Present

By Gnyaneswari

“ Present ” She used to call me. Her voice whispers back into my head as I look at the bedlight she gave me when I was seven. Rays of purple spreading across the room from it. I squint at it, the plastic box of purple dotted with silver stars holding a plastic pink ribbon on its top. “ a present for my present '' she used to say. I lay down on my bed facing the ceiling. The plain white ceiling. It seems to be the same as me, bland and empty. I try to avoid it but the purple-pink glow still catches my attention from the corner of my eye. I turn to the other side, resting my head on my left hand. I stay still as a tear drops off my eye and runs down through the curve of my nose. I wait for it to enter my other eye but it falls down on the bed sheet creating a faint wet dot on it. Another dot joins it on the side as I blink. 

“ She'll be fine, ” the police officer said this morning when they came to check her room. I was in the hall, waiting hopefully that they’d find some trace. Some clue. Some hint, which would make them look for her. But they didn’t. One of them, a bold looking lady, came and sat beside me. “ Your sister will be fine. ” she repeated and i lost it. 

“ how do you know ? '' I asked, furiously. “ Why are you all acting like you don’t care about her ? I know she doesn’t say much. I know she’s reserved and distant all the time. But that doesn’t mean she’s unimportant. That doesn’t mean you don’t look for her when she’s gone. She’s just as important as other people in this world. She’s my sister. My sweet, innocent sister. I can’t even think of what she might be going through. She's older than me but she’s … sensitive. And you won't even look for her  ” 

“ hey. I know it’s hard for you.” she said, placing a hand on my shoulder. A hurt expression in her face. “ We do care about her just as we care about everyone else. We’ve been through a lot of cases like this. It’s just that all the circumstances fall under the possibilities of her leaving on her wish. And we have … ”

“ real cases to deal with ? ” I scoff. "That's what the other guy said, right ? ” 

“ You heard that ?” she whispered. “ I apologize, on his behalf. It’s just that, It’s been a busy week. Humanity at the edge of its patience. For now, all I can say is that I'm sure that she’s okay. ” 

How do they know ? Why do they think she ran away ? My sister is not some scaredy cat . or a lovesick cat. That was what a few called her. Stupid theories. If they would’ve used this brain of theirs for some good, the world would’ve been a better place long back. But no, all they use it for is to create stupid theories on a girl who has only ever been nice to them. Some say that she might be working under a gray market. How could they say that ? they don't even know her. Noone knows her. not as much as I do.  

I look back at the ceiling. home isn’t home anymore and the people in it are just hollow. Just breathing bodies. How  peaceful it was when she was here. Everything was fine. Perfect. Now, it’s all empty. Mom and dad fought again yesterday. It was a big one. I was in my room listening to them, wishing my sister was here. I hoped that she would come out from under my bed and tell me that it was all just a joke, that she didn’t go anywhere. I waited. But she didn’t come. After checking under my bed to be sure, surely hurt, I went out. I found my mom leaving for her office and dad packing his bag. They left. I didn’t stop them. I just went to my sister's room to check under her bed. She wasn’t there either. 

I follow my gaze with the faint purple glow growing brighter and brighter as my eyes stop at the bedlight. I thought it would be calm, to have it on. I thought it would somehow bring back the comfort of her presence. But I was wrong. It just increases this pain. Of her not being here. Of losing my safe zone. 

It reminds me of the days we used to fight over the last piece of mango. Of how she always used to give up in the end so that i can have it. And those days when she’d come to me suddenly, with a pair of bluetooths to play a great song she heard on random. Sometimes I used to think that they were dumb, but the act of her wanting to share it with me somehow made them sound better. And that time when she’d put me to sleep with the white noise on, saying that it would help me rest better for the exam the next day. And they always worked. Always made me feel special. Taken care of. Until she didn’t. Not after her birthday a few weeks ago. 

I get out of my bed , head towards the switchboard and slam the switch of the bed light down. 

