I call her Pinkie but I can bet that is not her real name. I doubt any parent would name their child that. She is my next door neighbour; she has been for the last two or so months. We rarely talk because we are the type of people who have perfected the art of letting our noses stick on our faces and not in each other’s business. I named her Pinkie because her balcony is crowded with pink; her balcony seats are pink, her washing basins are pink, her rags are pink, everything is either pink or a shade of pink. Does the colour pink even have shades? Ironically though, I have never seen her in pink clothing; she is ever in black. If it is not a black hoody today, then it’s black shorts tomorrow. Maybe I should have called her Blackie, but Pinkie suits her better.
I know she watches her Saturday movies from around 9pm till late. She does her laundry on Saturday morning and enjoys the sunset every Sunday sipping on a drink from a mason jar. Maybe it’s juice or just water or maybe a spinach and broccoli smoothie. Who knows,maybe lovers of pink are also health freaks. I have mastered her weekend routines because that is how well I mind my business and keep my nose on my face.
This Sunday however, Pinkie seemed disturbed by something or someone. She was unsettled to put it mildly. She paced back and forth the small balcony occasionally kicking her shoes and basins out of their place. For the two or so weeks that I have showed interest in her, I have learnt that she is meticulous in her arrangements, everything stays at it’s place. At some point she even knocks over her pink peg holder and they go sprawling over the floor startling me from minding my own business.
Her pertubed self piques my curiosity. She is always calms exuding a relaxing demeanor as she enjoys the breeze but not on this Sunday. I try to follow her actions peripherally but nosiness makes it hard to remain discreet. A loud crashing sound makes me turn fully towards her. On the floor are broken pieces of her mason jar and a pink-ish fluid pools around the shattered pieces of glass. What is pink and is drinkable? This girl has a high oddity I must say.
I face her and open my camera ready to record any ensuing drama just incase I need to supply the tabloids with the hottest news in town. I must have stared for a second longer because our eyes meet and a cloud of unpleasant tension hovers between us. I try to break eye contact but she follows my gaze from left to right then back to left. The silence threatens to protract to awkwardness and I clear my throat hoping she lets my glance go.
“Was it worth it?” She asks breaking eye contact finally. Her eyes swell up with tears and before she can reach for a piece of tissue in her pocket, a few drops trickle down her face.

What was worth what?

“I really tried my best,” she continues. At this point tears are flowing uncontrollably down her cheeks and the tissue she had is already soaked in tears. She tries to hide her snifles but from five meters away I can still hear the whimpers trying to break through. She leans on the balustrade fully facing me with her now wet face. The transition from knocking things over to a vulnerable, weeping and sniffing being was very unexpected.

Cognizant but obviously unbothered by our outdoor location, she goes ahead to describe to me how she thought out and executed her plans and made sure no trace of evidence was left behind. She used borrowed clothes, had the online store pack and deliver the package and even altered her call log to fit the chronology of her story if the authorities came asking questions. This girl was smart but still oddly strange.

“Was it worth it?” she asks again,her voice expectant of a reply.
I do a quick recap of all the events she has narrated taking into consideration the risks invoved and the possible aftermath and make a very informed conclusion.

“Was sending your best friend a death threat and a headless bunny soaked in fake blood worth it? No! Pinkie you went a little overboard.”

“I hope you are prepared for the aftermath,” I add feeling sorry that she wasted a few dollars on such a thing. To be honest, I had hoped to hear how she had killed the neighbour and gotten away with it. Maybe she is not as strange as I thought she is after all.

Just in time, her balcony door flings open revealing a girl who seems to be boiling with anger from her heavy breathing and invisible smoke billowing out of her ears. I assume it is the enraged best friend here to serve Pinkie a piece of her mind on a not silver platter. I hope she is ready for the aftermath.

I put my headphones back on to look unbothered but you and I know I was all ears.

*************

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