Forget-Me-Not
A memoir of betrayal
Dear Phillip,
How are you? When you texted me yesterday, I was shocked. I was shocked because I never expected you to be that courageous. After that incident, I assumed our friendship—or whatever you would have called it—has been shattered into pieces and we would never see each other again.
I never knew you were married, nor I bothered to ask you although I saw a shiny thick ring on your left fourth finger once. When I glimpsed at your ring, you seemed nervous and hiding it with gawky postures. I never saw that ring again. That didn’t bother me much because I thought you were a good friend. We could communicate very well. You often talked about Physics and your good old time in Oxford, and I enjoyed being a listener. When you told me that your favorite Forget-Me-Not was dead, I couldn’t erase your presence whenever I see that flower from any plant shops I pass by.
We met each other from a random social event. I was with a friend for a cocktail after Murakami’s exhibition. You approached us and mentioned that your lady friend wanted to say hello to us. We started talking. You sounded witty with your British accent with a slight breeze of Malaysian intonation. We soon became friends and exchanged our contacts. Then we met three times. First time was an express lunch at a casual Asian noodle bar near your company. Then I brought you to my favorite pub for the second time. You loved their beer and finished few pints. As you said you really loved that pub, we went there again and that was our last time of meeting each other.
My phone rang at 1am from an unknown call. Over the phone, I could hear a dim sobbing sound of a lady who claimed to be your wife. I was shocked because she said you archived all messages between us. I was never aware of your wife since I met you. I was confused because there should be no reason for you to hide me from your wife or you do in reverse. She asked what I am to you. Pounded in nerve-racking shocks, I told her that I am one of your close friends, more of your sister in college. I still have no idea why I have said that to her. I didn’t graduate from Oxford, nor I know anyone from your school buddies. I was being accused of a love affair that I was unaware of. It went completely against my morality. I wanted to escape from that situation. When she asked me for evidence the next day, I asked her to ask you instead. You weren’t in the scene, but you let me and your wife confused of each other. You should have explained to either of us.
Your message at Friday 3pm, reminded me of how you loved sneaking away from boring office on every Friday. When I texted you back at Saturday noon, you never replied again. I bet you were spending time with your wife or at least serving family deeds as a responsible husband. To answer your question, I am doing well. I hope you to have great holidays too.
But I stopped going to that pub anymore.
*Please bear in mind that this story is a fiction and all characters are not based on reality.
