bRoken TeAcup

The Number tHrEe and a bRoKen Teacup

At some point in the course of us living together, it was suddenly decided that I was part of the family. I can’t imagine where they got the idea. Besides being a crazy notion, they actually thought I’d be up for it. I could picture it then. Me, the neighborhood ghost and those two nut jobs as one big happy family. Please, someone take a picture of this beautiful Kodak moment. The perfect case of a dysfunctional screwed up family, that’s what we were. The next thing I know, they’d be asking for group hugs and family therapy sessions.

Dory thinks she is being sneaky when she hides the jam behind the cabbage in the second row at the back of the fridge. She seems to be under the impression that it’s a good hiding spot. Then again, she is almost right. No one in the house gives a spare glance to the cabbage, the forgotten vegetable of lore. She realizes her mistake the next day when she finds the bottle officially wiped clean. She knows it was me and glares. See, there were a couple of things I learnt while staying with them. One, never deprive Dory of her jam. It was the be all and end all of her existence... and I got a kick out of stealing it. She should be thanking me. I’m saving her from cavities and from an eventual trip to the dentist. But I remain the unappreciated one.

And then, there’s the other nut job who never appreciates me. Not that I’m seeking her attention. Hey, I’m not that desperate. Sybil was never really my type, you know. The girl has issues. Many serious issues. She doesn’t believe me when I let her know that. But really, who in her right mind spends a fortune on books like ‘Ghost busting in three easy steps’ by Samantha Mills or ‘Exorcism for dummies’ by L. S. Looney. She must really hate me if she was that desperate. But that’s one more thing I learnt along the way. Lois’s a pathetic liar. I mean, you could ignore every word that comes out of her mouth. Her eyes always speak a different tongue. I have wondered more than once what it’d feel like to see my own reflection in them. Hey, a man can dream right?

I still remember that rainy Sunday afternoon. I don’t know why I stuck around that day. Must have been a slow news day. I was sitting on the tv set, watching them through one eye while the other was too drowsy to keep up with the other. The weather was sultry and cold. Not that I ever felt it myself. I could have dressed up as an Eskimo and wouldn’t know the difference. But I could notice it from their sweat drenched shirts and shivering bodies. The picture of them sitting on the couch, one sleeping and the other trying to sleep are still engraved in my mind. Dory always had this odd way of taking a nap. Her mouth would be half-open and eyes fluttering under their lids. Sybil, a little wiser, slept rarely ever since I showed up.

I don’t know why but there was just something about that picture that kept pricking away. Its sense of security. Its feeling of belonging. Since when did they get so used to me? Since when did they get so preoccupied with themselves that I had to actually remind them that I was a mean, broody poltergeist. And not just Casper, the friendly ghost.

I decided to act out my part as the mean, broody poltergeist. Entering the kitchen, I searched for an item of interest. Stacked neatly on the shelf was a crockery tea set. One big fat kettle and three teacups. So, we meet again. Number three, my arch-enemy. How nice of you to show up at my time of need? I picked one up and sent it hurling towards the wall. It smashed with a loud crack and splintered into tiny pieces. The shards rained down on the floor, glistening against the light like diamonds I’d smuggled in my own lifetime.

They rushed into the kitchen, one in alarm and the other still dazed. Sybil’s eyes found the remains of the late Mr. Teacup. He lay on the floor, broken and bitter... and if he’d had a hand, he would have pointed it at me accusatively before breaking into a thousand tears. But that rainy afternoon, the only one crying was her. Lois. She tried not to show it. She tried to pretend it didn’t matter. She tried to curse and yell at me. But again. Those eyes.

She stayed up all night... trying to fix that goddam thing. That was the other thing I had learnt about her along the way. Sybil was sentimental. Give her a chewing gum wrapper on her birthday and she’d probably treasure it all her life. She was weird like that. But maybe that just meant that she cared more than she ought to. As I watched her glue the pieces of Mr. Teacup back together, I realized that she wasn’t doing it for him or for herself. She was doing it for me. Maybe just to be a pain in the arse or maybe just to remind me that I was part of this family whether I liked it or not. This dysfunctional screwed up family, that is. Me, the drunken dad. Dory, the illegitimate love child. And Lois, the sitcom mommy. I smiled, despite myself.

The next day was another run-in-the-mill kind of day. The jam was still hiding behind the cabbage on the second row at the back of the fridge. The desk was still cluttered with books like ‘The Comprehensive Guide to Ghostbusting’. And sitting on the shelf right next to the big fat kettle, were the three teacups.