Tinker, Tailor

Fiction.

“Do you believe in fate?” she asked, as we both stared blankly at the ceiling.

“I don’t know. I’m open to the idea, but I haven’t decided yet.”

We weren’t supposed to be there. We weren’t supposed to be lying there, naked, exhausted, staring blankly at my bedroom ceiling. We weren’t supposed to have our paths cross that Saturday afternoon just a week ago.

But because I got onto the wrong bus - 74 instead of 174 - really silly I know - and because there was only one empty seat - beside her of course - and because it looked like she was reading Gödel, Escher, Bach - a book I greatly admire, I couldn’t resist.

“Are you reading Gödel, Escher, Bach?”

“Yes, actually,” her eyes still on the page.

“This is one cool book. Do you actually understand it?”

She laughed and looked at me with a twinkle in her eye and this sweetest smile that I can never get enough of. “Well just a bit. Are you gonna help me?”

Although I ended up far from my intended destination, let’s just say that, for the first time, it didn’t bother me one bit.

“Well, I believe in fate,” she replied, turning to face me.

“So you’re saying that we were fated to meet?”

“Yes of course.”

I wasn’t so sure.

She continued, “you seem to find that hard to believe?”

“That’s because we weren’t even supposed to meet!” I blurted, “I could have easily taken the right bus instead of the wrong one. The seat beside you could easily have been empty. You could easily have been listening to your iPod instead. A billion other things could have happened and should have happened to make today nonexistent. This is too much for me.”

“Which is exactly why we’re fated to meet,” she said softly into my ear, as she slid her hand and rested it on my chest.

“What if I decided to test fate by leaving you?” Or was I really testing her?

She fell silent. I turned to look at her, but I couldn’t tell the thoughts she had. I soon noticed that her eyes seemed wet.

“You won’t. I’ll kill you first.”

I was browsing at the humour section of Borders just now. A girl was standing towards the side, flipping through a book. She was quite pretty.

As I moved to the shelf beside her, she moved aside, even though she wasn’t blocking my view at all.

I instinctively quipped, “it’s okay - you’re not that fat.”

She burst out laughing.

The book she was reading must be really funny.

Update below.

Girl: Hello.

Boy: Hello.

Girl: What are you doing?

Boy: Digging a hole.

G: Can I dig with you?

B: You dig your own.

G: I want to dig with you.

B: Ok you dig this. I dig another hole.

G: I want to dig with you.

B: No.

G: Why not.

B: No.

B: Don’t dig my hole. Dig your own hole.

G: You’re not my friend anymore.

B: Ok you dig here with me.

G: No.

B: Why not.

G: I don’t like to dig.

* * *

Update:

Got some comments about this post not making much sense. I didn’t think to explain it when I wrote it, but I now think it’s a good idea.

On the surface, this exchange takes place on a grass patch. The boy, around 5, is randomly digging a hole in the grass using a small stick when the girl comes along to join in - I’ve seen a similar scenario before.

On a deeper level, this type of interaction is a reflection of what often takes place in many relationships.

But, I wrote this primarily to metaphorically express some feelings and thoughts I had at that time. This part I won’t explain, and try not to read too much into it

I was having dinner with this petite friend of mine when she decided to show me some taichi hand reflexology acupressure thingy by pressing at some acupoint between my thumb and my index finger.

It hurt like hell. Which is supposed to mean I have some serious problem, like some terminal disease or something.

And it’s still hurting.

Which is why I can’t blog for now, until things get better.

Saw an ex-colleague get on the bus I was riding in. He spotted me and so, because of social expectations, decided to sit near me.

It may be worth mentioning that my gaydar was bleeping.

The strange thing is that when we were colleagues, it never really crossed my mind that he might be gay, even though we were sort of working together for a short period.

Perhaps I was being extra paranoid today, since it was a one-on-one situation this time, and neither of us were at work.

Anyway, we started catching up a bit, and I can’t remember how the conversation veered to this topic, but he asked me,

“So are you married?”

