Remember the future

Posted by SgtPepper | Posted in | Posted on Saturday, October 11, 2008

"I didn't knew you were so into Sade..." you say as you look trough my stuff

"Well, isn't it a tad obvious honey?" I laugh, sharing that accomplice look we have at times "No, really, I just started reading it a while ago and bought some more" I said, going back to my work.

"I see" you say, putting "Trip to Italy" back on the shelf

"Isn't a little creepy you're looking trough my stuff with me in front of you?" I asked from the screen of the laptop

"You can't that's-creepy me, not after the way we met" you say, looking at the pictures

"Thanks for reminding me so..." I say, feeling a little embarrassed, and kinky, but mostly embarrassed.

"Oh! What's this!" you say, taking a photo album, one of those old ones which used to be in book form. You open it while I stand up running to get it from you

"Hey! that's personal!" I yell, while trying to take it from you, but of course you're faster and take it to the living room to check it out.

As I go to the living room, knowing perfectly that you have gone half way trough it I sit on the sofa and try to at least explain something

"So, is this your teenage album or something?" You ask, melting and laughing at my younger self.

"Yes it is" I say, trying to find answers for the upcoming questions, for I know you always have upcoming questions.

"Who's this girl? It sure appears a lot" You say, pointing at a 18-year old curled-hair girl smiling besides me 10 years ago

"She's Neena, Neena Kite" I said, remembering the exact moment that picture was taken, how much we laughed when we graduated

"So was she what? like your best friend or something?" You ask, looking at the over 20 pictures of her through the album

"Yes, something like that" I say, in that mysterious-wanna-be voice of mine which you notice at the second

"Don't go all I-don't-care-about-my-past on me pal, there's enough pictures here to fill a stalker board" You say, glaring me. "So what's her story?"

"What do you mean what's her story?" I ask innocently, false innocence.

"Peter, you have an story for people you don't even talk to, you live to observe, you must have something big here" You say, all interested. I guess our passion for stories and profiles and observing has made us stay together all this time.

"Well, we were together since junior high. We were really good friends, beyond that yearbook crap of "I'll remember you forever" and six months later you don't even recognize them in the street kind of friend, I mean the one that stays all night with a drunk you in her backyard while you puke and cry kind of friend. Besides an innate artist and a big dork, she was a genius." I say, leaving some kind of cliff hanger while I drink all the water in that large glass

"By the time we were seniors she had gone to the nationals of both chemistry and biology contests, had won a trip to Romania from some designing thing and so on. But despite all that, she had time for the common friend gatherings and common stuff, although there was nothing common about our high school, it was more like jail." I say, taking a pause to think what will I tell you next, seeing how you know that that is no the important part

"Now, I know how important you think knowing the date history is, so I'll mention that trough her years she beat that fear of Schrodinger's cat, at lest at a level where she was functional. Things kind of worked kind of didn't with some other child-prodigy in school, and I believe she never told me the whole story, you see there was this party that I didn't attended to, but she and him did, and well that and the fact there was a lot of booze was all I knew." I say taking another pause to remember what went on later

"Overall in the dating universe she was not a huge success, but she had her stories. There was this med student that went on for over a year or something, but again, nothing was very concrete, as it is always with her." I went on

"Oh, something important! You know how I had my mentor trough college, Mr. Warren, such a great teacher, person and scientist. If it weren't for him I wouldn't be here... Well, the point is that she had one of her own too, well many to be honest, she had this huge ability to make teachers in general love her. The point is that in senior year she had this doctor who taught her semester 1-5 of Med school before she made any applications. I believe it was a great amount of help, I mean, he even got her on a heart surgery on her first year of med school" I said, remembering how she went on for months talking about it, even thought she had done nothing.

"So, she's your doctor friend, that which sends you a card every Christmas?" You asked, trying to complete the story by yourself, unluckily for you, we're not speaking of the same person.

"Nope, but just explain me how you know I receive a card from a doctor every Christmas?" I asked, quiet intrigued, for we have known each other for less than a year

"You're not the only stalker in this room, love" you said, knowing how much I hate to be named like that

"Well, going on with her story. When she entered med school she knew possibly more than some teachers and was more prepared that most interns. But yet she worked her butt off, always keeping that hint of arrogance and loads of dorkishness that made her so her." I go on, then I laugh, remembering a quick story of hers. "I clearly remember the first time she told me she had to call time of death for her first patient, of course I wasn't there, but yet it was hilarious. The thing is that she didn't carry a watch that day for some reason, so she asked the time, and no one answered her, but the guy who she was calling the time, apparently he was still alive. When we met that day, she still had a terrified expression on her look" I say part talking, part laughing as I remember that day

"Ok, I'll cut to the chase, so far you've told her story and all, but what about now, did she died or something, how come in eight months I haven't met her?" you asked, more intrigued than interested

"Well, that's because we leave in Toronto honey, we don't have time to go visit her all the way to Boston every time we like" I say, kind of regretting having told you so

"So that's why you go to Boston every few weeks?! And here I was, believing you had a very bad heart condition and hoping you'd come with good news twice a month!" you say, more epyphanised than angry. I knew your anger couldn't last long with you feeling like knowing something new

"Hey, on my defense, she IS a heart surgeon" I say, trying to excuse myself for my sudden escapades.



By I'm the penguin
[a story featuring what you think is my "little-notsodirty-secret"]

Comments (0)