For the 40th consecutive year, Sandra received an invitation to her University’s homecoming. She has never attended any of the homecoming reunions, as she dreaded seeing the same faces that brought her years of revulsion. As she read through the details of the invitation, memories flooded her thoughts—accompanied by a teardrop or two.
The venue at which the reunion was to take place was the same old derelict auditorium, where her first crush, Jake publicly mortified her at the end of a talent show. During her senior year, Sandra mustered the courage to confess to Jake, her unrelenting love and affection for him. Jake won the talent show, thanks to his astonishing vocal range and impeccable musical prowess. Sandra was mesmerized by every word of the song Jake sang, “Babe You’re Mine Tonight.” She was sure that God must have told him to sing to the rhythm of her heart.
When they announced Jake as the winner, he proceeded to the stage. He prepared a speech, one that Sandra would never forget. Everyone agreed that he had a sense of humor capable of causing even the dead to chuckle. As his speech progressed and neared the end, he said he wanted to say one last thing.
“Sandra,” he said with an embellished sigh followed by a long pause.
The auditorium went silent, except for a drumming sound—Sandra’s heartbeat. A lion’s roar was the one thing missing, to perfectly recreate the MGM Lionsgate Trademark.
“I saw the note you left me, and I am sorry, humans and warthogs are incompatible. I am flattered that you think I would waste my time entertaining the mere idea of you. You might stand a better chance of finding a companion in the wild or at the zoo if you are lucky enough.”
Sandra bolted out of the auditorium and was barely seen on campus since.
Six years after Sandra graduated, she became an oncologist, was married and had a beautiful family. One day Jake visited her medical office for a second opinion regarding his metastasized prostate cancer. During one of his visits, she became aware that Jake was being overly friendly and even flirting. He had no idea that Dr. Sandra Morris-Figgs was the warthog he once denounced.
“Sir, you are overstepping your boundaries.”
“I think you are a beautiful woman. Please accept my compliment.”
She placed her hands in plain view, displaying the humongous diamond rock upon her finger—a symbol of her lifelong commitment. She took a deep breath, took off her glasses, leaned back in her chair, and looked Jake deep into his eyes.
“My DNA has not changed, I am still the warthog— this is my medical office, not the zoo nor the wild like you would imagine.”
“How are things looking and what are my treatment option Dr. Figgs?”
Based on the results of your most recent tests, I am afraid you only have three weeks to live.
© Jenoy Merchant and merchantwritesagain.wordpress.com, 2018