You Might Want to Marry My Husband

by Yap Swi Neo

  ‘Throw caution to the wind but not your clothes, ya? And why didn’t you? You were always on the wild side. Do you have your bra on today?’ Wan giggles. Pansy had once dared us to not wear a bra to the dance.

  Pansy releases two buttons of her dress. ‘Red Triumph push-up! All real!’ she boasts coquettishly. ‘Tony, I told him, we’ll send you home, then return and jump naked into the sea. He said we’d drown. How ironic!’ Pansy reminisces sadly, then her scarlet lips curve into a smile. ‘I’m here to celebrate with you, my long-time friends. I’ll tell you after dinner.’

  We eat our dinner of black ink pasta, beef stroganoff, roast duck a l’orange, poached lobster and waldorf salad, more sophisticated than the fried noodles or rice of fifty years ago. We raise our glasses of cabernet sauvignon and Dom Pérignon in silence, four kids then, now silver haired seniors.

  ‘Lovely evening’, I whisper lamely, ‘the pasta was yummy.’ That is not what I had planned to say. My words roam in my mind with no way out.

  ‘I have to get this out. I really do. All these years, it trapped me like a little devil piggybacked me whispering, Swim, swim, swim,’ Pansy suddenly bursts out.

  We know Pansy has chain bound the guilt in her soul.

  ‘Unchain it, Pansy, set it free. A lifetime of friendship, nothing to hide in the closet. It’s a guilt we all share. And as the cliché goes, the truth will set you free.’ And as an afterthought, Wan adds, ‘Us too.’

  ‘Ironically it’s the guilt that’s kept us together, it was a shared guilt,’ I blurt out. ‘Kim, Wan and I did talk about it, our summer place ghost.’

  ‘Mary, we did only once, OK?’ Kim snaps. ‘We knew we had to talk about it, but we were afraid.’

  ‘I egged Tony to do it,’ says Pansy. ‘It was more of a taunt. Did I really expect him to? I don’t know. It was youthful exuberance, foolishness. Tony’s parents called my parents when Tony did not come home that night. The next morning they called the police. A hotel staff had found a pair of sandals and a pile of clothes neatly folded under the angsana tree, had labelled them “Owner Unknown” and stored them in the storeroom. Tony’s red car was in the car park. His blue naked body was fished out two days later, off a nearby island by fishermen. Alone, Tony had swum out to sea after the dance. Tony had confided in David, his brother that he thought it would be a great birthday present for me, to swim in our birthday suits, as I had suggested. But he wanted to test the sea first. David had encouraged him. Tony’s parents said Tony had a fear of open water. He never told me. I then recalled that Tony never wanted to go swimming with me. He brushed me off with “You want me to compare you with other girls in their bathing suits?” I’m a strong swimmer. That Saturday night after we went home, Tony went back and did what he did.’

  The police had been relentless, vindictive, and unforgiving in their interrogation. ‘What alcohol, how much, what drug, how much, how much tobacco, how much sex? Orgy? Where?’ Alcohol, drugs, tobacco, sex, over and over. The drinks receipts saved us from the alcohol charge, but not the drugs, tobacco and sex. Our parents continued the interrogations. They forbade us to see one another, slapped on curfews until we matured into ‘responsible adults’. The guilt followed us a long time. With time we had learned to ‘let go’, not to deny but to accept what had happened, not to blame anyone, but to be supportive of one another and move on.

  Pansy had been devastated, had to be observed medically, and we suspected had not fully recovered from the ghost of the summer place past. Her parents decided it was best for her to work abroad together with a relative, no communication allowed. We lost Pansy for four decades.

  ‘Pansy, Tony loved you very much, to do what he did,’ Kim interrupts our thoughts.

  ‘Tony, I did love him. I still do. Sometimes I doubted myself, did I love Tony? Or was it the guilt that convinced me I did?’

  After the incident we were never the same. We lost our boys. But then again were they really ours? We three girls remained home, got careers, married and raised families. Kim later divorced, Wan and I were widowed. We matured into senior citizens and doted on our grandchildren. In some unexplained way, Tony occasionally invited himself into our company.

  ‘It wasn’t your fault, Pansy. It was an unearned guilt, the worst kind of guilt to feel. It’s a thief of time, love, truth,’ Kim comforts her.