He’s trying to find out if I’m gay, I thought.

Normally, when someone asks me if I’m married, I’d make some wisecrack, like “maybe after I have kids”, or “would you like to marry me?” (a potentially perilous wisecrack).

This time, I answered very carefully.

“No I’m not. I haven’t found the right girl yet.” I hope he caught the girl part.

I smiled smugly to myself. This should vaporize any hope he still has. Hah!

Anyway, my stop finally came, so we fared each other well after I passed him my namecard.

Half an hour later, I got an SMS from an unknown number.

It was great seeing you!

headache. i mean head pain. note to self: #1. you are no superman. #2. when you fall, do not use head to break fall, especially on concrete.

Thus said my twitter after my fall yesterday.

In case someone out there is concerned, yes, I’m okay enough to blog as you can see. But I suppose the necessary lack of detail in my twitter post made the incident open to the imagination.

Like in this conversation:

Friend: *pokes*
Friend: fell down ah?

Me: shuddup
Me: don’t poke my head
Me: got baluku

(A baluku is that lump you get on your head when you hit it hard on a hard surface.)

Friend: heh heh
Friend: poor boy
Friend: walk properly next time lah

Another one:

[complaining about my pains]
Me: anyway this time is badder than usual
Me: cos i got baluku on my head

Friend: hahaha see lah
Friend: who ask u to peep at girls

For the record, I got the baluku because of a fall while playing basketball.

You may find it weird, but I found the fall particularly interesting.

Not so much because for the past few weeks since I started playing with this bunch, there had been a game-stopping injury every week - someone got his adam’s apple jabbed hard (he couldn’t talk for 2 days after that), another guy got a headbutt to his mouth (so his lips naturally bled) - and for all those injuries I was actually the (accidental) injurer, while this time I was finally the injured…

It happened like this-

The opposing team had possession of the ball. One of them threw the ball to somewhat behind me to pass to his teammate. I expected the pass, so I was fast enough to be able to steal the ball if I dived for it. So I did.

Everything seemed to go slow motion from then.

As I was near-horizontal in the air and about to reach the ball, I noticed that the opponent who was meant to receive the ball also decided make a dash for the ball. And he was under me.

If you’ve played basketball and you’re one who likes to jump, you’d probably be cringing now. Having someone under you while you’re up in the air is bad news. Very bad news.

So the bump eventually came - the light bump when our bodies made contact. And all it takes is a light bump when you’re in the air to knock you completely off-balance - exactly what happened to me.

So there I braced myself as my horizontal body facing up fell down to earth. I landed on my feet first to regain whatever control I could, but that isn’t too helpful when the rest of your body is horizontal and already about to slam onto the concrete.

My butt touched the ground next, but I didn’t want to hurt my tailbone so I let myself roll backwards. But because I went down so fast, the backward roll went too fast - the only part of the fall that wasn’t in slow motion. I rolled straight back, only to have the roll get stopped when I hit my head against the concrete. With a rather loud thud.

By then my legs were high up in the air (I was rolling backwards, remember?) and my torso was near-vertical, so those had to come down. By then the fall was already over and all I was thinking about was is my brain still functioning okay?

By then a concerned crowd was beginning to form - some of them were carefully observing to see if I showed any signs of abnormality (beyond my usual abnormalities), others were asking if I’m alright.

Good I can understand language, I thought as I waved them off so they wouldn’t come too near.

I slowly sat up, clutching and rubbing the back of my head. I wonder if I can still speak. Well, I can still form English sentences in my head, but can I speak?

I’m certain I was subconsciously thinking about what happened to Jill Taylor, a brain scientist who, when she had a stroke, could only make unintelligible noises when she tried to speak. (Check out her fascinating talk on TED)

What better way to find out if I can speak, than by actually speaking? I decided to tell everyone “I’m fine!”, but just before I said it, I decided against it. What if it turns out that I can’t speak, and I start making unintelligible noises? That would make everyone panic!

