“You know what Isia? I think I…. No!…. Uhmm… You see… I’m so in…. No!…. Shit…. Okay…. You see…. I love you…. Really… From the very first day I met you. Yes…. Yes…. It’ll do…. Yes!…. Twill work that way…. I hope… “
His silhouette was mocking him. That would actually work out if his mouth would not betray his heart. He really hoped so. His consciousness was now succumbing to hallucinations, hypnotism, ushering his wits to the grave of imaginations: ridden in wishes. He’d wanted to let the cat out of the bag, in an I-don’t-give-a-damn kind of way, but, that frame of reference needed to be fleshened by courage. The wish was strong, but the will was weak, lean, suffering from the tenacity of kwashiorkor: in its hideous order.
He sat up on the front seat of the just landed Bugatti type 57 SC Atlantic – Haute couture. To him, the beauty and elegance of the hot cake could not be compared to Isia, his dream woman. They were best friends quite scrupulously, but, he wanted her. Each day advocated his brooding and stanced feelings for her, blazing as bonfire at the shore of emotions. The feelings tend harder, harder, harder as life breathe breath into succeeding days. He wanted her crazy.
Isia wasn’t in the car then. She was away, to pick up a letter from her aunt, Sophie. He’d volunteered, as a Bestie, to drive her there, to drive her dear, to drive her deer, to drive her dead in going crazy bout him. So, he was having rehearsals, one you would entitle “Wooing-rehearsal’, store opened when she was away and closed when she returned, even, if twas three minutes intervals. And now, she got back. Rehearsal over!
“So… Where do we go from here? Shush! Say nothing, I’ll drive you to the gig party, will come back to pick up, needs to borrow your Buga”.
She rushed through, settling behind the steering, mouthing those link of phrases under the spell of breath. He wondered what kind of lady did that. As she was about to ignite the motion of the Buga, he seemed to gather up the confetti of courage scattered in his rumpled heart.
“Isia…. I… Uhmm… Want to tell you something “.
She gave him the usual rubberneck, like you give to your Bestie. He knew she would not think those thoughts toppling through the track of his ticker.
“Okay… Go on! “
No strings attached. Casual. Just casual.
Now, now, Steve, now! He urged himself. Do it now or never, Oscar might take her over. Now! He heard those words traversing the trails leading to the cerebrum, taking U-turn from the oblongata. The Steve who wanted Isia harder than him was yearning, screaming in the inside. But, indifferent time would decide.
“I’ve always wanted to tell…. “
Yes! Yes! Yes, Steve! Good start. More more. Maintain the lane, traffic wardens are out there. The inner Steve warned.
Isia was gazing. Her phizog was already sketching weariness. Twas glaring. Speed up! Up! Yearned inner Steve.
“What? “
She was becoming impatient. Perhaps, anxiousness had her drown in impatience. Hope that would not drain the fuel.
“Okay… Uhmm… I just wanted to say that…. Oh… Uhmm… Okay… Well… I just… wanted… to…. Say… That… I’ve… Been… Chosen as a leader of the crew at gig party. Like I own it all”
Oh! That was not it. Fool. Coward. Inner Steve called.
“Sounds great. Happy. Really. I’ll go change and return with your Buga to the party”.
She hadn’t noticed.
No trying anymore. He threw his face to the window of the seat he was seating on, sideway.
“Stupid. “
He breathed. Stupid. Under his breath.
“You said? “
She was listening. She heard that? And she couldn’t hear his heart wailing, yearning, craving for her? He really had to speak up.
“We.. Win….. Yea… I said… We’ll win. “
He lied, wearing the you’ve-loose-her-to-Oscar kind of smile.
“Stupid! “
He screamed. He was standing at the entrance to the party.
19:06:11:16:00
Ancestor. Ancestral Pen. Ancestral Piece. Steve’s Isia: Isia’s Steve
Ancestral Trail 