BluE Scrubs

It’s been like living in a fridge past few days. The new ‘I’m a celebrity get me out of here’ programme commenced yet another chapter. I wasn’t all that keen on the pointless programme, or any reality show for that matter. But he does. So he was watching it.

I was just keen on the heat emanating out from the fire place. I love coal fire. The blazing fire popped and crackled and at times made a hiss. It was all too nice to take my eyes off. To miss the slow relinquish existence of a substance. Rather a transformation of a substance. The leather sofa was warm and the coffee he made had just the right amount of milk.

Out of the blue,

“Do you want to get married Naj?”

I was startled, but I didn’t take my eyes off the fire. I wasn’t prepared to see what answers those hazel eyes anticipated. Something was helplessly bewitching about coal fire. I could just stay there forever. Just watching. Buying time? Wasting time? Making time? I wasn’t so sure on that.

At some point I said, taking a sip, without looking at him. I curled up. My oversized pullover had long sleeves just right to mitt the mug with both hands. I felt like a foetus all over again. A dry, breathing air, foetus of course.

I can hear his mumble in between the narcissi dance, bellied by the famished fire on the helpless logs.

He stopped mumbling and I looked at him.

His green eyes looked sallow from the dimness where he was sitting. But his skin justified salubriousness. There was something firm but accusing in his stare.

“But you said you’d never marry a white guy”,
he reminded me of what I said a few days earlier.

Oh here we go again…