So quietly and slowly, I got to my feet. Vision is still clear. I seem to be thinking straight. I can recognise faces. I seem ok.

“Ok,” I said tentatively. A perfectly-formed “ok” came out of my mouth. Which means I still can speak. I’m OK! “I’m OK!” I declared, while my hand rubbed the back of the head. “Let’s play on! Whose ball is it?”

* * *

Colophone - I was rubbing the back of my head a lot as I wrote this post.

I was standing in the MRT as usual, because there are never enough seats for me to sit.

But one guy near me had a seat.

There was nothing too remarkable about him - he looked like a typical Indian foreign worker - blue jeans, white polo t-shirt, brown leather safety boots, not too clean-shaven. But otherwise quite normal.

Then something caught my peripheral vision that made me take a second look.

He was wearing a Forever Friends t-shirt, complete with the teddy bear logo.

He must have a very close friend.

(Update below)

So I saw that screamer cleaner again, and I saw that she saw me. And she was still giving me that look. That horrified terrified look, as if I’m the Incredible Hulk or something.

Speaking of the Incredible Hulk, I bet his girlfriend liked him because he gets really big when excited.

The movie itself was so-so, and the climax turned out a little premature - the bad guy was gone before you knew it.

P.S. The bad guy didn’t have his pants on. If you looked carefully, you’d realise that he didn’t have his genitals (or they were really small). No wonder he was so mad.

Update:

Came across an article on the Telegraph on why we scream:

[…]people asked to make frightened expressions had a wider range of vision, faster eye movements and an increased sense of smell as they breathed more rapidly through their nostrils.

So there I was, in the men’s restroom at the office.

(It took me a couple of seconds to settle on “men’s restroom”, as alternatives like “Gents” “toilet” “men’s room” “restroom” and their combinations went through my mind. Why must there be so many terms for the same thing? But that’s another rant for another post.)

I had just micturated, washed and dried my hands, and was about to go out when…

(Yes, I always wash my hands after I micturate.)

As I was reaching to open the door to go out, someone from the outside pushed open the door and stepped in.

It was a Malay woman in her 40s, garbed in the blue uniform of the cleaning company.

She jumped a little in shock when she looked up at me,

And she Screamed.

It wasn’t a long scream of help, but a short scream of shock. But it was definitely a scream. A loud one.

I was expecting her to then laugh or at least smile in embarrassment. But no. She continued looking at me.

Staring at me.

Staring at me in horror, like I was some kind of freak from outer space.

Staring at me, until I decided to ignore her stare, step past her, and walk out, wondering, What The Hell.

I was at a condo clubhouse reading when a boy and his little sister came in. They started looking at some of the magazines on the shelves, and were generally aggravating each other, like what siblings of that age usually do.

Then I opened my laptop.

The darned kids had to come over to see what I was doing. Since it wasn’t the best time to surf adult websites, I went on to check my mail.

Girl: Gmail!

Boy: My daddy uses Gmail too.

Me: So where’s your daddy?

Girl: In Hong Kong.

Me: What’s he doing in Hong Kong?

Boy: Doing business.

Me: So how old are you?

Girl: I’m 7 and he’s 9.

Boy: She has a boyfriend!

Me: Wow I don’t even have a boyfriend!

Boy: Of course lah! You don’t look like the gay type.

Gee. I don’t think I ever heard of gays when I was 9. At least he didn’t get any gay vibes from me.

Me: So which school do you go to?

They told me.

Me: Hey I used to go there too, when I was 7! And when I was 9 too! They eventually kicked me out.

Boy: That’s because you went to secondary school!

Me: Yeah they didn’t want me to be there anymore that’s why I had to go to secondary school.

Girl: So are you still in secondary school?

I’m beginning to like her.

Boy: Of course not lah you crazy.

Me: What do you wanna be when you grow up?

Boy: A scientist.

Me: Ah a mad scientist with curly hair!

Boy: Hahahah!

Girl: I want to be a scientist and a cook!

