exact moment the person have chosen to call me. Not only was the connection bad there was some kind of commotion going on there as well. Strange…

I decided to call my-reason-for-living in-Europe to have a second opinion and to stop my paranoia from kicking in but I cannot get hold of him. After several attempts I gave up. Where on earth is he? I thought he was only going to check the country house for sign of damage and to be sure the place is A-okay for those potential buyers who will be there next Thursday. He must have left before I wake up because he wasn’t there when I went down.

It was past nine in the evening when he walked through the door. By that time, my paranoia was not only in full bloom I was feeling murderous as well. Our greetings went like this:

“Where have you been?”

“You know… Team building.”

“How could I know you never told me!”

“Yes I did.” He said removing his shoes.

“When was that?”

“Few hours ago. I left you a message.” So, it was him!

“Number withheld? Is there something going on that I know nothing about?” I was fuming!

“It was my colleague’s. Mine is flat. Out of battery.” So typical of him.

“And where were you? World war III?”

“No, airshow.” As usual he missed the sarcasm.

“How come I didn’t know about this?”

“I told you, I forget.” He said.

So, that’s it then. I know from experience that there is no use pursuing the subject. It will only lead to more troubles and weeks of animosity between us. But if he thinks that I will leave it here, he could think again. I will get my own back. Starting tonight…


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