It was all my fault. It’s all my fault she isn’t here. I shouldn’t have acted so stupid. 

I look at my bed. The bedsheet crinkled a little over the middle and  faint air pushing down an imaginary head on the pillow. It looks the same it did, that day, the morning we found out she was missing. The day they said she ran away.

She wouldn’t run away. I know. She wouldn’t leave me like this. alone. Someone took her. These people won't believe it, but I know. I know that someone came into the room that night. Her room. I was sleeping in her room. And she left to sleep in mine. I should have stopped her. I should’ve apologized to her right then. I didn’t and she left. She was still mad at me, I assumed. And so I just lay there, in her bed. I was almost asleep when I heard some noise. I didn’t look up. I was scared. I should've woken up. I shouldn’t have just hid beneath the blanket fearing it was a ghost. I should’ve woken up. Maybe they came for me. I should’ve saved her. I should’ve woken up and now I can’t sleep anymore. I walk out of the room.

 I step down the stairs slowly, worrying that my tired eyes might fail me into stepping on air instead. I stare at the rockchair, sitting empty in the living room, everytime i take a step down. I reach the last step safely and look around not knowing where I'm actually about to go. Maybe to the kitchen , to eat something even though I'm not feeling hungry. Or maybe to the washroom , to wash my face even though I feel like I deserve this drain. Or maybe outside, even though I know that not even a breeze of fresh air can make me feel alive. I move towards wherever my feet tend to take me, but then I force them to stop when I see my sister’s room. The door slightly open, cracking as it slightly moves with the force of the wind, telling me to go inside. Telling me that it’s my job to find her.

“ Find her, ” I whisper to myself, as I step closer to her door.   

I stop slightly to look at the empty rockchair again. to look at the faint absence of the man who was supposed to sit there but isn’t because our aunt took him to their house. The man who went missing long before my sister did. Doctors tried to bring him back. But gave up when they couldn’t. Just like the police did now. But that time, it was different. That time, I was glad. I was glad my grandfather was gone.

I force my eyes away from the stupid chair and into the crack between the door and the wall of my sister’s room. 

“ You don't understand, ” I scoffed under my breath, when the police officer said that she knows my sister would be all right. “ She needs our help. ”

“ if you think so ” she hesitated a little before adding. “ just keep looking ”

I will. Keep looking. If that is what is needed to bring her back home. Safe. then I will. I will keep looking. No matter if anyone’s in it with me or not. 

With one long sigh , I push the door open wide and walk into the room. I look around and it hurts me how everything in this room reminds me of her. The crease on the bed is still the same from the night I slept on it. And now i think that i should’ve just slept in my room. Should’ve just dealt with the fear myself. My brain is filled with so many ‘ should’ve ’s that I can blame every ounce of my very existence.  

I turn to look at the mirror near her desk. I stare at my reflection in it. And the scratch between my neck and my shoulder. It’s bleeding. “ it was ” I remind myself. It was bleeding that evening on my sister’s birthday. I step closer and squint to look at the dried mark. Only  now I realize how small it is to bring matters this far. To not speak to her for a week. So small. Too small. It happened on her birthday. I was in my room making her a wooden heart. It was almost completed when my sister's voice called me out. I was heading downstairs when a hand grabbed me from behind. I turned to find the old man, my grandfather, looking dazed. He was asking me about something. Something about his wife. I tried to tell him that I'll go call dad, or mom. But he just kept asking. I told him that she is dead and that I barely know her. Usually, I don't even talk to him. I just look at him, watch in happiness as he sits cluleṣss in his rockchair because of his dementia. I smile at how karma worked right for this man who, as I remember, only ever scoffed at every big favor my parents did to him. But at that moment he just wouldn’t listen nor even leave my hand. I thought he was having some hearing issues. So I was shouting it for him when a harsh voice shouted my name from behind. The old man, startled, left my hand immediately. Another hand grabbed me from behind, right between my shoulder and neck, so hard I could feel its nails dug into my skin. And when I turned around I was shocked to see that it was my sister. That was the only time she called me, shouted at me, by my name and not ‘ present ’. She was never angry at me. I’ve never seen her like that. Like some rage summoned into her.  I yelled back at her as she ran upstairs. That was the last time we ever spoke to each other. 