Me: I think I prefer cooks. That’s because I like to eat!

Me: Where’s your mommy?

Boy: She’s swimming.

Me: And why aren’t you swimming?

Girl: Mommy only allows us to swim in the morning and the afternoon.

Me: That’s because it’s dark now. If you drown, it’ll be quite hard to find your body.

Me: Anyway I think it’s time for you to go now. I think your mommy’s here.

I think they enjoyed the conversation. They waved and said goodbye when they left.

(Updates below)

My shoulders were hurting the last few days, so I had to complain to a friend as we were having dinner.

Me: My shoulders are hurting!

Friend: [Proceeds to give me useless advice, none of which I remember.]

Me: The most I just have to amputate my arms lor…

Friend: Haha don’t be silly…

Me: What’s wrong with amputating? Just don’t ask me to hug you anymore…

Update

I just came across a Newsweek article on Body Integrity Identity Disorder (BIID),

an exceedingly rare condition characterized by an overwhelming desire to amputate one or more healthy limbs or become paraplegic.

Besides not being able to hug people, here are some other things I might have trouble doing if I amputate both my arms at the shoulders:

1. Shake hands when I meet someone

2. Aim properly when I pee

3. Eat peanuts using chopsticks

4. Lift dumbbells to enlarge my biceps

5. Do that V sign when I camwhore

6. Swim breaststroke

7. Wash the dishes (maybe I can, but no one would want me to)

8. Wear long-sleeved shirts (I can, but I probably won’t)

9. Carry my backpack

1o. Dunk the basketball

Come to think of it, I might still be able to hug people. Except that some people might find it awkward.

MSN chat with a friend.

Friend: are u gay?
Friend: secretly gay?
Friend: i have a guy friend who’s interested

Me: WARRAU!!!!!!!!!!
Me: interested in what/!?

Friend: in ur macho-ness
Friend: he says he’s feeling hot right now just thinking abt u

Me: eh he reads my blog?!?

Friend: no

Me: eh then?

Friend: he does now
Friend: hahahaha

Me: he met me before?

Friend: no

Me: u better not show him my pics!

Friend: hahahaha, why?

Me: wait he lose control

Friend: he’s a bouncer, u guys can bounce together.

Me: lucky i don’t club
Me: wait he frisk me thoroughly

Anyway, it’s time to review her “friend” status.

I just found out that entry to museums will be free this Saturday (31 May), as it’s International Museum Day.

Of course I’ll be at one of them.
Of course I won’t tell you which one I’m visiting.
Sorry stalker

Anyway here’s a photo I took some time back at the Singapore Art Museum. I was totally impressed by this little girl - she was stopping to admire every painting.

She’s gonna be so hot when she grows up.

P.S. Here are the official details of the International Museum Day 2008.

I don’t feel very articulate today. But I’ll still try to describe the somewhat curious incident today. In short sentences.

I was at Starbucks.
I was reading. Trying to read.
Right behind me were 2 guys.
One looked Chinese, the other Caucasian.
They were conversing.
I could hear them clearly.
The Chinese guy had an American accent.
The Caucasian guy had some strange Asian accent.
Yes, I was eavesdropping.
They were exchanging stories.
About how people keep assuming that they had a girlfriend or wife.
Yes, they were gay.
(No, they didn’t hit on me.)

People who know me well know that I can’t think when I’m hot. When I’m feeling hot I mean. As in, feeling hot because the weather is hot, and not because I’m feeling sexy. Besides, I don’t think I ever feel hot when I’m feeling hot. I mean, I don’t feel sexy when the weather is hot.

And the weather today is disgustingly disturbingly distraughtfully hot. I had the misfortune of having to work most of the morning at a cafeteria that had no air conditioning. Of course, I was surly, sweaty, and sticky. Especially for someone like me who loves the cold - remember my post about my 15 degree office aircon?

Which makes me long for cold weather. Like the last time I went to Europe…

I was at an airport for transit. Having a bit of time to spare, I decided to get out of the building to take a walk outside.

