I visited her house today. She didn't want to have company over. I pushed her into making me dinner. She relented, reluctantly so.
She doesn't smile anymore. Not really anyway. Her sullen eyes do most of the hospitality. They try to bridge the gap of communication.
Her lips sealed by grief so deep. Her hands clasping one another, for company, or perhaps in a sub-conscious prayer.
I saw a bit of anger in her fingers, as she impatiently tried to dial a number one too many times. Other than that, she remained at peace.
The scary kind of peace. The one you never wish for your loved ones.
She ruffled in the kitchen looking for something in the noisy drawers. When she couldn't find it, she asked me. "Do you have a lighter?"
She didn't smoke. She just wanted to switch it on. And off. Just once. and then a few times more. It pleased her. She faintly smiled.
Her apartment looked smaller than the last time. Piles of paper and two cats sitting on them. It wasn't dirty. It was just hoarded. Full.
She made dinner, her eyes fixed spookily on the stove and two pots. She was silent and I just looked around for a space to breathe in.
Had I made a mistake in getting myself invited? The view from the balcony had no answer for me. The old parenting pigeons too, flew away.
A thud in the bathroom & we both rushed. The cat, wanting to reach the cabinet, somehow hit the basin, got scared & fell. I got the cat.
She got the wet toothpaste tube that fell in the toilet bowl.
Were those tears? Is she looking at a germ infected toothpaste tube and... sobbing? Wait. No. That's crying. She is definitely crying.
"That was his paste. I never use it. I hated it. I told him. He still bought it just to annoy me." She talked to me. And to herself.
She carefully washed it with an old dried out soap, making sure none of the crease & folds on the tube get spoiled.
She looked up and sang a lullaby to herself in the mirror.
The walls whispered a sad farewell story. He had left her with many questions. And she was tired of finding answers. The mirror was broken.
The cats found a dusted spot and curled up together, purring in temporary bliss. They do not yet know the pain of losing the most loved one.
I dropped on the sofa and looked for my phone in my bag. A long due call had to be made today. If only these tears would stop.
5 comments:
I was taken with surprise to find a story on my most favourite blog of proses. Hence with apparent ardour and curiosity as I read line after line, I was amazed with the impression it delivers. That tangibility of emotions and material from the scene amidst the characters as if one is watching a movie. One moment I was awing at the prowess of story weaving and another moment I was a mere captive of eagerness which placed me in that room with dusky wallpapers and dangling question marks in the air.
This story is a superlative classroom content for many who aspire to be avid short story writers.
God bless
Lovely, Anu! Tugged all the right strings, you've displayed such raw emotions in the story.
Emotions well composed in words or I may rather say, Words well needled to make rosary of emotions. Keep it up.
Emotions well composed in words or I may rather say, Words well needled to make rosary of emotions. Keep it up.
I echo Inder's comment above. That's exactly what I felt. You left me still sitting in that room on that couch lamenting the loss!
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