Dial “A” For Inspiration

I had just begun to feel sorry for my dried out imagination when I remembered “A”. She’s the friend I turn to when I’m at a loss for stories or when my imagination hits a blank wall. It does, believe me! Let’s face it, I lead an ordinary life and my fancy work-eat-sleep routine does nothing for my blank-wall phases. Does that mean I sit in a dustbin facing the wall at the corner of the room in a sulk? No way. I just turn to “A” for inspiration.

Chasing after random kerosene dripping eunuchs in an attempt to save them from we-know-not-whom, choosing to set up circus tents until her arms turn leaden, breaking up street fights with just a few words are the norm in the world according to A. I lap up the stories and repeat them to willing ears until the copy right is finally mine and mine alone. As A’s memory is slowly fading with age, I’ve taken it upon myself to preserve the memory of her first day as a student in the USA by writing about it here.

The One Where She Saved The Day 

“A” jerked awake, her jetlagged sleep disturbed by the distant screams of a woman in distress. Groggy, yet alert to the call of distress, our thin-as-a-reed heroine dashed across the hallway and knocked with all her might on the guilty apartment door. The door opened slowly followed by a moment of silence.

“A” was confronted by a swarthy, mammoth of a man in white jocks who cocked an eyebrow at her in polite enquiry.

A: Eh, I thought I heard a woman scream out for help from your apartment.

White Jocks: You heard wrong.

A: But…. (White Jock cuts her off and begins to shut the door when a half naked woman scampers into the room waving out for help)

A:  Could it be the woman behind you? You know, the one who's trying to say something to me right now.

White Jocks: No! Also,it’s none of your business. (Blocks the woman’s escape route and turns to shut the door)

Seeing red, “A” brandished her weapon of choice and threatened nothing less than death if the man didn’t let the woman go. The fella looked at the crazy little Indian thoughtfully and finally gave in.

White Jocks: Okay, have it your way. Just know that she chose to come here with me.

Woman in Distress: Get me out of here, please.

So get her out she did (let’s overlook the fact that the big fella didn’t care anymore) before returning to her studio apartment for some much needed sleep.

Her weapon of choice?   *drum roll*  A FREAKIN’ BUTTER KNIFE!

~~~~~

Footnote:  In reality, the plot was thicker, the story darker, the drama bigger and the knife a wee bit sharper i.e. if we are to believe A’s latest version  in which it turns into a kitchen knife. Months after the cops walked out the door, our heroine called so she could narrate the incident for my safekeeping. As all good friends would do, I erased the darkness and held onto the light for her sake. In this case, a 'light' butter knife!

~~~~~All’s well that ends well~~~~~