If he had known I had been drinking, would he have started the conversation? Would he have wished me a happy new month? Would he even have called? I don’t know. I suppose he would have. I am used to guys who rasp, “give me your number,” once a girl says she’s high, hoping for some explicit conversation. I have had a few of those. I always know what I’m saying KMT.
“Happy new month,” he said.
He repeated himself. He had to have known I heard him, loud and clear. Why did he repeat himself? I couldn’t help myself.
“If I step out the door now and get hit by a car, what would you say, or how would you feel about your ‘Happy New month’?” I barked. My tone was sharper than I had intended, but that left-over wine from last night was not making me mellow. It was acting all contrary, making me crazy and hyper and maybe also, it had something to do with the fact that this guy was very presumptuous – calling me sweetheart and sugar. I wish he hadn’t because now I was mad. Plus the wine was egging me on.
“What?” he asked.
“I said,” I said “what if I get hit by a car and die right after you said happy new month to me. How would that make you feel? I am trying to understand why people feel the need to say these cheerful things, when it is obvious how futile they are. Moreover,” I continued, “this happy new this, happy new that is a recent phenomenon. We grew up with Happy New year, period! It was enough, carried us through the year and things were way better. Why the recent need to wish everyone happiness at every turn, and things get progressively worse? Could it be we are relying too heavily on wishes?’
“Well,” he said, thinking fast, “you know, words have power.”
“No they don’t” I responded with great vehemence, then subsided almost instantly. “They don’t. If they did, the churches are packed full several times every week with sweaty, frenzied bodies, conjoined in spiritual orgasm and yelling I shall not die, yet people die every day. Who are they?”
“Well,” he said, “there is a reason for everything.”
“Good, I can relate with that. But if that is so, why bother since you know that Que Sera Sera, irrespective?”
“Let me ask you something,” he said, in a moment of illumination. “If you have a car, say the armoured BMWs, and you cannot use it, it refuses to work, what would you do?”
I thought of owning a car that costs 127 million cool ones, add to that the ensuing scandal of inestimable cost that followed, and hissed, “God punish Satan, I will take it back to the manufacturer.”
“Good,” he said, pleased. “You take it to the manufacturer.” His voice was riddled with didacticism.
“And, the manufacturer fixes it, right?” I asked with feigned innocence.
“Yes!” He said triumphantly. “And God is our manufacturer, so we have issues and—”
“He fixes them? Really? Wouldn’t it be a case of
I know God did it for me when we get what we want
it was the will of God,
God has a better plan,
His ways are not our ways when we don’t?
But we don’t know that he will fix it, do we?”
“No we don’t,” he agreed, “but—”
“So,” I cut in, unrelenting, “why do you need Him then? And why do you need to say those sunny words anyway, when you know deep down that they are meaningless. Why don’t you put your energies in making things work since you know that say what you will and pray all you want, what will be will be? I want to understand why. Help me understand why.”
“Well,” he said, surprised at how the rug has been jerked from under his feet. “We need Him.”
“No we don’t,” I yelled. I was shouting. I think I was bullying this guy. “Let me tell you what you need. You need BMW.”
“Yes, you need BMW. Going strictly by your analogy, your car is bad, BMW fixes it, BMW DELIVERS. You, a product are bad, you go to your manufacturer. He can’t/most likely won’t fix you, he does not always deliver, he doesn’t say why, he cannot be trusted. So, BMW is better than your God.”
Disclaimer; I was using his analogy. Simples. If you don’t like it, find him and tell him to up his game next time.
Oh and by the way, Happy new month.