There is mist in the
room
Unsure of what that
meant, Cara sat back and stared at the sentence on MS Word 2007 doc sheet. White,
bland and plain, like something so dull could ever be inspirational. That is
probably why she had an absurd painting hanging over the computer screen.
Musing over the fact that she still owned a PC and not a laptop made her think
why. Why was it that she wanted to keep this virtual space separated from the
weary fragrant rawness of her bed. The cotton sheets on which every night she
twisted and turned, forcing at times and at times effortlessly surrendering to
warmth. Of course she wanted these two universes
separate. Further musing, Cara thought that there were two sorts of people
in the world (grinning at the exhaustive use of this line), those who could use
laptops and those who couldn't. Period.
A figure emerged from
this hazy white light, which blurred in stagnant vapors made him hard to see
who it really was.
Why were women easier to write about, Cara wondered as she
stared back at the sentence. Unsure of how does one get rid of their block, she
kept gaping back forth. Between the two worlds that stood three feet away from each
other. Bodies were beautiful she thought, and maybe that’s why women were
easier to write for her. For her a woman’s contours and a lover’s conduct
towards them stripped their beings naked. Voices weren’t as sincere as
movements. And she had seen many men and women sustain through these tests of
sincerity in her very bed, transforming it into something sanctified for its
silence.
He rubbed his eyes,
hoping it was a dream as rooms didn't have mists in real. But after the time he accompanied James to the bridge, reality had blurred its necessary rigidness.
James was dearest friend of his. They went to school together and despite years
of tribulations, both made sure their dreams were followed if not fulfilled. He
thought how deep the difference between ‘pursue’ and ‘achieve’ was. And if done
with the right person each could be equally meaningful and satisfying. He
thought of James and walked towards the figure.
Cara looked around; she hadn't had a visitor for weeks now.
And she hadn't been writing as well. Maybe one needed to be put in the spot to
be able to reciprocate loud enough. Ruth was the last one to visit and stay.
She stayed with her little English bulldog. Cara had always wondered about how
could so small a dog have so large an appetite. But he made Ruth happy, and
that clearly was good enough for her as well. Cara stared at her hands now;
these rings were gifted to her by Ruth. She liked collecting them, and with
every collectable brought one for Cara. She wore four right now, equal to the
number of weeks since Ruth had left. Ruth, a word English language understood
only in absence.
He moved very slowly
as slowly as they did in their last walk. While moving he commanded himself to
not startle, irrespective of what was there. Not scream or faint, fear came very
easily to him and so did surrender. He thought of how James dealt with it. Like
that time when they got stuck in an elevator. James had held him, not too tight
or soft. Just made sure his presence felt secure and assuring. He had told him
the funniest story from his childhood, making him laugh when he thought he
would pass-out of the claustrophobia. He thought of James, smiled and walked
forward.
She couldn't believe it took her an hour to actually write
this. There was a time when a page of prose didn't take longer than thirty
minutes. Words like flew towards her and all she had to do was catch them at
the right moment, as to not miss out on an expression. Drifting further into
thought, Cara began reminiscing Ruth’s body. How it felt on her fingers, and
also how their conduct and contours flowed in perfect harmony. Neither guilty
nor free, their bodies communicated in an honesty that was devoid of judgment.
She began to miss it. Miss her and her hair. Her laughter that was at times an inspiration
and mostly an accessory to the place Cara inhabited so silently. Ruth could
never read what Cara wrote about her; even the poem that Ruth loved lost its
stature after knowing the inspiration. It was some of these many words that
made her leave, Cara thought. It was some of these many different, brilliant
and cruel words that made her leave.
Assured and safe
within his thoughts, he walked towards the image. That being made incongruous
by fog and dim light. A thought rushed to his head about perception. How a
probably normal man/woman was so distorted in this haze. This difference
between reality and perception was consequential of many incidents that evoked malice
in his mind. Like the time James and he visited a park near college, where they
would walk hand in hand. But one morning they got late and went when crowds of
‘proper’ men and women filled the space. The eyes that caught them scrutinized,
questioned and almost assaulted their
love. Like the time they kissed for the first time, and how happiness didn't come as a rush but an impulse trained and restricted before reaching expression.
James was the one who maintained he peace in their relationship, he had a
magical way of blocking out the terrible and bringing in only the profound. He
had been missing James since the time they last saw each other on the bridge.
He was close to the being, almost able to make who it was, when the shock hit
him.
Staring back at her words Cara thought who she was writing
out in this couple, a story or a confession. Feeling guilty of using Ruth again
to get out of a fix. The stagnancy was suffocating her, and needed Ruth to make
it breathe again. It was strange how memories had the power of constructing a
being all over again, it was also strange that their love to her always felt
unreal. And that’s exactly what it had become now, not-real.
He stood still with
tears flowing softly over his cheeks. That being was James’ shape and his
presence there made him breakdown. Because days had been painful, tiresome and confusing
since the bridge. He had needed James more than ever. And now in this dingy
room that oozed fantasy, he found him. They crossed arms around each other,
locked in embrace they forgot of everything. The bridge, why they went there
and how exhausted they had been before. They whispered laughter and sighs into
each other’s ears excited to begin a new life in this new place. James told him
he loved him and he sobbed like a lost child comforted in his mother’s embrace.
Cara sighed and smiled at what she had written. A happy
ending, couples in words deserved them more than the one writing them, she
thought. Staring back at her rings, bed and the unwashed bowl in which Ruth fed
her dog, her eyes glanced at the morning’s paper. She had read only the front
page, as its headline almost forced her to move into the universe of fiction.
She read it again,
“TWO MEN JUMPED OFF CITY BRIDGE LAST WEEK, WITNESSES
CONFIRM. BODIES STILL NOT FOUND.”
