Intersecting Lines

ChocoChubies

These days I've been hating myself more and more.

No, there wasn't that ounce of "Maybe I love him still" left.

I was well on my way of forgetting about Zop. 

His existence was hard to evade though, but I had to deal with it.

The facts were straight up clear, I couldn't be with him. Not in this moment at least.

All my fantasies of having that secret relationship just faded away and all that's left was that lingering burnt smell of what could have been.

Band was something I should have avoided but strangely, no.

Initially, I joined for Zop but now, it seemed like I fell in love with music and the people instead.

Yet another day of band practice, another encounter with him.

I'd notice him walking in and he'd hover around my area.as well.

If you're Singaporean, surely you'd know of this feel.

You know, when its about 6.30 PM in the evening and you're in the MRT at Orchard MRT station on Christmas Eve.

It's so crowded in there, that you can barely breathe. You're literally choking from the lack of oxygen.

You no longer breathe in free air but rather someone's pale stench of a breath from his last Macdonald's meal.

That stench was almost as choking as the awkwardness in the air between Zop and me.

He'd make awkward conversation starters and I'd respond to him, merely only for a reply sake.

I'd casually turn around and accidentally make eye contact with him.

I hated that. I really did. Made me think of so many things.

It was all so confusing. 

I didn't want to see him and yet everytime the band door opened during practice, I'd be looking and expecting him.

My brain was hardwired around his presence.

This cruel ring of repetition occurs every band practice, yet somehow, I loved the torture of it.

From standing so close behind me , he shuffled a bit to the side, to quickly make his way to the front of the band room to make an announcement.

I wasn't giving him proper eye contact, instead just looking at the floor and the lines and scratches it adorned.

These scratches must have been made by the people of the past.

They each held the memory of a day, a person, even a story to that person's life.

Fascinating.

"Shakinah, what do you think?"

What? Everyone's head shifted and locked onto my half-stunned face.

"How do you think you could be a role model to your Juniors?" he asked with such a stern look on his face, that for once, even I felt afraid.

"Well, urmm...I guess we could come punctually for practice, practice beforehand and be fully focused during practice and not be well... distracted? Ya" I spoke out, trying to imply something else totally.

"Exactly. Now I want all of you to be exactly like Shakinah. She's got it. Be serious. Now do I make myself clear?"

A monotonous "Yes" echoed after him from the rest of us.

I went back home that day and slept the night off without even a single thought of whatever happened.

Saturday morning. No school.