Popping into existe

He thought he noticed a bump. And he wondered why his eyes, with their sad inability to control light, always picked insignificant details here and about. His best friend always makes fun of him, brands him a hater, and is sure that it is out of common decency that he never called him a creep. He smiled painfully at that as he looked up the new monument on the campus- the Campanile. He thought it had a phallic shape. But why? He wondered. Maybe the university wanted to show the world that it now had a big cock to sod whoever it wanted. He will tell that to his best friend over a bottle of Legends someday, or after an impossible exam.
Like most people, she never existed to him. She was like any other random stranger he meets on the street, or on the campus walkways, or any of his six score course-mates; most of whom were all strangers with common interests. She was in this group- a group of strangers who met every day for lectures, did the same exams and complained about the same lecturers. So as he walked passed her as she was heading to the library, as she waved back, and as he noticed the bump under her short purple dress on that September midmorning; she never existed. But she was his classmate.
Sometimes he thought she loved to show off, especially during mathematics lectures. She always seemed to follow along with the lecturers, sometimes leading to a string of questions or arguments. Over the course of the last three years, he had concluded that she studied ahead, and she had to show it. Or maybe it was the way she liked maths, making her the exact opposite of him. He has never understood how maths works, though he had learnt to pull off some calculations here and there.
He didn’t like the jokes his classmates had started to make about her. It’s true she was heavy with child, but it’s not like she had killed anyone. In fact, she had decided not to take someone’s life, however insignificant it was. That signified courage, and strength- just like his mother did once for him. He imagined the emotional pressure she was in, especially if her parents were as conservative as his own. Yet she seemed comfortable with everything, including the silent curses by the Adventists and the Witnesses. He found it intriguing that she had once let him touch her belly; though he regretted every bit of it afterwards. He felt ashamed of his mischief.
It always left him with a sad taste in his mouth that people never recognized the kind of a woman she was. It felt even worse that he couldn’t do a thing stop them. It nagged him well enough that he decided to take the blame and apologize for others and for himself. He had to. He ought to. He should have done this a while ago before things flew out of hand. He felt like it was about time. So he summoned some courage, just enough to engulf his pride and drafted a quick word.
“Hi?”
He sent the message. And waited.

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Published by: andefwa

I say it as it is. I get into trouble a lot for this reason. but then again, am an artist. And that's just how it is in our world. I have trouble with expressing myself at times. so I find it easier to let it out in third, or fourth person hihi. that in itself is a secret i just said right there. so keep it that way,will you? :-P ;-)

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