LOST AND FOUND... AND LOST AGAIN

Dear…Dearest…Darling Akosua,

I don’t know if you’ll even read this mail, ‘cos you’ve not replied my last six letters. I don’t know what else to say. I don’t even know why I’m writing this. I —

Anidaso dropped the pen and slapped the table. Running his left hand through his hair, Anidaso crumpled the sheet of paper in front of him and threw it at the waste basket. The waste basket stood alone at the corner of the room, surrounded by about five or six more balls of paper. It had been suffering abuse since that morning, when for some strange reason that good-for-nothing Anidaso had got it into his muddled brain that he wanted to write to Akosua.

Who is Akosua? Well, that’s easy. Akosua is… was Anidaso’s girl-friend – had been his girl-friend for two years until they’d broken up a year ago. Why then? You ask. Why is it that after a whole year, Anidaso is writing to Akosua? And not just any letter too, but what looks like a love letter. Especially, since he is the one who broke up with her. I didn’t tell you that, did I? Well, that’s what happened. Anidaso was the one who broke up with Akosua. His reason? Well, we were never able to find out exactly what. But what we’ve been able to gather from what he mumbles in his sleep is — no matter, it’s so scanty and incoherent that we’d not confuse you with it.

Anyway, you were wondering why Anidaso decided to write to Akosua this morning. Actually, he has been writing to her for about a month now. Hmm… perhaps it’s not fair to say he – they have been writing to each other. How did it all start? Happy Birthday. Yes. Just one birthday wish and a floodgate was opened, and in poured desire, affection, emotion… and… well, you know what I mean. Looking at the nature of the correspondence that followed from that first birthday wish, one would have thought that the two of them were going to get back together. But, for some reason, things went bad again. Apparently, the old problem – what led to the break up in the first place – was not gone. It was only lurking beneath the surface waiting to rear it’s… you know. And, boy did it!

So, for the past week, the correspondence has been reduced a one-way flow – I’m sure you can guess the direction. At first he apologized, then he begged, next he threatened, after that he apologized again and the cycle continued – each letter more desperate than the one before. And I’m afraid this is going to be the most desperate one yet. Ah, but while I’ve been talking to you, he’s finished his letter, and he looks pleased with this one. Let’s see if we can read what it says:

Dearest Akosua,

It breaks my heart to send this to you, but you’ve left me no option. I know I was never able to explain, to your satisfaction, why I had to break up with you. To tell you the truth, my explanation, even to my ears, sounded lame. I’m not writing to complain. I’m writing to thank you. To thank you for giving me the best years of my life. My life has been sad and happy, bitter and sweet; but you, you made even the bitter parts sweet and poured happiness into the sad days.

I’m writing to ask you to forgive me. To forgive me for all the pain I caused you. You have suffered greatly because of your love for me, and these past few weeks have shown that you will continue to suffer if things stay the way they are.

So I’m writing to set you free. No longer will you have to think about me. No longer will you have to wonder if I still love you. No longer, no, no longer will you have to suffer my love-fluctuations. Because, by the time you read this, I will be out of your life, and this time… this time, I mean it.

Anidaso

Anidaso folded the letter and placed it in an addressed envelope. He made sure to put the envelope where it was clearly visible. Then he went to bring the stool from his bedroom – he had placed it there last night. Next he got up unto the stool and put the noose around his neck – the other end of the rope was tied, securely, to the crossbeam that supported his roof. But, just to make sure, he pulled at it – strong, not likely to break. He was calm. He breathed in and out twice, deeply.

Brrriiiiinng! The ringing of the phone jarred him so much that he nearly tumbled off the stool prematurely. A small bead of sweat broke out on his fore-head and rolled down slowly, gathering speed until it got soaked into the fibre of the noose. Damn! Why hadn’t he taken that off the hook! It rang again. He stood undecided – a man about to commit suicide does not take time off to answer phones. He’ll wait it out.

After what seemed like hours, the answering mechanism on the phone kicked in. What happened next could have been a scene from the Twilight Zone. Akosua’s slightly apologetic voice split the tension-laden air: Anidaso, I’m sorry for not replying your mail. I moved out of my apartment just last week and… anyway, I’ll explain when we meet again. Call me back and we’ll fix a date – the sooner, the better. I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you.

It took some time for Anidaso to process this information. Akosua was not angry with him? Akosua wanted to see him? And, more astonishing of all, Akosua had missed him! Oh my God!

In his haste to return the call, in his haste to get to the phone, he forgot the precarious position in which he was. He forgot the stool, he forgot the rope, but, most importantly, he forgot that part of the rope that was tied around his neck.

The stool wobbled. Anidaso slipped. His hands grasped frantically at the rope, but the noose tightened around his neck – slowly, cruelly choking his new found will to live out of him. Tears welled in his eyes and rolled down. As it dawned on him that he was actually dying, an ironic smile formed on his face. His feet kicked out with less and less strength, until, with a final twitch, they stilled. A familiar smell pervaded the room – the odour of excreta.