The Choice

I'm writing this partially since my friend kept pestering me to show him what my writing is like - he refuses to read any of my older works - and partially because of my upcoming English exam so this should be good practice. In any case, I painstakingly filled this short story with over sixty different references for different groups of friends, so please, if you see a reference intended for you don't mention it in the facebook comments or anything. It's intended for you, and you alone.
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I sat there, pensively staring at my hands ... Shivering. Not shivering out of fear as you night expect, or out of apprehension or any of the vast multitude of negative emotions that could have been the cause - but shivering out of a much simpler reason: the cold.

An onlooker would be confused - he would see a boy shivering fervently with a phone in his hands, thumbs poised to furiously start tapping on the touch screen display whilst sitting on a bed with a heavy quilt next to him. But - for now at least - the boy is oblivious to the cold, oblivious to his running nose, not caring to pull out yet another tissue to add to the half full dust bin sitting next to him. It's only when it dribbles down a little, getting stuck on the tiny hairs of his unshaven face that he realizes and scrambles to add to the growing collection in the bin by yanking a tissue out of the box sharply.

A wiser onlooker might look at the scene and smile to himself, evidently the boy is one who seems engaged in something he loves - something so interesting that it takes away his sense for the outside world.

But that same very onlooker might gaze at him and notice that, underneath his dropped gaze, his eyes were wide ... As if in fear ... And oh I was fearful indeed. Of what you ask? Of a choice that I had to confront. For that I shall have to tell you much more than just what an onlooker would see, for that I will tell you what I saw, for that I will tell you what I - just some twenty odd minutes ago, bouncing around in an adjacent room, always landing on my tiptoes because in my rush of excitement letting my heels touch the ground would surely take far too long for my energy filled soul to be satisfied...

Dreamt....

I dreamt of my business making it's mark on the mountain, my marketing being referred to students in the finest of institutions as I lounge about in Paris on weekends, New Zealand in the winters, drop by Milan for the expos and America for the stereotypically diabetes inducing fast food. It could happen too you know? The viability of my business plan was unquestionable.

I saw myself working harder and harder, successful meeting after successful meeting, doing every single thing one could do - and trust me my loves, with enough leverage and the right contacts combined with some money you can do oh so much more than one could imagine. I was thinking big, soaring above the stars, watching them burn out below me for truly after all this the stars would indeed be beneath me ...

Beneath the both of us.

But I make it sound as if it's all about the money, as if I don't know that if probability is to be trusted my venture is destined to fail with my attitude. Despite everything I've told you just now, despite anything someone might think if they stumbled into my voice - high pitched in excitement - squealing out in excitement the lyrics of an old song I can't help but sing as I think of all the possibilities ...

Arooba, Jamaica, ooh I wanna take ya

To Bermuda, Bahamas

Come on pretty mama

I agree, I sound like a typical lecherous teenager fantasizing about his latest get rich quick scheme. But no, what I truly looked forward to was the business meetings, the hours of presentations, the expos, having to actually show the world that my product was their salvation while making sure that every single item I would make was perfect. Pristine. Unparalleled. The experience of being one of "the big boys" of entrepreneurship and how i would stride to make that dream a reality. Giddy with excitement (although my running in circles repeatedly might have something to do with it), in my head I treasured every presentation that I would give, every doubtful client I would convince, every moment I would spend during the journey.

But now, as I sit here, I am faced by an awful choice ... Do I choice my dream ... Or do I choose you? Do I choose the possible flourishing career path with paved with successes along the way or do I abandon that, with hope for another one later in my life, and possibly keep the one who left me feeling utterly rejected, broken, worthless and in tatters what seems like just a few days ago. It was just a casual few words that caused it, even though I knew you hadn't meant to do so - what would stop you from getting me to that stage again and again and again? For how long could I really forgive you?

And as I sat there paralyzed - only occasionally moving out of my shivering stupor to make that box of tissues just a little bit lighter - I realized that it was an easy decision to make. For in every step of my dream you were there to accompany me, you were there to whisper into my ear those two words you always do when I make a bad pun as you purse your lips in an attempt to not burst out laughing during a presentation: "Damnit Sabri!". You were there to offer me your horrible homemade cakes that I begrudgingly ate and feigned food poisoning while you hit me and refused to talk to me in Paris, you were there for me when we went to art exhibitions in Venice - massaging your temple as I demonstrate my complete impotency for the field. Every step that I had not yet taken, I saw the whole path... But the only way I imagined that your footsteps wouldn't be intermingled with mine would be if you insisted that I allow you to piggyback on me till we get there.

Do I think she's "the one"? No no, not at all, I am not such an old soul yet as to have such an idealistic mindset. If I had to bet then I would bet that we would have lost our intimacy, our relationship and so much more that we share by the end of last year. But one thing I would never wager losing would be your friendship. For though she may not (and probably will not, statistically speaking) be on my side some time down the line, when one dreams ... Even if he himself his not, sometimes his dreams are a little bit ... Idealistic.

Reaching my decision, my thumbs - having been suspended in the same position for what seemed like hours - came down with a force on my phone, messaging you to finally articulate what I had been feeling for the past however many minutes it had been....