Desperate times call for desperate measures

 

 

I hate lies – who doesn’t.

This happened yesterday.

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I had written about V in a previous post – the guy who left for India and never returned for several years, all the time thinking we were in some sort of a relationship; all the time appearing and disappearing at will.

I wrote about him in 3 posts actually – the link for one is here: https://datinginnewyorkblog.wordpress.com/2017/05/12/i-think-i-may-have-dodged-a-bullet/

Well, yesterday he reached a new low – showed me a side of him that I never imagined existed.  But nothing surprises me anymore.

I was at work and got a call. The caller ID said Vishal (no need to hide his name anymore). I know another Vishal and thought it was him and answered the phone excitedly. I heard a voice and right away realized it wasn’t the Vishal that I hoped it was. I hung up. Yes I did.

The phone rang again and again. And again. I kept declining the call.

Finally I saw the typing notification on the phone and waited.

I was informed that Vishal has died.

My heart sank. It broke actually. I sat down. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to call someone. But who would I call in the middle of the day? Plus I was teaching a class.

The phone rang again. I picked up.

“Hello,” I said tentatively.

“Hello madam, Vishal sir has died.”

I didn’t know what to say. “How did it happen?” My ears were burning. I had stepped out of the classroom and into the hallway. I wanted to sit down. My knees were giving in. I looked around and there was no where I could sit, and so I leaned into the wall, hoping it would hold me up.

“And who are you?” I asked.

“I am Babu. Just wanted you to know.”

“And how is his mother?”

“His mother died a year ago madam,” he replied.

No she hadn’t. I had spoken to her just a few months ago.

I could feel the wheels in my brain begin to rotate. I began to listen to the voice more carefully.

“Babu you said? Who are you? His friend?”

“No madam, I work for the family. I am a small man.”

No one says that.

The voice was sounding more and more familiar. I was quiet. Didn’t know what to say next.

“Do you have any message?” said the voice on the other end of the phone.

“Message? Message for who exactly.” Now I was screaming. Now I was angry.

“His mother is dead. He is dead. Who am I sending the message to Vishal?”

I was screaming even more loudly and had walked into the restroom, into a stall and locked the door.

It was Vishal calling, telling me he had died. Bastard!

“What the fuck Vishal. What are you trying to pull here?”

“But madam…” the voice was getting more familiar. The voice wasn’t even trying to alter itself anymore.

“You are a motherfucker you know,” I yelled with tears running down my cheeks.  These were not tears of sadness. I was livid.

I hung up the phone and walked out to the sink. I ran the cold water and left my hands under the faucet. My whole body had heated and I was trembling. My phone was ringing in my pocket. I wasn’t going to pick up. He had gone too far. I looked into my eyes in the mirror and they were red and I almost saw flames coming out of them. The door to the restroom opened and a colleague walked in.

“Hey how you doing? I have to sit in one of your classes some day. I hear they are a lot of fun,” she said as she walked towards the stall.

“That would be great. Anytime you like, just let me know,” I replied. My voice seeming shaky to myself but I think I did okay. To be sure I threw in a cough, so it would seem my voice was strange because maybe I was choking. I washed my cheeks, keeping away from the eyes so as to not make things worse by messing up the eye liner. I needed to pull myself together and get back to class.

I had turned the ringer of the phone off but could feel it vibrating constantly. There were at least 20 missed calls when I finally looked at it.

What could he possibly want to say to me. He lied. He got caught. Now what?

I dried my face with a paper towel, applied the lip gloss I carried in my pocket and this time the face looking back at me looked good enough that no one would notice that I had just been on a roller coaster where I learned that a man that I once loved had died. And then in a few moments learned that he hadn’t, nor had his mother and that he lied so callously.

I opened the restroom door and walked towards the classroom. The phone rang one more time and without thinking I picked up.

“What is it that you want?”

“I want to know what you wanted from him,” said Vishal still referring to himself in the third person and trying to keep up the charade even though he clearly knew that I knew it was him.

“I want nothing from you. I have wanted nothing from you for a very long time. I do however want you to leave me alone and never try to contact me again. Asshole!”

I turned off my phone, walked into my class and finished the last hour where we were learning about how to fortify braising liquids when cooking meats.

This happened yesterday. I haven’t had much time to process it. I am not going to spend much time doing that though. What I have come up with is that this was some desperate ass move to get me to talk to him, feel bad for him, miss him. I will never be sure really. This is the same man who had feigned cancer a few months ago and now we had escalated to death! Just great.

I will not analyze this any further except he is a sick man and needs help.  That help shall not be coming from me however. He can be rest assured about that.

I now feel that I have heard it all.

Until I date again!

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