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We're the Tangmonkey Behind the Curtain
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Wish Box (guest story by Snowmit)
12.11.2002 by , every Tuesday.
Heyo.
Sorry for lateness. Exams make me sleepy.
*cough* Here comes a long-winded speech.
A huge thanks to everyone who sent me comments last week. I got more than I usually get, and it's a big encouragement. Not that I don't appreciate the regulars of course...
I realized that I never thanked Snowmit for his lovely column graphics. Thank you, Mr. Mit. On the subject of Mr. Mit, since NOBODY is sending me guest stories, I am forced to pillage Snowmit's stock. He doesn't seem to mind too much. This story is exceptionally cool, too. He's been playing with time a lot. Funn.
On the subject, Snowmit and I are working on a zine-like booklet of short stories. I'll keep you posted about it.
Off the subject, this is great.
In one minute and thirty seconds you will come through the door and ask me how my day was.
"Ok," I'll tell you.
"Anything exciting happen?" you'll ask.
"No," I'll say.
Something about my tone will seem strange to you but you'll let the matter drop and launch into a description of your day. I won't pay attention but you won't notice. You will notice that when we go to dinner at the Hendersons' I seem distant and cold. In the car ride home, you'll ask if anything is wrong. I'll tell you that everything is fine and it will be plain to you that this is a lie. You'll press the issue and the resulting argument will encompass every grievance we've ever had with each other and will come to rest, as always, on my insistence that your brother never be invited to our dinner parties again. We will go to sleep in a stony silence.
In two weeks and three days, you'll call your best friend Julie for advice. You'll tell her that you've become increasingly troubled by the deterioration of my mood. That I continue to remain distant and cold. That my sense of humour, though still witty, has lost much of its charm and become increasingly misanthropic. You'll wonder at your own sanity because, though you find yourself feeling like I'm never paying attention, I'll never lose a thread of conversation. She'll convince you that our marriage is simply going through one of those rocky patches and make you laugh until your sides hurt. You'll thank her.
In one month and six days, Mike, from work, will call you at your office. He'll say that he's worried about me, that I don't seem to be my old self. He'll tell you that lately, it just seems like I'm going through the motions. The two of you will end up comparing notes on my behavior and speculating on possible causes. No answers will present themselves but you'll agree to keep in touch. You'll end the call relieved that you have someone that you can talk to about this.
One minute.
In three months and eleven days, my surprise birthday party will be a total disaster. This will come as quite a blow to you, given the amount of effort that you and Julie will have devoted to the project. You'll stand there, mouth agape, tears welling in your eyes as I point to each hiding place and name the people therein. The rest of the evening will be very uncomfortable and we'll leave early. In the car ride home, you'll explode at me. I'll look at you and it will seem like my eyes are burning a hole through your head.
"Why don't you talk to Mike about it?" I'll say.
In three months and twelve days, you will have sex with Mike on the leather couch in your office. It will be at 1:34pm. You will have just come back from meeting him for lunch at Dorian's. You will have barely avoided having a breakdown there in public and he will offer to help you back to your office. You'll sit down together on the couch and you will be crying and he will be holding you and then it will happen. I don't think that I can forgive you for this. I know I can't.
In three months and twelve days, you will return home from work to find me waiting in the kitchen. I will confront you with my knowledge of your affair. I will describe everything exactly as it happened in flat unemotional tones. You will be too surprised to lie about it and will confess to everything. There will be shouting and crying and apologies and in the end, we will hold each other and I will tell you I love you and you will tell me you love me and we will make up.
In three months and twenty seven days, you will notice that my mood has deteriorated again, that the distance has set back in. Not knowing where to turn, you will first call Julie and then Mike. This cycle will repeat itself three times.
In two years, three months and fourteen days, we will be divorced. You will continue to build your career and though you will lose touch with Mike, you will remember him fondly. I will devote my life to archeology.
Thirty seconds.
The artifact was brought back by one of the first expeditions to the region. You may even remember what it looks like. It's been sitting on my desk in the study for the past three years. An approximate translation of its name would be "Wish Box". For months, I've been devoting my free time to solving its puzzle. This morning, I did. As I slid the last bar into place, there was a click and a hum. The figures spoke to me and they told me that I had one wish. I took it. So they showed me everything that happens from the moment that you come through the door to the day that I die on an expedition to Africa.
Ten seconds.
I love you.
Three seconds.
Two.
One.
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