This Love Must Go On

Deborah

Deborah

I was pacing back and forth in the same room, trying to work up myself to being brave, planning how to tweak my rough-around-the-edges and ignorant cadence, tone, expression and body language to ace the game. For many beginners acting was an art of performance but for me it was an emotion. Just a look at the mirror while chanting self-affirmations and I was ready.

I knew I had it in me. I can do it.

Boom! The raw-boned man stormed in. I flicked the mirror away and it landed on the bed. Quickly flexing the role of a loving wife, I said, "Why are you acting like this all of a sudden?"

"I've always been like this. Anyway, we are taking you to someplace where you truly deserve."

I asked tenderly, creasing my forehead, "Where?"

"To an acting workshop. I know some people who can forward your name or maybe Mindy Khaling can herself unearth your under-appreciated acting talent."

Firstly, I hated how easily these loaded, famous people introduced every problem with a possible solution, such as the combination of lock and key. Without breaking a sweat, as if they weren't problems for them from the beginning. A piece of cake - yes. Did the world revolve around him? Hell yeah! I felt great as there was someone who believed that I was brilliant at my trade. Besides, the Mindy Khaling thing had me at one point, maybe he wanted to help me. The guy was loaded and surely had connections with people in high places.

Nevertheless, I didn't let the soft aura cease and replied in the same tone, "I've offered my gift of trust the day we married each other. Now if you take me to hell or heaven, I have no complaints."

-----

We were standing under the scorching mid-afternoon sun of California, as a flock of birds soared overhead. I was blanched as soon as I eyed the destination, a colossal boring structure of glass with infinite windows. A hospital in between the palm trees. As I read the board my mind slipped into a pool of questions. Why was I here? What were they up to?

"We will see a renowned psychiatrist, who also happens to be Leon's best friend, Doc Ali." Maximo stared at the building with steely ambition.

My eyes popped out. The guy even had a best friend. That came as a big shock to me. If it were any true, the idea of meeting another cranky man wasn't appealing to me. I thought of beating a hasty retreat and never seeing them again.

Coming to a stop behind me, Leon grappled with a baseball hat and aviators, pretending to be a paparazzi magnet. In the meantime, he winced in pain and Maximo turned all his attention on him. "Leon, what happened?"

"Nothing, just a cut." He blew on the back of his hand.

"Be careful," I said, apparently wearing the skin of a caring wife, but he didn't even say a word or send a reciprocating reaction. Or rather I was a big fool to expect any sort of recognition from a person who was literally carved out of wood. I decided I wouldn't empathize with him if he started bleeding to death.

"Put your best foot forward. I hope he does something to bring your memory back."

Maximo placed a hand on my shoulder and somehow it bore the weight of a sail unfurled with the heaviest storm.

"I'm telling you I don't need this. I'm completely fine. Please," I kept on requesting, resisting and partially begging to let go of me. Where Maximo looked bizarrely familiar to a tyrant and Leon looked like a statesman who didn't mind getting rid of one woman to maintain his peace. Their talk mixed into the melange of deafening chatter as we waded through the crowd of hospital-stricken families. Now nothing could save me from this mess.