By Shaurya Thakur
The long day was coming to end and the throbbing pain in my chest was yet to subside. I had been away for a while now, wondering and wandering over multitudes of terrains to move away from myself. It didn’t matter though, wherever the roads lead, none of it. As it happens most of the times, the emotional novelty of these travels soon wears off.
I was done. I had run myself out from this endless escape and it had to be done. I could no longer beat around the bush, prolong my misery. Time had come to me, or rather for me to make the call. I shrugged and inserted my remaining pocket change and punched the buttons apathetically. Now while the call was going through, I prepared myself from the incoming onslaught of anger and resentment. The throbbing pain in my chest however, had an upper hand as I ended up tightening the grip on the receiver barring concentration towards strategy.
The call made its way to the addressee. I had hoped to have spoken first to have control over the course of the conversation. “You are a real son of a bitch, aren’t you?” said she, an opening so vehemently honest it could dismember anybody inside out. It dismembered me inside out. I was hurt, not because I had lost my footing early on, but because I realised I could very well make things even worse for her by not knowing how and what to say to her. My track record with reactions and emotions could very well push her over the edge, and we were not off to a great start.
“Oh. You know it’s me. How did you know it was me?” I asked non-chalantly.
“You never had to fortitude to face your fears or apologize upfront. Besides, you surround yourself with tremendous guilt.” Of what was the most intense few seconds of silence followed a sniffling sound. Her voice had started to break, but I was sure of the fact she was crying. Now usually such display of sorrow does not move me, but her breakdown had propelled something in me that I had never experiences beforehand. I did not know where this was going, but I held on to the damn receiver.
“What you did, no one knows but me. And I’m going to have to live with it for the rest of my life. Shit, the only reason I didn’t turn you in is because I was the one I lead you to him which makes me a co-conspirator. Even though you pushed him, I can’t help shake off the feeling it is my fault as well. Yes, he made things difficult for you in school but that was 20 fucking years ago.”
“I’m sorry .It was too much stuff for me to have inside of me. I was starting to lose a hold of myself and I really needed to let the clutter out somehow, you know? I was teetering on the brink of madness. I wish I knew a better way. I just... I don’t really know a better way. Are you there? I’m really sorry.”
There was another period of silence, this one running for quite a few minutes bringing a halt to my rambling. “So where are you calling from?” came the follow up question.
“A booth in the Midwest.” I replied with a faint smile, as for a brief moment we fell back into the same patterns. Brief it was, as her smile had vanished too; back to the feelings of anger and resentment and now shame. “No, really. Where are you?” she asked. This matter of simple geographical enquiry stung me, and I decided I could no longer speak. To take myself out of this darkness, I looked back at my memories with her. The memories were beautiful, but they were over and I was back to darkness.
I left the receiver hanging, walking away unsure from the site of accident. The throbbing pain in my chest did not subside.
By Shaurya Thakur
Comments