Guardian Angels

Okay!  So?  It’s taken alllllllllot outa me, but?!?!  I’ve done it!  I’ve made the first move. 

The bottle of water is filled!  I’ve even gone that extra mile and splashed some lemon juice in it.  You know?  Sigh…I try.  In everything I do?  Nnnnnnnnnn, well, most things.  Okayyyyy, okay.  Geeeeez!  A few things, then.  It’s like you try to take a little bit of extra credit on your own blog and then you get the peanut gallery yelling about, “Remember that time you…remember that thing you…”  Yes, yes, I remember the time and so did Michael Jackson, (Rest in Peace the greatest artist that ever lived)….but it doesn’t mean that it’s compulsory to rain on someone’s parade. 

And now…where was I?

I try to make the experience a…’cause just…just do this one thing for me, quickly.  Take a second to think about the life that water leads, okay?  It doesn’t have choices.  It doesn’t have taste.  All it does is sit in pipes or run.  And get boiled or iced.  And then people like Debbie and I, crunch it.  Chronically, and still have the nerve to blame it for the condition of our teeth.  Put yourself in water’s shoes for a moment.  Imagine getting boiled on a daily basis, for a living?  What about frozen ‘til you crack?  And then crushed!  What kind of a life is that?  

So?  Here.  Today.  I have taken the time to make this h2o drinking attempt, pleasant for both of us.  I just think that the life of water has just got to be as colourless as…as…it.  And the only reason I am feeling sympathetic towards my liquid buddy is because I can identify.  My life gets colourless at times too and it’s in those moments, where I really wish someone would take the time to splash a lil lemon on me. 

BWAAAAAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA!     

You know what I’m laughing at?  Not myself.  This electricity bill says, “Please ensure dogs are locked away when our meter reader calls at your premises.”  We should strike back at this brazen bully tactic!  When you go to Martin West Building to pay your light bill?  Yes, I said Martin West Building ‘cause this would not work at Pick ‘n Pay.  They don’t care what you do with your dog when the city’s meter readers come to your premises!  So you’re at the…wait…better still, go straight to Metro Electricity!  Take a black marker, and write below that…”No!”  Followed by this face...":-\...since I have no way of knowing the fake from the authentic, meter readers, my dog shall decide!"  I would pay money to know when the next meter reader would appear at your gate!  

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Sigh.  Again.  I said again, because I already sighed in the second paragraph and now I’m sighing…again. 

I was on my way to Martin West Building once.  In 1989.  Damn, that sounds like a long time ago!  I was young and wild and fureee!  Not wild.  But I wish I was because they wouldn’t have robbed me.  I was young.  I was only sixteen.  Stories were going around about the new and improved ways that you get robbed.  In my mind, I always said, “Pfffffft!  How can you fall for something like that?”  Well? 

I fell for it.  I fell for standing at the robot…traffic signal for my overseas readers…I was young.  My overseas readers are in a different time zone so if they didn’t catch the first “I was young” I made sure to type it again.

The man wearing black?  Poked me on my back.  With his finger…with his finger, no need to get alarmed and O_O and all….when I turned around, I only caught a glimpse of him.  Not of his face.  Just his black clothing but I remember that he was short.  And the very, very well placed, concerned, stranger, next to me started telling me these horror stories about how he just put “something on me” and it happened to her somebody and this happened to her somebody because of it? 

I believe that he did.  I believe that he touched me with “just believe every single word they are telling you, you young, stupid, stuuuuupid fool” fairy dust!

So, they took me to the Methodist Church.  I was very young.  Amazingly, I wasn’t afraid of them.  At all.  I’m being serious.  I had no fear that these people would harm me.  I did what they said.  I gave them everything I had.  They put it in an envelope and gave me the envelope back.  My dad’s electricity bill money, my mum’s bank card…thank goodness she had not a black cent in it, her ATM pin number, whatever money I had, my jewellery.  Evvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvverything! 

I was in such a “these are actually my friends whom I’ve never seen before in my life and won’t understand them if they spoke in their home language…and they are trying to help me” trance?  That I had no taxi fare, even to get home.  Didn’t care!  Luckily, my then boyfriend…who funny enough?  I was fighting with and refused for him to come into the city with me?  Found me in the stationery store, at The Workshop!

Nothing wrong with me.  I was waiting to open my envelope with my stuff inside it.  And when I did?  It had that very same day’s newspaper in it.  It’s still a mystery to me that they even knew that I didn’t like to read the newspaper so they were kind enough to tear it into pieces…and put it in the envelope.  Before they gave it to me.  In exchange for every valuable thing I had on me that day.  

I believe in Guardian Angels from that experience.  I can’t explain any other way that my then boyfriend would come into the city anyway, find me (taxi-fare-less) in a stationery store four streets up from where I was meant to be paying my dad’s electricity bill.