  ‘Life isn’t fair!’ Pansy mumbles, bursting into tears. ‘I’m gonna wash that man right outta my hair, I’m gonna wash that man right outta my hair, I’m gonna wash that man right outta my hair, and send him on his way.’

  Pansy confesses the reason she insisted we dine here. ‘I’ve dreamt of Tony many times over the last year. It is always the same. There he is, always smiling his impish dimpled smile. We are on opposite sides of a gentle river. He blows me a kiss, waves and walks away. I throw one end of my scarf to him and he pulls it away. I run after him, but the river just gets wider and the water gushes. The wind whips up, and I can’t reach him. Then I wake up. What does it all mean?’

  ‘What do you feel when you wake up, Pansy?’ we chorus.

  Pansy is visibly agitated, her voice rising as she continues. ‘Initially I cried, calling out to him. I thought he was inviting me to cross over to his side. I yearned for him, yet I was afraid. I wanted him to hold me in his arms, I wanted to feel sheltered, safe and secure. I wanted him to tell me he loved me, he had never said that. I didn’t want to cross over to the other side. There was a great deal of inner noise, it exhausted me. It was pure selfishness to ask Tony to swim naked in the sea. I wanted to test his love. Was it real love? Was it because we had been together since kiddy days, we naturally allowed ourselves to fall into that trap called childhood sweethearts and eventually marry? Was it because we had wealthy parents who were buddies and had encouraged the relationship? But after several similar dreams, I knew that was his way to tell me to let go.’

  I think aloud, ‘Were our boyfriends really our boyfriends? Where are they now?’

  A broad smile spreads across Pansy’s face, ‘I know what it means.’

  ‘Pansy, that’s wonderful.’ Kim orders another round of drinks. We drink in silence. Silence is the great equaliser, each of us deep in our own thoughts.

  Pansy calmly tells us, ‘Since I went abroad I wore a neck scarf all the time. Melbourne is a windy city. And when I got home, I was never without it. Now I realize why I was never without a neck scarf. It was symbolic of being strangled. In my dream Tony pulls my scarf away, to set me free. So this evening, together we make it a shroud and sail it out at sea. It’s Hermes, genuine.’

  ‘Sure? Not from the back streets of Bangkok?’ I say. ‘Like the Vuitton bags you got us and convinced us into believing were genuine?’

  ‘Mary, stop it!’ Wan barks.

  Somehow it is difficult to ‘un-remember’ Pansy’s arrogance at us ‘poor things’ as she once described us to Tony. ‘That’s my necklace Mary is wearing. Gave it to her, poor thing.’ I hated her then, do I still?

  At the water’s edge, Pansy’s Hermes beige silk scarf with the little pink roses is tied up around handfuls of sand. We hold hands and set it free until it finds its home in the depths of the sea.

  Pansy suggests, ‘Let’s drink some more. No one to return to, right? We live alone, so we better learn to like ourselves and do whatever we want. Life is short!’

  ‘Life is short, don’t make it shorter! Pansy, you’re still the wild one! But then again, past our seventies, why not!’ Wan giggles. We giggle a lot, the drinks have seeped into the giggling part of our brains.

  ‘Yeahhhhhh. Let’s drink to this 74-year-old virgin! We were young once and we were beautiful.’ I look at Pansy, suddenly I no longer resent her making me wear that ugly yellow dress with red polka dots. I feel sad for her. She is so alone.

  ‘Now we have mellowed, we are comfortable,’ Kim adds, ‘comfortable in our skin, not bothered our clothes have shrunk, men no longer on our menu, etc, etc. Notice, no wedding rings on anyone.’

 
; We call for more drinks. The aroma of gin, vodka, rum, red wine, white wine and whatever else permeates the air. I’m not sure we are drinking to celebrate Pansy’s ‘liberation’ or for no apparent reason, or we just don’t know what else to do. I feel a strange queasiness but I cannot tell what it is. We listen to the soft music oozing from the clandestine speakers, ‘Are You Lonesome Tonight?’ It is past the Cinderella hour. ‘Are You Lonesome Tonight?’ Pansy asks, chin on one hand, the other hand clutching an empty glass, eyes beady, eye makeup smudged.

