I am lovesick and heart-broken. The stars have lost their shine, the
moon has turned black and darkness fills the air.

It is another one of those tormenting nights when I am thrown out of
the bedroom and have to sleep with a pillow in the hall way. This
John guy has come over for the night. I hate him for ever. I wish he
goes away and never comes back. Life would be so good again if he
just died. There is always hope. No one loves her like I do and she
does not live with anyone else except me. Sooner or later they all go
away. Even that horrible pig, Sam, who I feared was impossible to get
rid off, left for good. I was so happy when he left saying he would
never return after they yelled, screamed and broke china in the
kitchen before last year's Halloween party. He came back to move all
of his stuff. It was so good to see that swine leave and never
return. Only his ugly photograph remains on the floor behind the
refrigerator. Maybe I should take it out of there and give it to my
Barbara so that she may destroy it. But wait a minute, what if seeing
his picture reminds her of that filthy creature and she calls him
again? No, I cannot take that chance. I'll let the ugly thing remain
behind the fridge.

She was so loving to me all evening. I love it when we go out
together. Today we went to the park and played Frisbee. It was so
wonderful, except that was where she ran into this crook, John. I
wish I'd realized at the time that they had made plans for him to come
over tonight. I could have fixed it there and then, but I was a fool
to have been nice to him. Then later on at super we played on the
living room rug and she gave me warm hugs and kisses before she fixed
me that delicious tuna dinner. Then she looked at me with such
affection and leaned forward and kissed me again. I felt so sure she
loved me. But now I am not certain any more. It all changed when
this monster, John, came to our front door with those ugly, thorny
roses.

When she tells me that she loves me, I believe her. She holds me,
caresses me and kisses me and plays with me. Those moments are so
precious, but they never last. I live for those moments, they are the
reason for my existence, I always want them to continue but she quits
and goes to her work, or turns on the TV and forgets all about me.
Her love evaporates like a mirage and she goes about her business as
if I didn't even exist. I feel so hurt, I just go away and sit down
and mind my own business.

I hate her work and I hate that TV, I hate them for ever. They take
her away from me.She spends hours at them while I wait patiently. At
times I cannot stand it and I tell her. But when I protest she tells
me to shut up. She's always scolding me over little things.
Sometimes she treats me like I was a slave, or worse, a kid. Okay so
she is the one who has to work and support both of us, but does that
give her the right to hurt my feelings? She really knows how to break
my heart. Sometimes I wish I could just leave her because of the way
she treats me. But I cannot; I love her too much.

Oh! God, I can hear them laugh behind the closed door. My heart
pounds with crimson jealousy. I cannot bear it anymore. I push at
the door hinges, but its locked. I kick and pound on the door and
yell at the top of my voice. That will get her attention. It always
does.

The doors swings open and, as I look up, there she stands. I melt as
she gives me that loving look. She brings her face in front of
mine. "What is the matter sweetie?" she asks me. I reach for her
lips. "Stop it," she screams, backing away she pushes me off to a
side. I don't resist, with her I never can. Then she puts her hand
on my head and runs her fingers into my hair and in a long gentle
stroke she takes it all the way to my back. I love it. All my
anguish is suddenly gone.

"Come on Barb," that pig, John, calls out from the room, "leave him
alone, he'll be okay".

Bloody bastard! I hate him. Who the hell does he think he is? She
is mine, not his. He has my precious and I hate him, hate him for
ever and ever.

I give up and go downstairs to sleep on the couch. Even there I have
to put up with this pig's nuisance. But ah, look! He has his morning
clothes laid out neatly. This serves him right.

I first make sure its all there, his shirt, tie, jacket, trousers,
socks and shoes. I lean against them sideways, raise my right leg up
and empty my bladder.

POST SCRIPT :

Barbara Shah's father (the names, of course, are altered) was a good
friend of my dad's from their days in F. C. College way back before
partition. Barbara's mother was a Californian who had learnt to speak
Urdu and felt at home in Model Town, Lahore. Barbara and I grew up
playing together since she was a toddler. Then in the late sixties
Mr. Shah sold his business and moved his family to the States. I
remember their going away dinner party, we played hide-and-seek while
the adults visited and dined. For a few years thereafter our families
stayed nominally in touch by mail, but essentially we lost contact.

In 1983, while visiting Los Angeles I heard from a mutual family
friend that Barbara was living alone in Berkeley and had recently been
through a divorce. I looked up the number and called her from L.A.,
and though we had not seen one another in almost fifteen years we
talked for over half an hour. She invited me to come for a visit and
I said I'd love to. I was going to San Jose, but only for a day
before flying back East, so I flew to San Francisco a day earlier.
One day was all I could squeeze in.

When I reached her place in Berkeley, she was jogging back from the
nearby park, Frisbee in hand, her ferocious looking German Shepherd
shadowing her in utter devotion. We met on the sidewalk, greeted,
hugged and chatted with familiarity for a few minutes. It was an
exciting moment for both of us but the German Shepherd, Rex, she told
me his name was, looked at me with distant aloofness.

It soon became obvious that the dog did not much care for me. Now, I
am a cat person and don't care much for dogs, especially not large
in-doors dogs. But we managed to co-exist. Before we realized, it
was well past midnight. We'd been having so much fun that we lost
track of time. I would have been ill advised to drive back to my
hotel, so I stayed over. Rex was rather noisy all night and as I
discovered the next morning, much to my chagrin, he not very well
house broken either.

Barbara and I called one another over the next year or so but some how
we never got back together again. I still remember the look in the
dog's eyes.