Most of my weekends are spent waiting for someone to remember me. Meanwhile, I wander about the house, or my little cosy garden, tidying their little corners and searching for pending work. Usually, Rachel might call and say she wants to go out shopping or pay up some bills. Whether I have some work outdoors or not, I tag along. She seems to derive some comfort talking to me about the house, the people, the works. I let her babble on, as my eyes wander along the roads, shopping malls and restaurants. There are families, children, couples, college students, boys, girls, middle-aged people, oldies - all around with someone or the other they trust and like. Rachel and I like each other’s company. We have similar interests in conversation. We have common topics to chat about.
And when she’s not in town or if she’s doing that weekend shift at work, I am alone again. I wait for someone to call. There’s Anaita, or James, who could call. Or I wait for someone to send me a text message. Why didn’t Charlie, Amelia or Stanley remember me yet? I watch a movie, listen to some songs, cook somthing. Stare at the mobile every third minute. No. No one’s called. There’s no text either. Nobody remembers me yet.
Finally boredom overtakes my self-respect, and I text
I call Harris. His phone’s engaged. I don’t have much hopes about him returning the call. So finally, I stop seeking out the men and decide to check on what my girlfriends are up to. Amelia picks the call and says: “Hey sweetheart, my dad’s given me some work. I got to finish it today. I’ll call you back by evening?” All right, all right, busybee.
I don’t have the courage for more rejections. I feel dejected. And I get back to the garden and the house. There is no lack of work around, but I keep wishing there was someone to help me out. I wait for 48 hours. And a new working week begins. Until another weekend looms. Until another 48 hours of waiting….