Next Monday will be yet another Valentine’s Day, another "special” day that does not only speak red roses and gifts, but also sour memories to the writer.

I remember February 14th of 2009 wasn’t a working, so I was home all day, sleeping big time as I awaited  night time-party time actually. And it was my second year in love with Rita (not real name). She had been a nice lady, for at as long as I had known her, and so I expected more than just fun.

She called for confirmation towards dusk as I dressed up fast to pick her up. With roses and a man-size teddy bear, I showed up at her doorstep. I believe she was happy for the gifts especially the rear bear.

Off we went, through most of the then hottest spots in town, and by 11:00 in the night, I was feeling kind of high and Rita on club soda.

The next destination was a really happening night club, and dancing was the next phase of the night. Hard tempo, hip-hop my favorite, slow rock …in groups, one on one… we danced a lot.

Perhaps all party goers know my abilities at playing billiard, and even that night I won whoever was standing around the pool table. That happened in just the few minutes I had left Rita to "jazz” with her old girls work.

On coming back as the night’s billiard hero, Rita was not at the counter and not dancing.  She was gone to one of the darker spots of the club.

I wasn’t pleased of course; especially for finding her around a gentleman I had never seen before-but thank God she introduced him as her cousin brother and one of the big musicians in town. I knew his name and songs on radio too, so I didn’t envy the situation much.

We took more liquor, talked more talk and danced more. More and more, billiard heavy weights also called me up for challenges for which I seemed to be a god.

The last game was a hard one though and I was dethroned. It became harder when I lost Rita and the musician anywhere around the building.

Drama was still unfolding when I moved to the log-cabins across the club’s parking yard. There was my Rita kissing with the artist. Worse still she even looked on as the multi talented man punished me for breaking into their moment of silence.

"Perhaps I should have waited for a right-away apology, or at least an explanation. Perhaps I shouldn’t have left her with a man I didn’t know in the first case,” I thought as I left the unfair party for my cool bed. 

But wait a minute, what about going back to her house, to know how she feels about it?  I went to her place and it was almost a sunrise. She slid a sheet of paper through the door dumping me.

I also forgave myself of the mess. I will blame it on my ex, or the musician or the god-damned Valentine’s Day. Why should it be celebrated anyway?

Ends