I find a box sitting on the floor behind me in the reflection of the mirror. I turn to look at it. The box, it wasn't her the day I came to check under her bed. Maybe the police left it here while searching for the clue they never found. I sit down in front of the coloured cardboard box. And then I realize that I know this box. I remember it from the night my sister said she wanted to show me a secret and brought me here to her room. She closed the door behind her saying that she has never shown it to anyone, not even our parents. Then she opened this box dramatically and pulled out a scrapbook. It was a family album. And she was there in front of me, smiling as I told her it was beautiful. It was just one of those magical moments. One of those moments I'll never forget. 

I open the box. There is a bunch of stuff inside it. Mostly papers , a few books, a diary and a big book I recognize. I open the scrapbook. She was such a cute small child at heart. I flip through pages. There are not many of them, the stickered pages, maybe just one or two more added from when I saw it the last time. just a few, maybe she resumed it recently until she… disappeared. 

I’ll find her. I just need a clue. Anything. That night , I remember they came in here. they might have come for something, might have left some trace behind. Something. Some clues. Or maybe a ransom note. Something which passed by the eyes of the police. Something they didn’t think was important . something. I have to find her.  I know she didn’t run away. I don't care if they think so. They don't know her like I do. 

I shuffle my hands through the trimmed shreds of paper lying inside the box. Something thick hits my hand. I push the papers aside and pull out a thick sheet of folded paper. This is it. The note. My heart starts beating louder as I slowly unfold the paper. It gets louder and louder as I find a handwritten note inside it, and it almost stops , suddenly , totally, as I recognize whose handwriting it is. My sisters. And no, it’s not a note. I turn a little and let the shade of light from the curtain fall onto the paper. It’s a … poem ? 

“ to a child grown up in the darkest nights, 

even the dimmest of light, 

seems like a brightest place to live in ”

 She wrote this ? it doesn’t … it doesn’t even sound like her. Why would she write something so sad ? I thought she stayed reserved because she liked being alone, liked her own company. But now, as i read this. Now, as I try to see the story from another perspective, I don't think she did. I don’t think she chose it. I look back at the poem, and I read it again. In her voice. I fold the note and put it back in the bottom of the box. My hand trembling as I think “ do I even know her ? ”  

I pull the paper aside and a diary. I open it, whispering to my heart to stay strong for whatever I find inside. I never went through her things before, because I don't like anyone going through mine. But now, it’s more than just a want. It’s a need. I have to. I flip pages until I find a familiar cursive writing. What could it be ? a bunch of poems. Like in the note ? or diary entries of normal teen issues ? or something I cannot even think of ? something darker ? Is she not the person I think she is ?  

It's a list. I sigh in relief at the broad lettered title. But then it also has dates. I squeeze my hands around the book before I start reading them.

June 26th 2020 : I don't wanna do this. But I should. I must. I have to write it down somewhere. To track down. But then, I hope it doesn’t go far. I have to save you. My present. And I will. 

Save me ? What does she want to save me from ? From the people who took her ? I read the next entry which is dated a few days after the first one. 

“ It happened again today. You shouldn’t see them. So I took you outside , showed you this random song I heard online. I’m sorry I lied. But I just want to save you. You can't see them. Not like this. ”

My vision goes blur as I turn the page to read the next one.  

They are loud tonight. I hope you don't hear them not over the white noise. You have school. You can't spend tomorrow sleeping, like I used to. I won't let you go through the same thing again. I won't let you have the same scars. None, if I can. 

I swallow dry air , as I put the book aside before my tears fall onto it. She’s not talking about some strangers is she ? She's talking about … our parents.

