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This is a guest post by THREE

They met in a formal dinner. She was nervous. He was sweet. They both led very busy lives with very demanding careers. He managed to make quite an impression, until he took her to the middle of the floor, and asked her to dance the chicken dance with him. In a black-tie formal event. Utterly shocked, her eyebrows shot up as she asked him, “You’re joking right?”

He remained straight faced for 3 seconds… then slowly allowed a charming smile, “Yes, I’m joking.”

That night before they’d parted, he saw her off in the parking lot. Under the clear starry night. He’d told her in the most serious tone that he was actually some European prince in disguise. Running from a forced arranged marriage with some strange princess he hardly knew. And if his royal parents found him they might publicly punish him by making him crush wine grapes using nothing but his bare feet. Wearing nothing but a purple tutu. In front of all his countrymen. Unless if he finds another princess that outdoes the one he’s betrothed with in terms of beauty, wit, and class. And the dazzling specimen that stood before him would be very much convincing even for his picky parents, he told her. Slightly annoyed by his age-inappropriate joke, in a sarcastic tone she asked, “You’re joking right?”

For 3 seconds he kept serious, a pleading look in his puppy eyes… and then, not taking his eyes off hers all the while, slowly, roguishly smiled, “Yeah. But I’d sure like to see you again.” She couldn’t help but smile back. His boyish immaturity had a charm that had somehow worked. He got her number.

They’d been dating for some time now. Blissful. Happy. Fun. Even though work often got in the way. But they managed somehow to get to see each other on a regular basis. Until he stopped calling her for a week. When he finally did, he sounded dead. She rushed over to the park bench he’d always hang out late after work. In times of trouble. He was practically lifeless when she’d arrived. Dishevelled like he was just run over by a steamroller, or more likely a giant photocopier machine in his case. He seemed busy mulling over absolute nothingness. She asked him again, softly, what had happened. After a long silence, he opened up. He just got himself fired, but was too depressed to act devastated. A lifeless zombie he became. Taken aback, she asked why. He answered emptily, “Because I’m too smart.” Unbelievable. Such a wonderful talented man suddenly fired at the peak of his career. It was just too unbelievable for her. Bleakly hopeful, she asked, “You’re joking, right?”

But the zombie remained dead for 3 whole seconds… then slowly, menacingly - no, playfully - turned to her and smiled, “Yes, I am.” He made it up to her for scaring her like that. And that night they celebrated his promotion at her place.

Once again the bliss was interrupted by a disturbing call from him. Frantic, panicking, he grabbed her hand when they met up for lunch. A guilty-stricken look in his workstress-burdened face. His sudden anxiety caught up on her too. There was this client, he nervously started explaining, a woman. He paused, then shockingly admitted he “might have” flirted with her. She angrily tore her hands away from his. He desperately continued to explain how he “might have taken it too far” last night. She started walking away. He quickly rushed to stop her, then screamed, “She tried to kill me!” and that the woman was a “psycho”, stalking him, following him, angry at discovering that he already had a girlfriend. And this morning tried to run him over with a car! Equal parts shocked, dumbfounded, disgusted, and at the same time amused, she just had to ask, “You’re joking, right?”

His face remained unchanged, still anxious for about 3 seconds… then slowly smiled, boyishly, “Yeah, I’m joking.” He ended up getting a kick in the shin. And then made it up to her over dessert.

They were walking in that park again. Holding hands. But this time he was thoughtfully silent. She could even detect a hint of - was that guilt? When he finally turned to her, he took her hands in his. Then took a deep breath. He revealed that he had cancer. With only 6 more months to live. Solemn, he still managed a sad smile as he told her he’d known this for quite some time now. But with a person like her, these 6 months would be more meaningful to him than an eternal life without her. He was really serious this time. Her eyes started to become glassy. Once again, hoping this was another one of his stupid jokes, she asked, “You’re joking, right?”

He looked at her sadly, remaining silent for an infinite 3 seconds… then slowly smiled, mischievously, “Yeah, I actually am.” Blinking back her tears, she punched him lightly in the chest. “Ugh, I hate you! And your stupid jokes!” She kept punching him playfully. “Yeap, that’s why you love me,” and the two decided to spend the rest of the evening watching the sunset. Cherishing the fragile beauty of an easily extinguished thing called life, while they still could.

It’d been more than two weeks. No news from him. Unanswered phone calls and messages. Sure he was always easily stressed out by his demanding work, even worse after his promotion, which was why they couldn’t always be together. But she still worried like hell. He’d never been out of touch for this long. She actually felt they were drifting apart. Then suddenly a phone call. It was him. And this time he sounded dead, solemn, anxious, guilty, all of these combined. After 10 minutes of pointless small talk, with barely enough words to call it a talk, he took a deep breath. Then he told her. Everything. That he had been married all this while. Even had a 5-year old kid. The workplace stress had made him detach and drift apart from his family. And that’s when he had met her. He felt that she had changed his life at first. But then only realized that she was just helping him escape. From a bigger responsibility. At the same time, being with her, he’d come realize how he can be a wonderful lover after all. And a friend too. Kind of why his wife had married him in the first place. And that with this newfound better man he rediscovered in himself, he was willing to give his marriage and family a second try. With this renewed man she had helped him rediscover! He said all this with such resolve. A resolve to all his deadness, solemnity, anxiety, guilt, all that had been disguised in his ‘jokes’ all this while. A long silence. Voice shaky with silent tears, she finally managed, “You’re joking, right? Please tell me you’re really joking this time, like all those other times, and it went too far, but you’re still joking. Please?”

Resolve, deadness, solemnity, anxiety, guilt, all unanimously answered her, “I think I’ve joked enough with you, princess. I’m really sorry…”

The 3 seconds came and passed by, and this time, she could hear it in his voice, how he simply could not smile.

…dedicating the song “Zombie” by The Cranberries together with this short story…

Sitie F. (preferably known as THREE) is a 27-year-old multiracial, multilingual and multicultural Malaysian prospective grad student awaiting approval of her Masters degree application, whose random ramblings and rantings are mostly ‘physiologically inspired’ (i.e. by PMS and mood swings). A fan of any good science-fiction/fantasy, with a keen academic interest in neuro-cognitive psychology, and an affinity for electro/techno and gothic/industrial music, THREE aims to bring no major changes to the world with her writings despite her often-misplaced revolutionist thinking, and stubborn fashion sense. Her favourite book is “Simulacra” by Philip K. Dick, though once in a while she does indulge in some light romance-themed fiction, be it non-sci-fi.

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