βInstantly IrresistibleβΒ read the label on the perfume bottle at a shop in Bangkok. I was, shall we say, drawn here after several misunderstandings with the Sydney Police Department. I called it βgaining a profitβ; they called it βpickpocketingβ.
Contrary to the Sydney Police, my parents and my friends, Iβm not a complete loser β just a partial one. I worked in a book store back home but got canned when I βborrowedβ a few dollars from the register. The shop owner called the police on me, even though βhe really liked me and hated doing itβ . Then there was the βincidentβ which brought me here.
Now Iβm washing dishes for a restaurant, just barely getting by. The waitresses, all sisters, live together downstairs in a shoebox of an apartment near the supply room. I sleep on a cot in the basement and use the grungy bathroom β better than nothing. Thereβs a basement window which I crawl through when I get home late and the restaurant is closed. Only the owner and the eldest sister have a key.
Sometimes when the sisters are working Iβll go downstairs for supplies, take a small detour into that shoebox and help myself to their tip money. Iβm wondering β can I be considered a βhousebreakerβ if the door isnβt locked?
I have a clandestine girlfriend, too. Sheβs a cleaner at the tailor shop nearby. I saw her through the shop window and she looked up and smiled. One dark night after work I waited for her outside the shop and asked if I could walk her home. She agreed but said only half way β her family would not approve. She lives with her parents and 11 siblings. All of what she earns goes to her family. She owns only a few clothes and a ragged cloth pouch. I surprised her with a bottle of perfume which I found in a moldy wood crate behind the shop. She smiled happily and slipped it into her pouch. Her name is βPitiβ and she calls me βSamβ which isnβt even my name but thatβs ok. No one knows I exist.
After dark the next night I waited for Piti but she never showed. Disappointed, I skulked home. The same thing happened the next two nights and on the fourth day during my break I glanced in the tailor shop window only to see a different cleaning girl. βWhere was Piti?β I wondered, becoming concerned.
Several days later I overheard the sisters talking. Piti had become deathly sick β an apparent toxic reaction to old perfume from a bottle found in her pouch. She had been in quarantine, but died this morning.
I was reeling. I did this to Piti. I killed her! She was a perfect angel, the sweetest part of my life. Everything I do hurts someone. In the course of three weeks Iβve gone from petty thief to murderer. Everyone is right. Iβm a complete loser. I donβt know how Iβm going to live with myself.
NAR Β© 2019
Reposted for Fandango’s FOWC – http://fivedotoh.com/2023/02/08/fowc-with-fandango-perfume/
The Elephant's Trunk 