I place the book on the floor as I read through the list, stating days and days where she distracted me from the chaos happening in our house. How all those magical moments she gave me, weren’t actually magical at all, for her. They were scary, instances where she had to save me. I sigh, and I feel my heart deflating with my lungs as I read the line again. Save me ? Why ? Why not just tell me the truth ? Why hide it from me ? of course they fight, they are humans , like us. Of Course they fight. Why hide it from me ? I flip the pages until a long one comes to my sight, my heart deflates harder when I look at the top of the page. It's dated the night before she went missing. The night I felt afraid. The night I went to her room and she left to mine. The night they came. Is there a ‘ they ’ ? Now I doubt it. What else are you hiding ? I look back at the page, the handwriting scribbled and crooked in uncertain ways.  

“ I’m sorry, present. I’m sorry. For all the days I lied to you. For all the things I hid from you. And for never telling the truth you owe to know from me. For never showing you the real ‘ me ’. For being such a bad example. ” 

Bad example ? Why would she be a bad example ? Why am I so scared to read what would come next ? Why do I feel this fright ? Who is she ? But, I have to keep reading in order to answer that. In order to know the truth. I have to read. I breath in deeply,   

“ When I was small, our grandparents always used to fight, and I just couldn’t get out of it. I couldn’t get out of the words they said to each other. And then pretend like they didn’t. How his anger would just rise hers, and yet she’d stay like that. Helpless. Our parents thought I was too small to understand and that it wouldn’t affect me. They knew nothing. Of how much I could get it. Of how much it changed me. It made me wanna go invisible. It made me pray to god that I would never turn into them. I couldn’t concentrate in school. All that would come to my mind is how messed up people can be. Relations can be. Of how far a small tint of anger could spread. And then she died, our grandma and grandpa got our parents to argue with. I hated it. I wanted to go and shout like them. But then I looked at you and I felt calm. I felt this purpose. This purpose to save you. The past felt lighter when I looked at you, it felt nonexistent. You pulled me out from the memories I can't change, to the moment which is in my hand. Who reminded me of the ‘ present ’. And so I started calling you that, and will forever. For a while everything was fine. Then he had a stroke and had dementia. He was too weak to argue anymore. Looking after grandfather's weakness was easier than looking after his anger. But I couldn't forget it completely, those words , that tone when they argued. It sounded so inhumane. It made me anxious. Even in school, sometimes when kids fought, I couldn't stand still. I felt this urge to run away from them and I chose it over the urge to punch them in the face. This urge to kill the violence with violence itself. We started to grow up, and my classmates became good friends. I had very few but that was fine, they weren’t arguing a lot at that time. It was all great, I was finally living my childhood until it started all over again. In a place where I wished it wouldn’t. In our home. In Our parents. It seemed like a virus, the anger, passing down from people to people like a proud family trait. I thought they would have learned, after all this trouble they had to go through with their parents. But they didn’t. They started arguing too and this time, I couldn't let you see it. I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m sorry I let you think that your parents are perfect. They are not. They are just as flawed as any other. Maybe even more. But I couldn't let you see them. You were too small .And I know what affects it leaves. At times I tried to confront them, tell them that they had a child in the house, tell them what effect it has on a child’s brain. Tell them that I didn't just stop liking school, that I didn't just become distinct. That i didn’t just become shy and reserved because i thought it was cute or something. That i didn’t just want to sit there listening to whatever blame they put on me about my grades and stuff. I wanted to compare them to our grandparents just as they compared me with the other girls. But I didn't, I just sat there, listening, nodding, apologizing. Because if there was anything I never wanted to start, it was a fight you’d see. Because the one who's supposed to be putting you to sleep on white noise would now be shouting out her mind, just like the ones which affected her life. 

