Revelation #StoriesFromTheTrunk

Diana, while coming back from work, picked up a bottle of champagne and called Mrianne, her collegue and her confidante. Mrianne was on a long leave for she was working for her personal project which she wasn't supposed to be working at, in the office. Diana wanted to meet Mrianne for she knew that her life was changing, bit by bit, and for good. Diana had broken up with Ron on a 'trivial matter', a 'trivial matter' - Ron's term, but for Diana it was a question of survival. 

   She had valued choice and freedom all her life, she had grown up on those terms, she had chosen Ron over many- many dear things and all that, without a moment of regret. But this morning, when she was talking to Ron over phone she knew she'd be calling Mrianne over for a glass of champagne. Not that she wanted to celebrate, she simply wanted to put an end, not with the purpose of starting afresh, just with the purpose of putting an end. 

   She had taken that decision the moment Ron had spoken his very first words on the phone that morning, she loved his voice but hated the authority he spoke with, she loved the way he spoke, but hated what he spoke. She started to think about all the possible ways she could have given him a hint that he had any power over her. She lost track of Ron's words, and dismissed the idea of giving him any hints that might make him feel like he has power over her. It was too strong a word for her and too strong an idea. The idea of an individual having power over the other amused her 'how could he possibly think that it is all right for him to talk to me with such authority' she thought to herself, until now, she had completely lost track of what Ron was saying. She knew for a fact that she had to put an end to her misery, she did not speak with authority with him and he wasn't supposed to do that either. She knew she was going to end it.

   While Ron spoke on the phone, she smiled , for her it was like a revelation. She thought of all the stories she had heard about, read about. Stories of love and war, of men and women. She laughed and stopped herself from dramatizing her own life while Ron spoke on the phone, she found Ron still speaking continously on the phone while she imagined calling Mrianne over. 

   She had already started to like the change in herself, so much that she smiled while making breakfast for herself, rewarded herself with extra honey on her bread, shook her head with amusement, called herself muddleheaded and left for work. The day seemed shorter than ever and before she could even realise, she was on her way back home, calling Mrianne. 

Her universe #StoriesFromTheTrunk

It must have been around 3 in the morning when Molly got home. She was again late from her work and her fifteen year old son had fallen asleep. She opened the refrigerator and took out a can of beer, she closed her eyes and sighed, silently. She looked at the beer can and thought to herself, had she failed as a mother?

   She took a sip and thought, had she been too selfish in filing for the divorce? She opened her eyes and found herself crying, she had always hated crying, pertaining to the stigma attached with it. ' Women have a shorter and a shallower tear duct than men ', she had read that somewhere, she reminded herself that she is still radical, it was the tear duct that was at fault. She was trying to comfort herself, was overthinking every bit, but what else could she have done? She had realised that she was falling apart, piece by piece. She knew that she could not deal with the guilt all by herself, but she was, all by herself. She had chosen this life and had she not been sorry for her son, she would have been content. According to her, this life with emotional outbreaks and guilt was much better than the life she had been living with her husband.

    Johnes was everything Molly was not and this was why they got together at first but once they were done discovering each other they could not bear each other. Their ideology, their philosophy for life was way too different. Their son, Peter had no idea about the differences but as he grew up he too thought that it was better for both of them to separate, although he was only fifteen years old, Molly had always thought that he had an old soul. A soul which has seen everything, understood everything and was in a fifteen year old's body just so that he could stand by her.

   Molly used to believe in the universe until her divorce, post divorce, she could not stop blaming herself, the only thing she did not want to give her son was, a life without a father but she could not do anything about it. She felt helpless and tired ; mentally tired. She could perform all the duties of a father but she could never replace the touch of a father.

   She knew Peter was understanding enough that his parents can't live together and that was what was eating her, she knew Peter wouldn't crib, she knew Peter wouldn't say a word for he understood her mother more than her she understood herself, but she also knew that that could be his parasite too. His own suppressed desires might start feeding on him one day, and what will she do then?

    She was so completely torn between her son's desires and her freedom, she could not deal with her own self anymore. She sat on the rocking chair and finished her can, she stared at the wall and cursed the universe until she fell asleep.

The Suffering #StoriesFromTheTrunk

The Day He Froze, Again.

It was 5 '0' clock in the morning. He got up and started thinking about the day that had passed. He closed his eyes hard and tried not to recall the moments. He was terrified, sweat dripping off his forehead, his eyes blood shot, his lips white and his cheeks scarlet with the realisation of the gravity of the situation.

 At 5 in the morning, this was all very surreal for him, he tried to get up from the bed, stretched his hand to reach for his specs which were kept on the metallic bedside table, next to the Father's day card his son had made for him. He couldn't recall keeping his specs on the table the night before. He figured his wife, Martha would have removed the specs while he was asleep, and kept it there. He hastened with it, took his legs out of the quilt slowly, trying not to wake Martha up. His legs had been cold even under his quilt.

   As he keeps his feet on the carmine carpet, he feels a relief. The carpet was warm and comforting. He takes a deep breath and tries to block the memories of the horrible incident of the previous day, he stands up, his hands hanging from his body like that of a dead person, his steps, firm, his head, steady, his eyes, blank and his pace, slow. 

   He walks to his son's room and keeps the palm of his hand on the bed and feels the quilt, he sits on the messy white table lying beside the bed and keeps his head on the pillow as if, trying to smell his son. He finds the bed empty and gets up from the table, slowly, moving away from the bed, the memories of all those fifteen years, coming back to him, bit by bit. He sits on the floor and presses his hand hard against his mouth, trying to sob without making a sound, taking in all that had happened.The lose of his ten year old son, who had died fifteen years ago in a car accident on the 6th of October 1998. For him, it was the 7th of October.

   He had been waking up at five in the morning, feeling like it's the 7th of October 1998 since fifteen years. He had not been able to forget and move on even after Martha's several attempts. Martha felt that she was luckier, she did not have to go through the pain, the agony, the suffering of losing a son, every morning, like her husband.  

**********