Asuka

Sometimes the best way to say you’re sorry is to lie flat on the road and let the offended person watch as you get run over by every fifth car that passes along the street. But sometimes, a refreshing cup of Buko Joe’s Really Fresh & Delicious Buko Juice is enough.

I once had a friend who came up to me one day, all in tears, hair straying in all directions and everything, and pleaded to me to get my hands the hell out of his current boyfriend, “you slut, or I’ll kill you right away.”

I said, “Hey, nobody has his or her hands on anybody’s current boyfriend here,” which she answered with a slap across my face and a: “Bitch!”

Up to now, I don’t know what all that was for—and anyway, to get back to my story, I was a little stunned by her actions.

“You slapped me,” I said.

“I’m going to kill you,” she said, saliva bubbles forming on her lips.

“No,” I said.

She collapsed vertically to the floor, landing on her butt. I noticed how her legs formed a “W” read from my position, and I immediately knew that it would read “M” when viewed from hers. She wailed like a fire engine at 4:08 in the afternoon.

“Oh, Dickey,” I said. “What’s the matter?” I crouched down beside her like any real friend would, and lay a comforting arm across her heaving back.

“You do this to me every single time, don’t you know?” she said. “The first was with Adolf, do you remember? But we were in high schol then, and I don’t think I have any real claim on him. Then in college, remember Fercibal and Eomund?”

I noticed she was practically ennumerating to me the names of my past boyfriends. “I notice you are practically ennumerating to me the names of my past boyfriends.”

“Exactly my point! They were my boyfriends, that is, until you show up and take them for yourself.”

Something there sounded like Dickey was acussing me of something. “Something there sounds like you are acussing me of something.”

She struck me with the base of her palm on the right side of my head. “It’s the real-life truth, dummy,” she said. She sounded frustrated, though one can never be sure. “Don’t you get it?”

“You are hurting me physically, Dickey,” I said. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“Oh, Asuka,” she said and took my head in her arms. She let the side of my face rest against her underdeveloped breasts, as if I were her child. “Oh, if only you weren’t so simple minded…”

I cried a little with this act of affection coming from another female. “I’m not simple minded,” I said. “I am actually a slick, sophisticated young chick.”

“No you’re not,” she insisted. “Because what you are is a cretin who doesn’t even know what she’s doing.”

If she came to me with a baseball bat and beat my face to her heart’s content (or at least until my face had taken enough damage to look roughly somewhere like hers), it wouldn’t have hurt more than those last words that she said to me.

“You’re hurting my self-esteem,” I said.

Suddenly, Dickey stopped. She seemed to be back to herself again. She said, “I realize now that I’ve hurt you. Oh, what can I do to tell you I’m sorry? What can I do to repair the damage done to our friendship by my harsh words?”

“Well,” I said, “sometimes the best way to say you’re sorry is to lie flat on the road and let the offended person watch as you get run over by every fifth car that passes along the street. But sometimes, a refreshing cup of Buko Joe’s Really Fresh & Delicious Buko Juice is enough.”

She suddenly jumped up, taking me with her. Full of determination, she declared: “A refreshing cup of Buko Joe’s Really Fresh & Delicious Buko Juice for you then!”

© Jay Santos 2003.