I woke up in soft sun light of the early autumn. In my bed alone, I yarned very loudly as if I was waiting for her to notice that I actually woke up; she would then say good morning. I waited for a while, but I only heard a monotonous sound of clock hanging on the wall behind my head. It was eleven thirty already. On such a nice Sunday morning, it is still hard to wake up alone. When Mary was sleeping here, right next to me, we always had a little argument over who would get up first and make coffee. Most of the time (all the time, in fact) I lost and started moving reluctantly while Mary went back to sleep in my bed. Because I liked watching her sleeping face, and she always gave me a sweet morning kiss after coffee was ready, I didn¡Çt hate to get up like that. I had to admit that her kiss had an irresistible power. It had been almost six months since we broke up, but the déjà vu of her kiss was powerful enough to blow off my mind. Trying to get rid of her image, I got up, and made coffee for myself. No argument, no kiss.
How long had I been drinking coffee in pajamas? It was past noon when I realized how upset I became. I shook my head, and opened the window. Fresh, green air blew into my room, fluttered my pajamas and then leafed through the book ¡ÈLove in the Time of Cholera¡É which I left on my bedside table. I knew I couldn¡Çt stick with the past. Living in a mirage of Mary was not what I¡Çd want to do for the whole Sunday. I decided to spend entire day just for myself. Whatever I did, no one would say anything. I washed my face, brushed my teeth mechanically and changed into my favorite pair of Levis 507 jeans and a white T-shirt straight out from dryer. Feeling as if I was reborn, I went into the kitchen that had not been used for a while. Even though I wasn¡Çt really hungry, I wanted to eat something special, for this special Sunday, just for myself. I was the king of my world in this room, and I had ultimate freedom to do anything I wanted.
Ring-ring¡Ä
Annoyingly enough, the phone bell broke into my world. I picked up the phone, rather angrily.
¡ÈHey,¡É said the girl over the phone, in her voice that I¡Çd known well. I froze for a moment. It was MARY! I couldn¡Çt believe she called me again. I thought we had hurt each other too deeply to see again and we had known each other too well to build a normal friendship from the beginning. But somehow she called me, and I had no reason to hang up. She started her conversation with ¡Èyou know¡É just like she did before, and waited for a little while for me to answer ¡Èyeah?¡É
¡ÈYou know,¡É she said.
¡ÈYeah?¡É I answered.
¡ÈI broke up with my boyfriend.¡É she said. ¡ÈDo you remember that guy who looked like a huge gorilla? God, he really was a gorilla. He was unbelievably insensitive! He didn¡Çt even know what it meant to let him come into my room and stay over night. When I dumped him, I told him that he wouldn¡Çt possibly have another girl friend, until he realized he was a true dullard. You know.¡É
Instead of saying ¡Èyeah¡É, I sighed deeply. I sighed more deeply than ever over the sympathy I felt for the gorilla guy whose name I didn¡Çt even know. I didn¡Çt even know she had another boyfriend after me. She sounded like a different person. Where was Mary, who gave me the sweetest kiss in lazy, romantic morning? Now, she seemed to be the most unsuitable woman in my room.
¡ÈHey! Are you listening to me or what?¡É she started yelling.
¡ÈYeah, yeah, I am listening.¡É I said.
¡ÈDon¡Çt you think it was such a waste of time to date with him for darn three months?¡É she said. Her harsh, cruel voice pierced my heart again, just like it used to before. I finally understood the reason she called me. She just wanted to whine and feel a slight superiority over me by letting me know about her romance after ours. Who is he anyways? I thought. I felt that she implied it was such a waste of time with me, by saying him, not ¡Èthat guy¡É or ¡Ègorilla guy¡É. I knew how she talked. Her voice echoed in my heart. ¡ÈDon¡Çt you think it was such a waste of time to date with YOU for darn three YEARS?¡É
¡ÈWhy don¡Çt you call me later, Mary? I am cooking pasta right now and it is about to be done¡É I said and hung up before she said a word.
I knew she got really mad but I didn¡Çt care. Even Mary didn¡Çt have a right to interfere this perfect Sunday, just for myself. I tried not to think about her, and instead I took out a tomato, an onion and a zucchini from the small refrigerator. I boiled a plenty of water in four gallons pot, that I got from my uncle who was a professional cook at the Hotel Four Seasons. While waiting for water to boil, I took the onion, pealed and started chopping. I concentrated in this procedure so that I could cut onion finer than it could possibly be. While I was chopping onions I felt calm and peaceful. After I was done with onions, I cut a tomato and a zucchini. Then I put pasta into the boiling water and set the stopwatch on exactly twelve minutes.
When I finished cooking sauce with all ingredients perfectly mixed, I was ready to take pasta out of the boiling water. Suddenly the phone rang again. Oops, I thought. If I miss this moment to pick up pasta and instead pick up the phone, the whole cooking would be meaningless. I¡Çd have to eat my special pasta overcooked and cold. But if this call were from Ken, my ultimate best friend, then I would miss the chance to go to the date with the girl he hooked me up with.
¡ÈHello?¡É I ended up answering the phone on the fifth bell.
¡ÈAre you over your pasta yet?¡É the familiar voice said, in a mocking tone. Oh man, I groaned without voice. I didn¡Çt expected for her to call me back, when I told her to call me back later. Such words like later and someday often meant never. I had never got money back from my friends, who promised to return it someday.
¡ÈHey. I was just going to eat right now. I will call you back when I finished. Is it okay?¡É I said as softly as I could so that it didn¡Çt irritate her already bad mood anymore. I felt as if I was talking not to Mary but to someone else whom I didn¡Çt know well. It was awkward. I wondered why I had to feel sorry about hanging up. In the first place, it was really her fault that she called me when I was cooking and talked about something that I didn¡Çt want to hear obviously. She was the one who stopped talking when our relationship was about to end. Why did she have to get mad, instead of me getting mad? I didn¡Çt understand this situation at all.
¡ÈDo you even know my phone number? I moved a half year ago. No, it is okay. You don¡Çt have to call me back, EVER. Bye!¡É She hung up in anger. I was left hearing phone tones in enormous confusion. I wanted to believe that it was not from Mary, whose mirage I saw this morning.
Pasta is sensitive. I cooked it ten seconds more than I should have, and it was too squishy at that point. After dumping water in the sink, I mixed pasta with the vegetable sauce that got too cold already. I didn¡Çt know what I did wrong, about pasta, and about her. I chopped vegetables so perfectly, majored exactly quarter pound of pasta, and all were fine until the last seconds. As long as I could remember, I did nothing wrong or irritable for her either, whom always seemed mad at me for three years. But I failed cooking pasta. The girl I¡Çd loved for three years had disappeared, leaving only memories. I was forced to change my plan of special Sunday. Instead of spending the entire day for myself, I was fully occupied thinking about pasta and Mary. But the only thing I could say was, both of them were too complicated to understand, too delicate to enjoy.