I stole the wife of an ugly Zoroastrian.
No, that’s not fair on two accounts:
First, he wasn’t ugly. I’m sure Aysha’s husband Farzeen is good looking to many women. In fact, he had an olive complexion and stood tall with dark eyes. Add the fact that he was wealthy, successful, and respected in his field and he probably was quite the catch.
Second, we never “steal” another. I’m sure that is what he would say about me, but deep down we all know that’s not what happens. Here’s what happened:
We collided. Aysha and I collided.
Really that’s it, nothing more. Take it for what it’s worth. People collide, something either mysterious happens or nothing happens, really nothing in between. We fell into each other’s worlds as soon as our eyes met, that teasing energetic eye electricity just below the level of consciousness.
Is it possible to see someone crying when they’re not crying, laughing when they aren’t laughing, loving when they’re not loving, and understanding the world when they are just sipping their damn water or picking things off their pizza?
I thought she was from India, which shows you how much I know. She was from Turkey. Her husband was from Iran. They had moved to San Francisco several years ago. That was just after what I now call Act One of what was then merely a drama blindly unfolding. Continue reading