I tried to put them together, our family. I stuck their faces and perfect seeming bodies on a scrapbook. Decorate them. Hope that we are a perfectly sound family like everyone thinks. But it didn’t work. I was so familiar with playing the pretend trick I thought that I could play it with my mind too. I was wrong , I realized and so I stopped trying to stick them together. Both in the scrapbook and in real life. I was so tired of playing that trick over and over again. Everytime i try, my mind somehow hovers over all the distractions and sits right at the place where it hurts the most. 

I'm sorry I shouted at you like that on my birthday. It was just that, I never wanted to see you angry. And when i saw you shouting at grandpa like that, i don't know what happened to me. I tried to stop you, I used too much force, I'm sorry I hurt you. I don't know … it triggered me. Even the slightest voice raise makes me anxious. And I wanted to take you away from him. I just wanted to take that expression out of your face. I just never wanted that emotion to enter your head, and in that process , I don't know when it entered into mine. I'm sorry I pulled you so hard. I’m sorry for that cut. when i saw it when it registered that it was caused by me, to you. I couldn’t help. I felt anxious . breathless. And so I ran away. I’m sorry for that too. I'm sorry for so many things, I know. It’s just that life was never sorry to me. 

I realized that I have it in me. The virus. The anger. More than in anyone else. Like a volcano. Building up since the day I was born, And it could erupt anytime. Anywhere. in front of anyone. And I didn't want it to be you. After all these days, of trying to save you from it. I didn’t want to explode in front of you. So I played along when you didn’t talk to me. I realized I just couldn’t talk to anyone. I realized that I had to leave. I wish to say this to you in real life, to you, to mom and to dad and even grandpa. I wish to talk to you, face to face. I should’ve talked before. Now, I can't. I can't talk to you because I'm afraid I can't sound like the ‘ me ’ you know anymore. ” 

I try to push down the lump in my throat. This is a goodbye note isn’t it ? She did leave ? on her own. There is no ‘ they ’. It’s her. It had always been her. She left under her own wish. She left me.   

“ At first it was just a feeling, that feeling everyone gets when life is tough, to run aways far away, where noone exists. But tonight when you came to my room, I felt like I could explode. That I could hurt you with everything that I've been trying to save you from but only with a stronger force. I felt like hugging you , crying into you and telling you about everything. Everything I've been hiding from you. But then I looked at the scratch. It never healed. And I realized that next time it could get bigger and bigger. And that anything that could go wrong after I leave would only ever be smaller than it. Smaller than the hurt I could cause you. And so I left, I came to your room and lied down and thought about it for a while. And I chose. To leave.

I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry. I hope they become more careful after I'm gone. I hope they take good care of you. They will. I know. I wish, you don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I know where I'm going. I’ll be under a dim light, don’t worry I'll be fine, it’ll be the brightest place for me. If there's one thing I wish to leave behind, it would be this, these scars, these cuts that always bleed, this ‘me’. If you read this, present, I want you to know that, don’t wait for life to happen, don’t sit back like me, take the step, take the action. Fight for what you want. And if you feel that something is wrong, then say it, out loud. Don’t stay like me. Don’t wait until you reach a point where the only option is to explode. To run ” 

She didn’t. I know. She didn’t run away. That night, when she wrote this. She didn’t choose to run away. She chose to walk away. And it takes a lot of pain, endurance and strength to walk away. It hits me, right under my stomach, this pain of not knowing it before. Reading through this, all the things she had to go through. This fear of hers in words. Her anxiety. I can feel it, through this paper. All the things life put her through. I feel it. And it hurts. It pinches me at the insides of my heart. It makes me wanna cry and never stop. I felt it, her pain, her fear when mom and dad fought yesterday. I felt like breaking apart, both outside and inside. And she only ever felt it ten times stronger. The breaking. It felt real. With dad leaving. But he came back. Loved ones always come back. It’s just that, they never leave actually. And so will you. I hope so. You will come back too. And it will be my chance to look after you. You have saved me. You saved that inner child in me. You gave me the childhood you never had. 

I wipe my tears off and try to smile as I read the last line. 

“ I love you, present. ”

By Gnyaneswari