  Pansy is in a singing mood, ‘A song is not a song till we sing it. Let’s sing it!’ So we do, softly initially to get the right key and once found, we surprise ourselves that we can remember most of the lyrics. We sing the songs we used to dance to, at times off-key; when we forget the lyrics, we make up our own, each one different and we giggle. The singing envelopes us. What we have been unable to express in words, we sing: ‘A Summer Place’, ‘Walk On By’, ‘Smoke Gets in Your Eyes’, ‘It’s Only Make Believe’, ‘Heartaches by the Numbers’ and many others.

  This evening is the first time we have returned to the dance floor by the sea as a foursome since that fateful evening so long ago. We are a little drunk, but who cares? Finally, it is time to sing our Cinderella song, ‘Good night Irene, Irene good night, I’ll see you in my dreams.’

  To Zoom And Back

  During the COVID-19 pandemic, there was a complete lockdown in Singapore. Grandma is an active member with the Seniors Group. They have their weekly activities, but with lockdown, they had only WhatsApp Chats. They then decided to learn how to Zoom, to chat online and ‘see’ one another. It was a learning experience, a curveball thrown to them. Nevertheless, the need to connect motivated them to learn Zoom. This is in large part their story.

  Link: https://zoom/09876543/sayangme

  Password: Sayangyou23

  Grandma is glued to her new iPad. ‘No, can’t show you what I’m texting! Private, OK!’ then she smiles her sweetest smile, eyes glitter, waves me away.

  I live with grandma as my school is a ten-minutes walk away but I am soon to start undergraduate studies at the National University of Singapore. It feels suspicious to me that Grandma has not been glued to her Korean dramas every afternoon for the last week. When I come in, she hides her iPad under her blouse. I worry but she refuses to tell me or my parents anything. Dad asks me to probe, I’m her favourite grandchild. No, grandma’s not telling, she looks fine and is more cheerful, humming and smiling, her fingers tap, tap, tap, her steps light.

  One day she says, ‘Hwee Lin, when you go to Uni next month, I can still chat with you and see you and see your room.’

  ‘Of course, Grandma, WhatsApp is easy. Come visit.’

  ‘Not moving an inch from my chair. I Zoom you!’ So, that’s what she has been up to, learning Zoom online. She has signed up to learn Zoom – introductory and refresher courses. Now she’s ready to Zoom me, her children and friends. Several of her friends are not into Zoom yet – ‘So difficult to login‘, ‘No iPad’, ‘No computer’, ‘So old already, Zoom what?’, ‘WhatsApp can already’, ‘Meet and talk, much better’.

  Grandma is not disheartened. She learns. She shares. And that’s wonderful.

  And this is grandma’s Zoom life. She has mastered WhatsApp, as have her friends. But to them, nothing like their daily morning routines. Monday mornings band resistance exercise then to Kopitiam for breakfast and at times continue to lunch. Tuesday mornings she volunteers at the Seniors Centre. There she talks to the participants, plays gin rummy. Wednesdays are her visits to our Community Club to play mahjong. Thursdays are ‘sleep-in’ mornings. Fridays are her makan kecil potluck lunches with her friends, a group of twelve, each taking a turn to host. Saturdays are house-cleaning mornings with me. Sundays are ‘whatever I like to do’. Daily afternoons are stay home Korean dramas, Not To Be Disturbed. But with COVID-19 rearing its head over us we are cautious. Then Zoom zooms in like Superman and everything is alive again.

  * * *

  Grandma is a leader of sorts, and has several WhatsApp groups with different sets of friends. Her busiest chat group is her makan kecil potluck lunch group, naming themselves MK12 Chat.

  COVID-19 makes a gentle debutante entrance. Nothing much to worry about, we were told. Three months later she throws off her genteelness to parade her spectacular self, COVID-19, public enemy number one. Empty parks, lifeless malls, weeping transport personnel, hand-wringing hospitality staff, ‘Work From Home’ notices, as well as ‘School From Home’.

  Grandma’s WhatsApp chats however are alive and are in a frenzy.

  ‘Hwee Lin, can help me WhatsApp? My fingers are so tired.’

  ‘Grandma, you’re on WhatsApp since morning. Why the need to chat so much?’

  ‘I have many friends. They want to chat with me and everyone.’

  ‘I want to Zoom my MK12 Chat, but only three of us know how to Zoom. You help me, can?’

  Thus I become Grandma’s little helper.

