Kat’s agreed to meet me again.
Let me tell you it’s a great relief because for the last seven days I haven’t
been able to get her on the phone. “I think you have been trying to avoid me,
“I say. We are having coffee at a fancy café where the coffee is roasted dark
or light.
She doesn’t say no, nor does
she say yes. If it weren’t for the fact that she’s so young, just twenty, I
would think she was using her womanly wiles to keep me hooked. “I don’t really
blame you. I understand,” I add. She is obviously going through a confusing
phase in her life. “No, it’s just that I have been busy,” she says. “Exams, and
all that, you know.”
I, of course, am in a forgiving
state of mind as I always am when with her. I’m just happy that we are meeting
again. It’s a big ego booster let me admit, to be going out at my age with a
college going girl on a sort of date. I have heard about twenty year
differences in some love affairs, but most of them have involved the rich and
the famous where the guy is a billionaire, or at the very least, a millionaire.
I’m neither, matter of fact just a freelancer who’s broke most of the time.
“So, how have you been doing?”
I ask my young companion. She doesn’t look at me directly as she speaks. I
guess it’s a bad sign. “I’ve been doing well. The usual,” she replies shortly.
I don’t know why but today the conversation’s really stilted. Not much of it in
fact. The previous times we met, conversation fairly flowed, lots of laughter
and mutual flattery. Today, it’s becoming downright tedious, the tête-à-tête I
mean. Of course, as I mentioned before, I’m just glad she’s here with me. I
don’t ask for much. I don’t really expect much either. And since the last time
we met I’ve decided to talk less, listen more. I’ve this grievous habit you
see, of talking too much about myself. Now I wouldn’t want this to be a bone of
contention with my newfound love.
Love? Well I’m dreaming I
guess. I really don’t have a clue why she’s seeing me again. “How’s your
engineer friend?” I inquire. She brightens up perceptibly and with a glint in
her eyes, answers, “Oh, he’s fine. Busy planning to go abroad for further
studies.” I guess I’ll have to accept that as long as our relationship, whatever
name it goes by, lasts, I’ll have to live with the fact that she seems to be
fond of this engineer fellow.
“Engineers are boring chaps,
you know?” I declare. “Always involved with bricks and mortar. Lifeless
things.” Did I mention that I’m deviously cunning? She gives me a querulous
glance with a hint of a smile. “Yes, I agree with you,” her response is simple.
I press on, “Engineers are much too practical. Not at all romantic.”
“Do you think so?” she asks
innocently. “Yeah, I know quite a few. They talk like old daddies,” I press
home my advantage. “He’s my childhood friend. He’s quite the liberal sort,” she
informs me. I get the feeling that she’s trying to convince herself more than
me that this chap is a good catch. Now I am no matchmaker, and in this
particular instance, far from it. Of
course I don’t want to be a match breaker either. At least not as far as
my twenty year old is concerned. I like her too much to try and spoil her life.
Suddenly I realize that it’s me who seems to be the confused one. I don’t know
where the hell I’m going. Have I fallen in love? Or is she just a huge boost
for my deprived ego?” “You know, I like to meet you because you are young and
beautiful,” I say. “ But I don’t know why you are seeing me.”
She gives me a rare direct look
from her lovely hazel eyes, grimaces a little, and says, “I think you are very
intelligent and interesting. I like intelligent men.” Her words give me a
slight jolt. Nobody knows better that me how difficult it is to live up to high
expectations. Ask my ex-wife. Besides, I don’t consider myself to be as
interesting as she takes me to be. “Well, I’m good at making good first
impressions,” I admit. I’m actually a bit wary that in due time, shortly, the
way things are going even in only our fourth meeting, she’ll see that I’m a
self centered, selfish, self indulgent and self gratifying guy who doesn’t look
like he’s going to change in a hurry, if at all.
“How are you getting on? And
how’s your daughter taking it?” my young date wants to know. “We’re fine. My
daughter’s old enough to have taken it in her stride,” I reply. We’re of course
referring to my life after divorce. “Actually, you see, I was prepared for this
to happen since a long time,” I tell her. It’s true. It’s been only a month
since my divorce, yet it seems like a lifetime ago. The very fact that I hardly felt any
aftershocks should prove the fact that I am being honest when I say that I was
well prepared.
We don’t raise the subject
again. It’s a bit disappointing actually. Again, not a good sign. Shows she’s
not very interested in my private life. “You look aloof this evening,” I
observe. “Something wrong?” “No, why should there be?” she asks. She looks at
her watch and says she’s already late and has to rush home. I put her in a taxi
and decide to walk home. It’s a long walk but just the fact that I’ve spent
some time with her makes me oblivious of the distance and the bite in the cold
winter air.
It is in this frame of mind
that I take to bed that night. Morning, I awake quite refreshed and can’t help
reflecting that my twenty year old love has a most calming effect on my jangled
nerves. You see, I’m quite the typical insomniac and most days I wake up
feeling I’ve hardly slept the night. So this, getting a good night’s sleep, I
credit to my satisfaction at being able to spend some time with my twenty year
old. The next three days fly by during which time I come across a couple of
smart and pretty young girls. My line of work is like that. I get to enter a
lot of establishments and chat up a lot of the pretty young things fluttering
around such places. Most times, the knowledge that I’m a writer is enough to
open doors that are usually not so easy to open otherwise. And here I am now, talking to a young
brown-eyed cuddly sort at a press conference. “You’re Susan, aren’t you?” I
inquire. “You are a reporter for Biz World, right?”