It was 4 degrees Celsius.

I was wearing a long sleeved t-shirt. My jacket was in the luggage somewhere in some corner of the airport.

As I stepped out into the 4 degrees Celsius air outside, I felt a little foolish, as everyone else was in thick winter jackets while I was in my flimsy long sleeved t-shirt. It turned out to be one really cool and refreshing hour of strolling.

That same night, I was in another country, settling into my hotel room. The temperature was around minus 5 degrees Celsius. I decided to go for a walk.

Yes, with my jacket, over my long sleeved t-shirt. I also had a pair of jeans, a pair of socks. And, a pair of crocs.

Within half a minute, I was rushing back to the hotel. The strong wind was freezing my ears and face off. No wonder people needed balaclavas, other than to rob banks.

A few minutes later, I was out there again, with a lot more confidence and clothing - a fleece beanie over my head and ears, my jacket again, a wool cardigan, my long sleeved t-shirt, long johns for both my body and legs, my jeans and socks. And the pair of crocs.

Amazingly, normal socks were crocs are good enough for subzero temperatures.

As I was saying, people who know me well know that I can’t think when I’m hot. And since I can’t think, I can’t blog. Just a quick post to let you know

So I was invited for some buffet lunch thingy to celebrate the successful launch of the product that I was involved in creating. It was nice to be back at their office after so long, since they were really a great bunch to work with - friendly, great sense of humour. I guess it helps that all of them are female.

So there was I, contentedly munching on my slice of watermelon, when I noticed that I was surrounded by 3 of them in the group.

“So, are you attached?” asked the main client rep. If you remember, she was the one mentioned in this post.

“Eh why do you wanna know?”

“Just answer the question!” She’s very assertive.

“I’m detached. Hey but you’re already married. And you have kids!”

“I don’t care. That means you’re not attached lah! This is good news!”

“Wah you want to introduce some people to me? Sure, you can get them to form a queue here.”

“Siao! No lah there’s someone who’s interested in you and she’s recently available. You must quickly grab the chance!”

“Who is it?”

“You look around - the one who’s tall and slim and pretty!”

I looked around. There were something like 50 people there, and around 45 of them were female.

“Uhmmm… they all look quite short to me.”

“Don’t pretend lah. You know who it is!”

Anyone who thinks I have a good job doesn’t understand the problems I have to face in my job.

Neck, shoulders, arms, hands, back, butt, thighs, feet.

I’m not exaggerating, but my muscles in those places are aching like mad today. Seems like only my calves and shin muscles got spared.

Notes to self:

• If you haven’t been playing intense basketball for about a year and a half, take it easy when you’re playing your next game. Your self esteem does not have to depend on how many points you can score.
• Taking it easy does not mean playing intense basketball for 3 hours. 1 hour or so should be fine.
• Do a bit of stretching before you start the next time. I know you never ever did that. But you’re slightly older than you were the last time, and now you need stretching.
• When your thighs start to tighten and cramp up during the game, it does not mean that you keep playing like a mad man. It means that you sit down and rest.
• When you’re moving slow motion and you can’t jump anymore because your legs feel like lead, it means you should sit down and call it a day.

In short, I don’t just need major and radical massage - I need surgery!

But hell, I’d do this again anytime. It’s worth all the pain.

I’m sitting here in a cantankerous mood because it’s past midnight and it’s still so hot.

Those who know me well know that I don’t function well when it’s too hot. I’m like a computer CPU chip - when it’s overheated, things don’t function properly, and the computer might even hang.

So here I am, sitting in the 30 degC heat.

I can’t help but think about an office I used to work in.

It was cool. Literally.

The office was a small room with just me and my colleague.

After he assured me that he liked that cold, I decided to tweak the central aircon vent, so that more cool air could come into the office. The temperature fell from around 23 degC to 18 to 19 degC.

On some evenings, it dropped to around 15 or 16 degC.

I know because I had a thermometer stuck on my computer monitor.

