Joel told me I did my patented fell-from-the-face-of-the-earth stunt again and I guess I did. But of course, it wouldn’t be without VALID reason. I got sick. I contracted the Christmas virus.
I thought it was my usual allergic-to-everything rash so I didn’t make too much of it. Except that my dad (who was sitting across the dinner table) couldn’t stand the sight of my red face and weeping eyes.
“That’s it!” He stood up and wiped his hand on a dishcloth. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”
I looked up from my porkchops and glanced at my mom, wondering what was wrong with her again that we had to rush her to the hospital before she finished dinner. It turned out that my dad was referring to me and so I had to wave forlornly at what’s left of my porkchops and got admitted to the neighboring hospital.
Fortunately it was just an overnight stay. The dermatologist diagnosed it as P-something-or-other-Rosea, commonly known as the Christmas virus. I kid you not. Apparently, this viral infection goes around when the weather turns cold (hence Christmas season) and affects sensitive-skinned people. It’s not contagious (of course, I never acquire anything contagious. As Queen, I aim to be unique in everything, even illnesses) but is nastily itchy (like chicken pox). The virus runs its course of three weeks, after which the rashes subside and turn black. The black scars DO NOT go away. I’ll have to wait for another month before dermatologists could bleach the scars to my original color. And oh, have I mentioned that the rashes form the image of a Christmas tree on the person’s back? Again, I kid you not.
So here I am, trying valiantly not to scratch at the itchy red Christmas tree on my back and hoping that I’ll have it treated before the bikini season starts. After all, it’s passé to have a Christmas-themed “tattoo” in summer.
A rush of love swept over her as she looked up into his face, holding him tight. She burrowed her face in his neck as he shuddered from the throes of passion.
“I love you.” She whispered as he fell exhausted against her, his own face buried in her hair.
“You just don’t understand how I feel.” She told her friend Alex.
Alex had always been against the relationship, even before it started. It was a year ago when she first told Alex that James had been hanging around her.
“You watch yourself with that man. No good would come out of that relationship.” He warned her. “Mark my words.”
When she admitted that she was dating James, Alex slapped his forehead in disgust.
“You can’t judge our relationship. Only we know how much we love each other. We’re the ones who feel it, not you.” She insisted.
“When was I ever wrong when it comes to you and your love affairs, Leila?” Alex demanded.
She just laughed it off and promised him that she can take care of herself.
“Just don’t come crying to me when he breaks your heart.” He said. “And he will, you know.”
James propped himself on an elbow to look down into her face. He lifted a hand to brush her hair from her forehead.
“You’re amazing.” He whispered, a satisfied smile curving his lips. “I can’t get enough of you.”
She sighed happily, reaching up for another kiss.
What was Alex thinking? Actually lecturing her to give up this beautiful happiness she and James found together? She felt sorry for him. Perhaps he wasn’t fortunate enough to experience the kind of love she found.
It was difficult when James couldn’t fit her into his schedule. She had to adjust hers around his free time so they can spend time together. “Quality, not quantity,” she kept reminding herself when she feels neglected. “You knew what you were getting into when you fell for him.” She tried her best to understand. And in her head, she was prepared for anything.
But in her heart, she wasn’t.
She watched him as he buttoned his shirt and he caught her wistful face reflected in the mirror. He turned and dropped a kiss on her head.
“Don’t look at me like that, Leila. You know I can’t stay long. I wish I could, but the wife is getting suspicious.”
She just looked at him and nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She learned to wait until he left before she gave in to her tears. When the door closed softly after him, only then would she curl into a tight ball of pain. “I love him. I love him so much but I can’t do this anymore. I just can’t.”
Alex looked up from the newspaper. “I told you not to come to me-“ he began. But he saw her face. “Ah heck,” he said, rubbing her back soothingly as she sobbed. “Come on, I’ll buy you coffee.”
