The medicine cabinet door stands ajar, an empty bottle of aspirin propped against the wall on the last shelf, a lone witness to the theatrics of the previous night. A chipped glass of water stands precariously on the bedside table with lipstick stains that pattern the rim.
She was running from a violent marriage, looking for some love. Him, a chronic cheater, was looking for another excuse to break his matrimony.
The images are blurred for him. All he remembers are bright lights, groove music, thick perfume and cherry lip gloss. The images are vivid as ever in her mind. She clearly recalls the discotheque lighting, a Billboard number playing in the background, the young crowd and the lone guy in a suit.
She was making her way through the crowd when she spotted him, drunk, at the bar. She re-applied her cherry lip gloss and asked him for a dance. One song is all it took for them to leave the party behind.
The bedroom curtains are still drawn. It is noon and he lies in deep slumber. She stares at the slow whirring of the ceiling fan and makes her decision. It was time to face the demons back home.
She waits in baited breath and watches the pregnancy stick closely. The first blue line appears. A minute later, so does the second one. “Positive!” she whispers to her husband. His cold stare breaks into a warm smile. She heaves a sigh of relief and assuages her pounding heart.
He wakes up to the incessant ringing of the telephone. He clutches the receiver in one hand and reaches for the glass of water. “Sir, your medical checkup reports have come in. We are very sorry to inform you that you are not eligible for our Health Insurance policy. Unfortunately, you have tested positive for AIDS.”
The images go out of focus for him as the glass slips from his fingers and shatters noiselessly on the marble floor.
She was running from a violent marriage, looking for some love. Him, a chronic cheater, was looking for another excuse to break his matrimony.
The images are blurred for him. All he remembers are bright lights, groove music, thick perfume and cherry lip gloss. The images are vivid as ever in her mind. She clearly recalls the discotheque lighting, a Billboard number playing in the background, the young crowd and the lone guy in a suit.
She was making her way through the crowd when she spotted him, drunk, at the bar. She re-applied her cherry lip gloss and asked him for a dance. One song is all it took for them to leave the party behind.
The bedroom curtains are still drawn. It is noon and he lies in deep slumber. She stares at the slow whirring of the ceiling fan and makes her decision. It was time to face the demons back home.
She waits in baited breath and watches the pregnancy stick closely. The first blue line appears. A minute later, so does the second one. “Positive!” she whispers to her husband. His cold stare breaks into a warm smile. She heaves a sigh of relief and assuages her pounding heart.
He wakes up to the incessant ringing of the telephone. He clutches the receiver in one hand and reaches for the glass of water. “Sir, your medical checkup reports have come in. We are very sorry to inform you that you are not eligible for our Health Insurance policy. Unfortunately, you have tested positive for AIDS.”
The images go out of focus for him as the glass slips from his fingers and shatters noiselessly on the marble floor.