  * * *

  Grandma’s WhatsApp to MK12:

  —We Zoom, then we can see and talk to everyone. I have scheduled a meeting for this Friday, at 8 pm. Zoom is easy. You must login to join Zoom. My Zoom address is https://zoom/09876543/sayangme. Password: Sayangyou23. Click on https:// then Password. You will see four icons. Click on JOIN. Then you will see ‘Please wait, the meeting host will let you in soon’. I’m the host and I will let you in. Then you will see on top, Unmute, Start Video, Share Screen, Participants and More and under it dots. On the left in red, Leave and below that 9 little squares Switch to Gallery View. On the main screen you will see me. It’s easy to follow. Can login at 7.50 to chat. Please RSVP you will join.

  * * *

  Friday 7.15 Grandma’s WhatsApp reminder to MK12 to Zoom at 7.50.

  WhatsApp chat at 7.50, Grandma’s pitched voice on the phone, ‘Yoke Keng why are you still not on Zoom? I already sent to our chat we Zoom. Come in NOW! Everyone waiting for you. Now!’

  Grandma’s MK12 Zoom

  Join join join join.

  * * *

  On WhatsApp:

  —Mavis, where got? I click nothing.

  —You click on https?

  —I copy from phone to my grandson’s laptop.

  —Check you copied address correctly.

  —Mavis, where did you learn Zoom? Easy to learn or not?

  —Easy. After we Zoom a few times, all become expert.

  —Sorry lah, Mavis, I copied wrongly. My grandson says better to Cut and Paste, no mistake.

  —Sorry, my phone battery 6%. My boy plays games until I also forget to charge. 6% battery can Zoom?

  —Charge it now and can Zoom.

  —OK, ten of us. Hello everyone. Can hear me? Donald said he’s having dinner at daughter’s house. Yue Lee did not reply. You see ‘Unmute’ button? Unmute so all can hear all.

  —How ah? There is a red line on ‘Unmute’.

  —Click on it. Done? Now no red line right? Do the same on Start Video, if you see red line, click so that everyone can see everybody.

  —Oh, ok got it. Now I can hear and see everyone. Hello.

  —Hello, hello, hello.

  —Now click ‘Participants’, you see names of our group. Yue Lee and Donald are not there. No go to left side click on ‘Switch to Gallery View’.

  —Now we all on. Talk about what?

  —Wow, hello everyone. My first Zoom. Interesting to see everyone. Just say whatever you want. Agnes you’re in pyjamas, ready to sleep?

  —This not pyjamas. My home clothes.

  —Sajuta, I saw you in the train yesterday. You and your granddaughter. She’s a big girl. What class is she in now?

  —Final year primary school. This year change format in the graduating exam. The first batch is the guinea pig batch. Usually easier or harder. We went to buy masks, very few pieces left.

  —How much a box now?

  —$12, $8. You can also buy two pieces. You read that cloth masks are no
t good. But all the same lah.

  —You remember when our children were young, they watched ‘Sesame Street’. Then they showed a gallery of the characters, like in a concert hall, the atas[1] seats, three or four levels, each character at a balcony. Now I see us, we are also, like ‘Sesame Street’. I like Miss Piggy and Kermit the Frog. I think they got married.

  —That’s not ‘Sesame Street’. It’s ‘The Muppet Show’.

  —Someday we’ll find it, the rainbow connection, The lovers, the dreamers and me la la la.

  —Fatimah you remember the song. Can sing the whole song?

  —It’s Kermit’s song. Only he can sing it. But Fatimah you can sing also.

  Fatimah sings. (Everyone claps)

  —Wah,[2] Fatimah you sing so well. Next time can Karaoke.

  —Yes, good idea. Mavis, your CC[3] has Karaoke Room? Can book for us?

  —Yes, what day?

  —Weekday afternoon better, not many people around. How much?

  —I don’t know. I can check and WhatsApp.

  —Also check what kind of songs. Got ‘Rainbow Connection’? Then Fatimah can sing and we learn from her. Fatimah can?

  —Sure can. But depends what day and time.

  —My son when he was a boy likes Cookie Monster. He’s so cute and funny when he mimicked Yummmmm and shoved all the cookies in his mouth.

  —This is so fun. Mavis where did you learn how to use Zoom. I also want to learn and can Zoom my children. Must I pay? How much?

  —Nothing to learn. After a few times you know how to Zoom.

  —How to schedule meeting, get https and password?

  —Go to your Community Club. There are many programmes for Seniors. Online.

  —If I click on ‘Leave’ …

  —Heh, Sin Wee, why you leave, come back, come back.