of iron maidens

I went for the concert. With a friend from another era. It was uplifting. Till such time the tectonic motions of sweaty metal fans had me scrambling towards the aisles. I am significantly weaker today. I fell down twice, almost broke my hand once, smoked kilos of second hand marijuana, perspired like pigs on a treadmill and yet, if it is possible, was the epitome of geniality throughout. I also head banged out of sync a couple of times, but was perversely distracted by this pyt with long hair next to me who was doing it way better than I was. And it remains, by far, the most erotic thing I have seen this year. Not counting my hands, of course.

With fragments of shrieking guitars still buzzing between our ears, we scurried for a drink afterwards. The bars were sparsely populated. With a sprinkling of b-list celebrities and people who were desperate to achieve that status. But we stood quiet, talking about old relationships and mentally sorting and tagging the sashaying women as they went about their birdlike ways. With tingling laughter and dropping hemlines, they all looked attractive, approachable and cold.

We drank quick. We ate fast. The alcohol conspired with the nervous system with utmost efficiency. There was a certain numbness that took over the joints. And the eyes, despite the well-known laws of optics, started doing a milder version of the shimmy. We decided we are one short. We headed out to an old joint to cap off the evening with a small whisky before submitting to now, rapidly approaching sleep.

In hindsight, it would possibly be the only decision of the evening that I would possibly rethink. As soon as I walked in, I saw her. Sitting at our usual place. With those she has replaced after me. In the last eleven months, though I have seen her a couple of times, this time I was completely and hopelessly unprepared to see her. She might have noticed me a few minutes before I did though. I'm saying this because it took her only a second, to practise and flash a polite and devoid-of-any-affection smile, in my direction. She is more evolved than I am anyway. I stuttered something. My legs gave way. I don't think I acknowledged her companion either before walking back to my table. I had started trembling. Out of excitement. Out of anger. And I didn't want them to see it.

They left soon, in about five minutes. I know that slow, deliberate walk. Without even casting a look in my direction, the woman that I was in love with had gone. Outside the door. And back into the world without me, again. And I will never know her know again in my life. Or hold her and hear her soothing voice lull me to sleep. Never know what crazy theory she comes up with next. Or see her jump in excitement as she spots yet another magenta something. Or fix her internet connection. Fight over changing surnames. Or visit the places that we have always wanted to.

As my friend held on to me with a 'what did you expect' smile on his face, I gulped down the remainder of the bitter fluid. I don't know if I was expecting anything, really. Maybe look for something in her eyes that I would recognise from happier times. I have done a lot of stupid things in my life. And I couldn't help but wonder how bad I might have been with her. For anyone to turn away with so much force requires an equal, if not more, amount of recklessness.

But she looks just the same. With or without me.

That's Mona Lisa by Don Martin. One of my childhood heroes, he was the one of the reasons why Mad Magazine enjoyed such an iconic status in the 50s through the 80s. He lies immortalised in my head.