Memories and love.
Itâ€™s a funny combination.
There is this girl I know. Know well, if you catch my drift… Weâ€™ve been close, on and off, buying into each otherâ€™s fantasy. And she has this memory, a recollection of how we met. Common friendâ€™s place; playing some insipid boardgame, just the three of us. She and I were sitting next to each other, joking and doing that â€˜thingâ€™ where people talk without asking direct questions.
Typical Kiwi flirting…
Anyway, I throw the die, get a six and throw my hands in the air (at the unfairness of it all, you know) before bringing my hand down on hers.
Where, after a smug grin, it stays.
Letâ€™s just say that later that night we ended up kissing… And, well, other stuff.
She tells me later that I did it deliberately. I immediately agree with her. Which leads to more of the â€˜other stuff.â€™ Later she tells our friends the story (with me sheepishly nodding away in the background) until, within months, it becomes â€˜theâ€™ story of how â€˜we got together.â€™
Which isnâ€™t true. My hand landed on hers, alright, but it was natural clumsiness (with associated good consequences). But I, insecure enough to think that this was the be-all and end-all of the relationship, couldnâ€™t let her think that.
And it was only a little lie, wasnâ€™t it?
The problem was, weeks later, it wasnâ€™t. More and more people became party to it. So when it became â€˜theâ€™ moment it went from minor to major.
So I did what I could to rectify the situation.
Perhaps, I rationalised, I had intended to touch her hand. Maybe it was me that was at fault here. I couldnâ€™t admit to my gambit, so I was downplaying it. The lie wasnâ€™t our story, the lie was not allowing the story to be true.
So the lie became truth and truth, oh so tritely, became fiction.
Isnâ€™t it strange how it only takes a few moments to become convinced.
Love and memory, eh?