I remember a late Sunday morning when I was held up in the house, to evade the summer heat. I clicked on the box TV and kicked up my worn sole sneaks. Government TV had forced itself to be diverse and broadcasted cultural shows all day which meant no classic toons. Nostalgia of reruns projected on the back of my eyelids the glory days of Disney Cartoon Café as the fear of loneliness loomed.
I channel surfed and bailed upon the break in the flow of a National Geographic episode on the cougar. Mountain lion..? Puma? What had captured my horny hormonal pubescent mind was their ritual mating call. The male would risk it all. He would drop his ego, jump in her path and stop her in her tracks. His confidence in their chemical connection would with hope be something that attracts. He would climate to the climax of the mountain and roar in her honour. She had the choice to join him at the top or be a goner.
At the fault of poor resourcefulness and lacked the hustle to find quality guidance for a healthy relationship. I had entangled myself in a web of insecurities to the extent that the courting philosophy had taken dictatorship.
I remember a late Friday night when the air was warm and the beer crisp and cold. I saw him as he played pool with his friends, he was losing, I decided to be bold. My pick up line consisted of "Wow, you really suck at this" . Time was taken in minutes of conversation, some cheeky banter that awarded me a kiss. I had stopped him in his tracks, check, and I climbed, climbed onto a stage to sing drunken karaoke. He had joined me at the peak, check, of the night, grabbed a second mic and sang an inebriated duet with me.
We roared and roared, mumbled the lyrics we didn't know. Took each other's digits and parted ways when it was time to go.
Textual conversational essays led to dates, dinners that continued till morn. Too much time spent together led to exhausted scowls and scorn. Separated for a bit, gave ourselves time on our own. Worked on our careers, chatted long distance, gathered money and grown. Twice a day conversations became once a week. That grew to a stage where we started to see other people and didn't speak. One road diverged into two, our paths forked. More work, new opportunities, new money, champagne bottles uncorked.
Anyway, a couple of years had gone quick. I saw photos of his wedding day and ultrasounds on Facebook with some chick. I didn't really take the effort to learn her name; I didn't honestly think she would last in the game. Damn, I had been stuck in a dream. I didn't feel the urgency, lackadaisical by the loop of his voice that assured we were a team. I had rain-checked dinner dates to get the cream. My vision had been fixated on that little bit of airtime where I could give him a dedication through a big screen.
I climbed that goddamn mountain as Jack Kerouac would suggest, I reached the height of my career and it led me to mounds of moolah. I had once roared with him at the peak of our prime...but now I am just left with a clothing sponsorship from Puma.
Here I sit on a late Sunday morning, held up in a penthouse suite to evade the summer heat. I clicked on the HD LED TV and kicked up my fresh out-of-the-box sneaks. Satellite TV had forced itself to be diverse and broadcasted pilots to series of various genres all day which meant no classic toons. Restored nostalgic reruns had hologrammed behind closed eyelids the glory days of Disney Cartoon Café and now aged with experience the strength of solitude bloomed.
