FORGETFUL ME
By Pol Arellano
Geraldine lives across the street.
She has been my neighbor for almost six years now.
She’s quite easy on the eyes – Slim, a gorgeous brunette.
Her almond shaped eyes are taupe. I know this because my favorite baseball cap is in that same exact shade.
She has a beauty mark on her left brow. It grows bigger when she smiles.
Her dark hair frames her rosy cheeks, and hides her scar, at the right side of her forehead.
She’s a looker, alright.
One day she painted her whole house pink.
Pink, of all colors! Not the delightful shade of pink, the disastrous kind – a cross between metallic and something else horrid. It’s the kind that makes a passerby think that he’s lost in an alternate universe. A horrifyingly pink alternate universe.
Thank goodness she doesn’t have plants.
Or dogs.
It took me about three days before I had the courage to push her wooden pink gate.
And stare at her pink brick pathway.
And ring her little pink doorbell.
“Just a second!” as always, she shouted.
Hey, her voice is sultrier. It’s almost as if it’s sexier. I swear, she sounds like someone famous.. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I..
She opened the door.
But I’m not quite sure if she is Geraldine.
“Uh, I’m looking for Geraldine. Is she home?”
“Billy.. You silly, silly man! It’s me, Geraldine!”
She can’t be Geraldine, she just can’t be!
Her eyes, they’re no longer taupe, they’re astoundingly blue.
Her beauty mark is gone.
Her hair is blonde. Short, with bangs.
And highlights, even.
“But, you’re not her.” I said.
“No, Billy, it really is me.” She said, full of confidence and conviction. She even smiled a bit wider, which emphasized her cute dimples.
Geraldine doesn’t have dimples.
“But I’ve known her for six years, she looks nothing like you.” I said, starting to frown at the attractive looking woman in front of me.
“Billy, listen, why don’t you come in and have a cup of tea? You need a warm cup of English tea to warm you up and bring you to your senses.” She smiled even broader this time.
I didn’t think it was possible to smile that wide.
Aghast at my own abandon, I walked inside the little pink house.
Maybe it was the inner Bond in me, or maybe it’s the inner Depp that pushed me to come with her inside Geraldine’s house.
My shoes trampled a pink runner. Hah, serves Geraldine right for putting a pink runner on top of a pink floor. This place is ridiculous!
The lady made me sit on a large, Victorian couch, which is needless to say, pink. She left me for a while at the company of Geraldine’s pink coffee table and pink television set.
And pink walls.
And pink cabinets.
And pink duck ornaments.
I was beginning to suffocate with all of the pinkness.
She came back, finally, with a tray. (Pink, of course.)
In the tray, there were two small tea cups, intricately designed ones. (Which happened to be pink, by the way.) There was also a tray of English muffins.
Need I say the color of the muffins?
“Here, Billy, have a cup. And please do try the muffins, I made them myself.” She said proudly, her smile permanently tattooed on her pretty face.
“Thank you for the tea, miss. But I really, really need to see Geraldine. I have to ask her something.” I said as I slowly took a sip of the tea. When I noticed that the tea was also pink, it was too late. I already took a couple of swigs. Spitting it out is futile.
“Billy, I really am Geraldine. What must I do to convince you?” she said, starting to look hurt.
“I’m sorry ma’am, I didn’t mean to offend you, it’s just that I really know what Geraldine looks like, and sounds like. You look nothing like her. Your voice is different too. Please tell me where Geraldine is, I really need to ask her something. I’ve known her for six years. I know her. And she’s not you.” I slowly said, staring at her face, gauging her facial reaction.
She just sat there, nodding her head as I spoke.
She was freaking me out.
“What makes you so sure that I’m not Geraldine, Billy?’
Her forehead was creased with lines now, but the smile never left her face. I noticed that she wasn’t drinking her tea anymore. She just sat there, staring at me intently, gauging my facial reaction. Is she studying me or do I have bird shit on my hair?
“Just tell me where Geraldine is, okay lady? I just want to ask her a question alright? Just one question. If she’s out, tell me where she is and I’ll fetch her.” I was beginning to lose patience. She was getting on my nerves.
“I can’t, Billy.” She said, almost apologetically.
Yes, that’s when I lost my temper. The woman is a complete weirdo. She was freaking the hell out of me! She started to look more sinister by the minute. Her eyebrows became furrier; her eyes were a couple of shades less stunning. She was aging right before my eyes.
“Tell me where she is or I’m calling the cops! I mean it! Tell me where she is lady, or heaven forbid, I’ll carry you to the police station!” I stood up, forgot about the pink cup and spilled pink tea on the pink hardwood floor.
The lady smiled at me, but her smile is laced with apparent melancholia. Her eyes grew dim. She looked tired. She looked so tired.
The deep dimples were gone. I searched her face and blinked my eyes. But the dimples were gone!
Her short blonde bob is not blonde at all. It is gray! Why did I only notice this now? My eyes are playing tricks on me! Why did I ever go inside this house?
“Who the hell are you?? Who are you, lady??” I shouted, moving backward, trying to look for a door, a pink door or any of the other grisly pink windows! I need to get out of this place! My hands were trembling uncontrollably, I don’t know why, but I can’t make them stop, I can’t make them stop! The room was getting pinker and pinker. I hate the damn color! I screamed to make everything stop.
To make everything right.
To push away my fears.
Just like a damn fag, I screamed.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!
Billy, hush.. Listen to me..
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!
“Geraldine is dead, Billy.
Must we go through this week after week?
She’s dead – Like the way she was dead last year, and the year before that..
WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU SAYING, LADY?? WHERE IS SHE??
..She’s dead Billy, I’m sorry..
..But it is good that you now truly realize that I am not Geraldine.
It is a noticeable improvement. You were able to reason out this time; defend that I am not, and could not be Geraldine, and it is a very, very good improvement..
YES, YOU’RE NOT HER! YOU’RE NOT HER!! SHOW HER TO ME!
..Please do come back, Billy. Three days from now.
I HAVE TO ASK HER SOMETHING! PLEASE TELL ME WHERE I COULD FIND..
BUZZ. BUZZZ. BUZZZZZ.
“Yes Doctor Greene?”
“We’re through.”
Pol Arellano 