LVIII | Meaning
❦
After I kissed Rowan
at the cafe,
I feel like I understand her
less.
I notice her
looking
over
at me
during class
and her eyes
pray for my prelim results to be okay.
Has she always
watched me
like this
without me knowing?
Stop it, Clyde. Focus.
The teacher is giving out
answer booklets now.
I need to pass this exam.
After the exam,
I leave school with ming.
We see Rowan
under the naked rowan tree.
She’s just sitting there,
staring into space.
Blood
streaking down her eyes
onto her cheeks
to her chin.
‘Did you make her cry?’
Ming asks.
I shake my head.
He doesn’t see blood.
To him, it’s tears.
The next day,
I catch her after the first paper
to take a closer look.
The area around
her eyes
is red like she’s been
crying
but there’s no blood.
‘Are you okay?’ I ask.
She smiles
instead of giving her usual
apathetic
expression.
We’re behind the classroom.
There are still students
walking by
but Rowan
puts her arms
around me,
buries her head
in my chest.
‘I had a nightmare last night
‘that’s all.’
‘What was it about?’ I ask.
She doesn’t mind
when I touch her
anymore.
I should be happy.
Triumphant even.
But I’m still discontented.
Confused.
‘It’s…’
She looks up at me
with blank eyes
and a smile.
‘I’ve been stressed about prelims.’
‘Wanna study together again?’
She laughs.
(She laughs more often now.)
‘You won’t get any studying done.
‘like last time.’
I pat her head.
She’s wearing
that champagne shampoo
again.
When I first met her,
she wore a shampoo
with no scent.
Why am I suddenly remembering that?
‘It’s okay.’
Her smile
doesn’t
reach her eyes.
‘What’s the meaning of this then?’
Doesn’t matter.
❦
We sit in the same place
we sat at the previous time.
That book is still
here:
A WORD THAT NO ONE KNOWS.
We drink the same drinks
we drank the previous time.
Brown foam
forms a moustache
on her upper lip.
I tell her about it.
She licks it off.
(The tip of her ears
turn red.)
We both study this time.
I know I should focus
on my studies
instead of just playing around.
The first few papers
were an annoying
wake-up call.
So even though
I don’t look up,
I feel Rowan’s gaze
on me.
The one time I look up,
stretch,
sip my cold coffee,
Rowan’s staring
at something behind me,
blood running
from her eyes
down her cheeks.
My dark velvet chair
moans
as I stand suddenly,
shaking her,
wiping blood
from her face.
‘Oi,
‘Rowan.
‘Rowan.
‘Rowan!’
Her eyes focus on mine.
That dazed smile
again.
What’s wrong with you?
Nothing. I’m alright.
She takes the tissue
I hold out
and goes back to studying.
I drop her off
in front of the nameless chicken rice shop.
She tiptoes
so our faces meet
and says
good night.
There’s something anti-climatic
about this.
I stare at my hands
under the dim bus stop light.
Because the first time
we touched was electrifying,
I thought
it will continue
to be
that way.
Her lips were cold.
I stick my hands
in my pockets
and wait in the stinging silence
for a bus that never comes.
I start thinking
about the stuff I still need to revise
for the remaining
papers.
Only when I’m standing
outside my door,
do I think of Rowan again
and the blood
coursing down her cheeks.
The door is locked today.
I use my keys to get in.
So annoying.
So frustrating.
Yes,
rather than being confused,
that describes
my feelings better.
We’re finally dating
but the dance
is almost over.
I’m disappointed.
The music has stopped.
I step
into the
dark
empty
house.
Only my mother’s shoes are here.
It is quiet
tonight.
It flashes through my mind
again,
Rowan crying blood
instead of tears.
Expressions rather than
expressionless.
I close the door behind me,
throw my socks in a corner.
This isn’t love either.
How should I
break up
this time?
❦
