The Patient Sikh: Part Seven--Chocolate Covered Love

This an excerpt from a novel in progress and a work of fiction. Who am I? What a stupid question. It has to be the world's lamest question. I am nothing. It is the only answer and life's worse answer. But the truth is even worse. The truth is I don't know what nothing is.I'm not a hater. But I've hated. I've hated myself the most.I look in the mirror and all I see is someone else, someone that doesn't know me. I've tried looking in my own eyes, only to see that they are empty.I love him. I do.Sonny.Maybe I'm not sure there is such a thing as love, but I'm sure I know how to love. Even if I made it all up and this all imaginary. Even if it's not even love, I'm still in love.Who would know anyways? Who could figure out whether something is love or just infatuation? They say love has to be two-way. They are wrong.Sonny doesn't love me.His indifference is not two-way. That's what it is, isn't it? He kind of just doesn't care either way about me. I mean sure we are friends. But how many 'friends' does an individual have. What qualifies you as being someone's 'friend'?Anyone can be a friend, even if they are not that special to you. Friendship is a lame way to love. Sonny loves me like a friend. What am I supposed to do with that? It's a fact. I knew I hated facts for a reason. I like imagination better. I imagined that he loved me. I imagined that he was the one.The one for what? Why does there have to be a one anyways? Maybe there are many people I can love. I can see this even through all my pain. Yes, it hurts."Sarita, I told him," I confessed on the phone. I wrapped the long beige cord around my fingers."You told him what?" she asked sounding like she was in the middle of doing something other than listening to me."I told him that I love him," I blurted out.She seemed to stop doing that thing. "No....Way...What did he say?""That he thought of me as a friend." Tears shot through my eyes and I looked in the mirror and I was surprised at how blurry everything was. I have twenty-twenty. I thought I did. Apparently love is blind."You mean you just flat out, flatly, said to his face that you love him. Did you build it up with anything?" Sarita asked.  She knows I'm not good at transitions in conversations.I'm not good at conversations. I don't think I'm good at life."I just told him, I just sort of blurted it out," I confessed and wiped my eyes."Well, I'm sorry dude. That's got to be rough. I'm sorry man," Sarita sighed. She was giving me all her attention and all of a sudden I didn't want it anymore. Ignore me. Like Sonny, don't love me. Let me be just another friend. I hate that fucking word. Friend is the real F-word.This is harder than I thought it would be. I used to watch Soap Operas when I was too young to understand them. I know a good love story. This is not that.There is a burn, a burn in my soul and I can't get rid of it. Will it ever go away? I lost him, I lost at love."Let's do something crazy!" I finally said to Sarita."I don't know what that means. Do you need a shot, I have some vodka, I told you, anytime you need it," she retorted."I think we should go to a frat party, like a real live frat party," I suggested. We went to parties, but not frat parties. We weren't really the sorority type."You want me to go to a party with a bunch of gang rapists who want to fuck on the toilet?" she asked."I'm not asking you to be gang-raped, I just think we need to get out of our bubble. I mean some of them are hot.""Listen, no one's going to make the effort to rape me. I've faced that fact," she said in almost a whisper. How do you respond to that? I mean, on the one hand, no one wants to be raped and it's totally untrue that anyone is exempt from being a possible victim of rape. On the other hand, did she want someone to want to rape her? I know that's not at all what she wants. She has some body image issues, like don't we all?"You want to get a hot fudge sundae?" I asked and looked in the mirror. I am not like fat. I have some curves, but who doesn't?"Yeah dude, I'll be there in seven minutes."I heard about a survey somewhere where women were polled and preferred chocolate to sex. I prefer it to love. I prefer it to life. Why can't everything be as simple as chocolate fudge?Why can't I love anything as much as I love food? Food doesn't even love me back. Sound familiar?ninaIf you would like to read the beginning of this novel in progress, The Patient Sikh, visit the following links in chronological order:The Patient Sikh: Part OneThe Patient Sikh: Part Two--The Wonder YearsThe Patient Sikh: Part Three--SonnyThe Patient Sikh: Part Four--Song LyricsThe Patient Sikh: Part Five--Your SongThe Patient Sikh: Part Six--Coffee Talk