Women are the root of all evil. Women and money my friend. I’d recalled this line from some movie I’d seen. My 5 year old brain did not see the sense in that when there were a whole host of other problems to worry about like baths and hospital folk with needles. That is until that fateful day when I was left for dead by the girl of my dreams. Actually I don’t really remember my dreams from back then but I can safely assume that she starred in most of them. In fact I don’t really remember anything about her. Let’s just call her Jia for now.
Jia was the queen of the playground. She looked a stunner in her uniform and tiny matching plastic accessories. Yes, the same grey uniform that made the rest of us look like rejects from a Nazi movie production set. And she had the cutest little ponytail to top it all off. Real cover girl material this. I had eyes only for her. Well her and that killer rocking horse next to the slides. Not that it really mattered. I had no luck with her (or with that damn horse for that matter!). In fact I'm confident that she wasn’t aware of my existence.
But in that little utopia that was my head, we were the best of friends, the worst enemies and everything else in between. And I was always the perfect gentleman. Letting her have my place in the line for the slides, taking my finger out of my nose when she looked and... well there isn’t much a guy can do for a girl in kindergarten. But it was frustrating not to get any attention from said girl. You hear all that talk about being blinded by love and I was slowly starting to realize the validity of the statement. Take for instance this one time. It was a hot Saudi summer afternoon. The bell had just gone off and we were shuffling off to our buses to get back home. Jia lived two streets down from my house. This worked out perfectly for me since I got to share a bus ride with her every day. Only today wasn’t like every other day. my parents had moved house over the weekend and in spite of Amma's repeated reminders about switching buses (accompanied by the constant rolling of my eyes at her) I happily followed Jia into her bus with a head full of daydreams and not a clue as to the size of the drama that was about to unfold. The bus ride was pretty standard with me uttering monosyllables and her just nervously playing with her ponytail. I was kind of bummed out when the bus pulled over at my regular stop. She almost seemed relieved (though I’m sure that was just the sun playing tricks with my eyes). I hopped off and walked around the corner. One look at my old building and the daydreams were replaced by a cold sinking fear. I stepped into the building and knocked on the door knowing full well that Amma wouldn’t be there to open the door for me. But a small part of me kept praying that she'd lost her way back from work too. Five minutes later and all hope had vanished. Obviously no one answered the door. So I did what any resourceful 5 year old would do in my place - I cried... and how! Mustering up all possible energy I screamed at the top of my very asthmatic lungs. Soon I’d woken up all the housewives in the building from their afternoon naps. In spite of being on the receiving end of some very angry glares, I was glad because in the crowd were a few familiar faces. Soon I was inside a cool kitchen drinking Sunkist while phone calls were made by responsible adults. And before I knew it I was in my car riding back home and reciting tall tales of my bravery and dishing out advice on how important it was to keep a cool head like I did through tough situations.
Needless to say Jia ceased to become a primary concern for me and I never ever ever mixed up buses again - well, until we shifted houses again anyway. I wonder where she is today and whether she has an inkling about the trauma she caused her boyfriend/stalker in kindergarten.
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