Once in a while, colleagues would pop by the office. Common comments included

“So cold in here!”

“It’s like a fridge in here!”

“How do you all stand it in here?”

Anyway, during those days, our boss was this very chatty and sociable person. He enjoyed popping by our office, partly because both of us had pretty wide knowledge so there were many areas we could talk about that was unrelated to work, and partly because we were the only ones who didn’t ignore him.

The problem was, he could spend a couple of hours chatting with us, so that it actually interfered with our work.

So when he started complaining about the cold, it was good news. It meant that he wouldn’t stay very long in our office.

Or so we thought.

I still remember him sitting there on the chair, with his arms crossed and hugging himself while bouncing his legs to warm himself, while excitedly chatting with us. It was a strange sight.

But his conversations still lasted as long.

Ah well. I miss the aircon.

I’ve been jaywalking a lot these days.

I used to walk to the nearest pedestrian crossing if it’s within 30 metres. I used to wait for the lights to turn green before crossing the road if I’m at the junction. Yes, I was just like any typical law-abiding Singaporean.

Maybe it’s all the indoctrination I received as a kid. From the school, from the parental elements - they made me believe that crossing the road is a risky procedure, and that following traffic rules ensures that all is and remains well on planet earth. Or at least on Singapore roads.

Then one day I saw the light. Jaywalking isn’t as bad as they claim it to be. Maybe jaywalking isn’t a good idea if you’re a young kid, but it’s definitely a good idea if you’re a normal healthy adult.

Here’s why:

1. Jaywalking saves time. Every time you wait at the junction for the lights to turn green, precious seconds are ticking away. On your deathbed, you’d be wishing that you spent your time more wisely, rather than waiting like a fool at the junction.

2. Jaywalking is exciting. I often hear people complain that Singapore’s a boring place. Pure bull. Imagine a car 10 metres from you driving straight towards you at 100 kilometres per hour while flashing its headlights. Is that not exciting?

3. Jaywalking is convenient and inexpensive. Sure, reverse bungee-jumping is exciting as well, but can you afford to do it everyday? For jaywalking, you can do it almost everywhere - near your home, near your school, near your workplace. And it’s cheap too! Sure, you may have to pay for it, but that’s extremely rare. And even if you do, it’s still cheaper than reverse bungee-jumping on average.

4. Jaywalking is liberating. After all these years of blind conformance to rules and regulations, you have become like a caged animal. When the door of the cage is opened, it doesn’t occur to you to step out. But remember: you were born free. You weren’t born to be bound by the shackles of stifling rules and regulations - you were born to roam free. You were born to jaywalk.

5. Jaywalking builds confidence and self-esteem. Confidence and self-esteem is important for success. I’m not sure if any research has been done on this, but I’m certain that research will show that jaywalkers tend to be more successful in their careers and have better sex lives.

6. Jaywalking lowers risk of heart disease. Besides career and “interpersonal” gains, jaywalkers, due to the constant excitement, eventually learn to be calm. Because they are used to 1 tonne vehicles screeching beside them and drivers hurling loud words at them, stressful situations in life, like the boss firing them, or catching the wife in bed with another woman, are seen in perspective. Blood pressure doesn’t rise, heart rate remains constant, and the stressful situation is soon over, just like you eventually reach the other side of the road.

7. Jaywalking keeps you alert, and keeps you from becoming complacent. Complacency has become a serious problem in Singapore, which is why dangerous terrorists can escape. When you jaywalk, you don’t take for granted that the car will stop for you. If those prison guards were jaywalkers, you think Mas Selamat could have escaped?

8. Jaywalking keeps drivers alert, and keeps them from becoming complacent. Obviously, drivers have to keep a lookout for you when they drive. Yes, you don’t just benefit yourself, others benefit from you jaywalking too.

9. Jaywalking makes it hard to tail you. Whether you’re a cheating husband or a spy, jaywalking is a good method to keep private investigators or undercover cops from tailing you. When you perform a death-defying jaywalk, it would be very dumb of them to follow you across the road - they risk getting spotted by you, even if they’re not hit by a car.

