Topic started by Udhaya on Fri Aug 27 15:07:53 .
All times in EST +10:30 for IST.
Empathy. Is it really though? If it weren't, why would I be here seated in the coffee shop, kitty- corner from her building, staring at her closed windows. The huff and puff of city buses making their routine stops and turns about the apex of the shop's pavement where two streets scissor-cross each other adds drama to my empty wait. The slightly cocked orange-canvassed umbrella sprouting from the middle of the white plastic table lends an exotic air to Carravagio's sidewalk seating. Barely 11am but people have been plenty busy with their boutique shopping, manicures, and gossip. I've smoked enough to spell JA on the table with the used stubs. Will she be back before I get to her last name? The everpresent fog relents its clutch a bit to the breaking sun.
Empathy, huh? That's a clever term to hide guilt. This is the trouble when spare time and a righteous mind coexist, everything gets overanalyzed and peace is never the end of it. Should go for a walk. Two blocks east is the methadone clinic where Alice was admitted. . .one block south is the Radison where Ruby and I spent our first day in the city. . . hmm, every direction has a landmark of grief or nostalgia. You live long enough, your past gains a force of nature and begins to gain on your present. Maybe I should try the phone instead of sitting here. No, no one in this city's gonna shut their windows on a day like this. Junkies do, oh, enough, enough of this chatter. You set out to do something, just do it. Even if it were empathy it doesn't call for sitting on your as* and whiling time to no good. How about writing her a note and slipping it under the door? No, it wouldn't carry the sincerity nor convey the seriousness of the situation. Is it that serious, really?
What do you know about this girl? Maybe she relishes such a reputation. No, I have to believe she wouldn't want her phone number scrawled on the men's room in a seedy bar touting her great oral skills. I have to believe that a girl shared her intimacy with a wrong man. Maybe a jealous lover wrote it, or maybe she broke his heart. Even if it were a jealous lover's revenge, I have to afford her some integrity. Nobody deserves this. I have to believe that we as a civilization haven't come to that. Okay, Mass is over. Just get this over with. Talk to her, warn her. You spent two hours tracking the number in the phone book for her address, might as well see it through.
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