Her warm brown eyes give me a
surprised look, “Yes, that’s right,” she replies with a smile. I think she
knows who I am but that’s people for you, and especially, more so, women. They
pretend not to. Naturally I’m not the sort to keep on waiting for such a pretty
girl to take the initiative and start a conversation with me. “I’m Amber. I
write for your magazine too,” I go straight for the bull’s eye. She can’t pretend
now. “Oh yes, your last article was very good,” she says. “I don’t know why I
have to take the initiative all the time,” I complain. It’s a part of my ‘good
first impression’ charm I think, that I come out honest. “But I always wanted
to know you. You write well.” Notice, I start off by appreciating her work, but
shortly you’ll see how I move on to more personal compliments. No doubt this
will have to be after the initial person to person parries (civilized social
behavior they call it), is done with.
However, I don’t get the
opportunity to second base today since there’s a lot of talking to listen to
from the dais full of hot shots. Right after the last hot shot has had his say,
she hisses a ‘bye’ at me and hurries off.
The following days are ‘confusing thought’ days for me. I can’t decide
whether to call Susan or wait till I know where my relationship with Kat has
landed. In the meanwhile I’ve come to know another young girl who’s very
interesting and runs her father’s hotel. Trouble is, she is as young as the
others. Man, I seem to be cursed (blessed perhaps would be a better word), with
this twenty year age difference problem. Or maybe it’s just that I’m attracted
to twenty year olds. Sometimes I do think that maybe I’m climbing the wrong
tree(s). I’ve half a mind to take out a classified announcing my need for a
suitable companion. Yeah, that’s right, any respectable shrink would probably
diagnose me as suffering from acute loneliness.
After living with such thoughts for a week, Friday
morning I decide to call up my 20 year old Kat. A whole Saturday is looming on
the horizon and that’s when loneliness hits me the hardest. Sometimes I wonder,
is it only me or is it the same with most of humanity? Anyway, there’s no
choice but to call up my hazel eyed beauty. If I wait for her to call, I’ll
probably have to wait forever. She hardly, if ever, calls me. With a certain
amount of trepidation I dial her number. At the other end a woman says ‘Hello?”
“Can I speak to Katrin please?” I hope the tremor in my voice goes unnoticed. I
can’t forget that a short time ago I couldn’t get her on the line for one whole
week. “Kat, it’s for you,” the woman yells.
“Coming,” I hear the familiar
voice and the next minute she’s on the line, “Hi, Kat here.” I slump in relief
and try to sound natural, “Hi, Kat, it’s me.” “Amber,” I add in case she has
forgotten my voice. Talk about loss of confidence! “Oh, hi, how are you,” she
responds. I try to detect her mood from her tone. “I’m good,” I reply. Then,
“How have you been doing? How were exams?”
“Exams?” she sounds surprised,
then, “Oh that? It was okay.” I’m on my guard now, my antenna on high alert.
Why do I get the impression that she really didn’t have exams to keep her busy
throughout the week as she had said she did? Was she using it as just an excuse
to avoid me? Definitely a very bad sign. “What are you doing tomorrow?” I fish.
“Well, I have a lot of work to do. Homework, housework, studies, you know,” she
says. “Can’t you take out an hour or so and meet me?” I try to sound casual but
I can guess I must be sounding like I’m pleading. This is not good, especially
since I read an article on the net recently about how older men shouldn’t give
the impression that they are chasing their younger girlfriends.
“Well, I’m really very busy in
fact. I won’t be able to,” Kat is concise. I don’t know how to respond. There’s
a long silence. See, I told you. Communication is going down to zero levels.
Worsening of the signs obviously. For something to say, I plead again, “Can’t
you spare at least half an hour?” “No, I can’t.” Oh, she can be cruel all
right. She sounds so flat in contrast to my enthusiasm. Now I am at a total
loss of words. A longer silence. Then, from the other end, “So?” God, I’m on
edge now. I don’t know whether I should hang up or hold on. “Well then, that’s
too bad,” I manage. A pause again, then I continue, “Something bothering you?”
“No, nothing,” she replies.
Silence again. I try to ease it somewhat by commenting, “Why such a deadly
silence? You’re mad at me for something, looks like.” “No, why should I be?”
she replies. Then, “Listen, can I put down the phone now? Somebody’s at the
door.” What else can I do but say, “Okay, bye,” and slump down deeper into my
chair. For a moment a feeling of utter dejection overcomes me. Then I analyze
my feelings. A moment later realization strikes me. Dejection vanishes like it
never was there. I believe I’ve prepared myself for this since the day I met
her a month ago. So, no aftershocks as usual for this dashing thick skinned
debonaire. In fact now I feel a sense of liberation. Was it that Kat had a
binding influence on my personal freedom? I take out my little black book and
look down the names. I pick up the phone again and dial a number, “Hello, is
this Biz World? Can I speak to Susan please?”
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