10. Jaywalking impresses your date. Think about it - your date has probably gone through 10 other dates before you, all of them have been dull and boring, and she is just about to archive you under the “dull and boring” folder when you hold her by her arm and walk into oncoming traffic. After the surround sound of horns and screeches mingled with her screams has subsided, and after she eventually calms down a little, she’ll feel forever indebted to you for snatching her from the jaws of death, while displaying incredible bravery and sangfroid. Perfect timing to give her a comforting embrace if she’s not already wrapped around you. Be careful though - she might take advantage of the opportunity to tear off your clothing.

The hot weather these days is driving me nuts.

Dear Wayne,

I hope you’re not bearing a grudge since my last confession to you.

Yes, I have another confession and apology to make.

You may recall Chemistry, particularly the times we were in the lab.

If I remember correctly, you had one of the best Chemistry grades. I, on the other hand, was more interested in conducting my own experiments in the lab.

So if you looked at my Chemistry workbook, you would have noticed that many of the pages had stains of different colours - blue, purple, red, yellow, etc. There was even some stain that had silver glitters from some iodine compound.

Yeah, I enjoyed “spilling” coloured solutions onto my workbook, for future reference.

Speaking of spilling, remember the time when there was a lot of sizzling and smoke coming out from the corner of the lab? Yeah, I “spilled” concentrated hydrochloric acid on the concrete floor. That was so cool.

Besides the cool chemicals, who could forget the bunsen burner?

Of course, my workbook didn’t just have colourful chemical stains; many of the pages were burnt at the edges. My workbook had character.

I’m sure you also remember that we had to be careful not to overheat a test tube, or they would just break. For some reason, my test tubes tended to break a lot. Until we had to pay for broken test tubes.

And if the test tube had liquid in it, remember that if you overheated the test tube, the liquid inside would sometimes spurt out?

Remember the time when the hot liquid from my test tube accidentally spurted out and landed on you?

If you’re beginning to suspect that it wasn’t really an accident, then I must confess that your suspicions are not unfounded. I aimed it at you.

I mean, you were after all sitting in the seat in front of mine, so please don’t take it too personally.

And ah, the test tube holder.

Besides overheating the test tubes, I’m sure you tried overheating the test tube holder as well. Till it became red hot. Well maybe you didn’t, but I certainly did.

What does a 16 year old boy do with a red hot test tube holder?

Yes of course. He presses it against his workbook to see how many pages it would sear through. (I think it was around 5.) And searing the wooden work bench top as well.

I’m sure you understand that one eventually gets tired of searing inanimate objects, so, you know, one starts thinking of alternatives…

Like that day when I was holding my red-hot test tube holder in the flame when a thought crossed my mind as you were standing at your seat right in front of me as you usually did, and with your torso bent forward. In other words, your butt was facing me.

I mean, it was inevitable that that thought cross my mind, right?

Of course, being a good guy at heart, I didn’t really think it was a good idea. I mean, it was a good idea, good as in funny, but not good as in I didn’t really want to do it. I mean, I didn’t want to be the one to do it.

That was when I motioned to Nick, your lab partner. I showed him the red-hot test tube holder, and pointed to your ass.

He gave me a big grin, and took the test tube holder from me.

That was when it dawned on me that he was actually going to do it. Hey, I even cringed!

I still remember your loud scream as you jumped up and clutched your ass. Nick and my lab partner Pete were laughing away. Okay, I was probably laughing too, despite the guilt. It was funny.

What I didn’t expect was that you didn’t pummel Nick into pulp. You just gave him a very angry stare. I must say that I admired your self control.

The other thing I didn’t quite expect was to see you wear that same pair of trousers a the some days later. Yeah, we knew it was the same pair because the brown almond-shaped burn mark could be clearly seen.

And it remained indelibly there till we graduated, seared forever on my mind.

Your ex-classmate,

tinkertailor.