Thursday, October 26, 2017

A sorry that never came

She pulled away the blanket and woke him up, "why are you doing this? It was our chance to have it all with you and me together. It would have been enough. Why are you letting it all go... can't you see its all breaking down?"

"What do you want? Tell me what is it in your mind. For God's sake, speak up", she asked him vehemently.

He said nothing sitting dumbfounded, on his roll-up mattress spreadout on the floor, as if never expecting this conversation to happen.

"Is there another woman?", she asked knowing that it couldn't be true. Men as emotionally empty as him are usually incapable of loving anyone. Still she repeated the question to give him the view of her mental state - the zone of anxiety and insecurity where she had wandered to ever since he blocked her out of his life.

A midnight that had started with the possibility of a bilateral outrage and conflict was now witnessing a morbid monologue, quickly losing its intensity. Banging a head on a wall might have created more noise than that man mutely watching his wife, and a young mother, losing her mind.

And his silence shrilled in her head. In every moment creating her own answers and imagining them in his voice. What else is madness?

She felt the center of her chest sinking. "Oh my! What am I gonna do?" - a deep cold breath came out. It's not the first time she has asked these questions and there are not going to be any answers, ever. 

She suddenly stopped wailing and felt something terrible, a feeling that she had known so well - the feeling of losing a battle. An instant itch in her head or may be in her stomach. She pulled her hair and then frantically started rubbing her arms. "Please help me... please hold me", she screamed inside, moving her head from here to there.

She looked back at him, the wood of a man. What is it that she was seeing in his eyes? Confusion? Indifference? Irritation? Helplessness? Or - Was he just waiting for this drama to end?

She tried hard, as hard as she could, searching all the corners of those eyes, where once upon a time, she had lost her heart; but no where could she find a "sorry" - not even a dull, dying, timid, scared sorry hiding in the crowd of all those other emotions that a human eye can behold. 

A sorry for the continuum of wrongs that ruined lives, a sorry for the stubbornness to never question oneself, a sorry from a foolish man for not accepting his foolishness.

"I am not the types that say sorry", he had declared once and she had then lovingly disapproved the tinge of pride in that statement brushing it aside as the case of men and their egos. She knew, he was not the types who say sorry but she had become weary of bearing sole responsibility of this failing partnership. She had to hear a sorry and the night was a futile attempt to get that. 

This continued for hours, or may be minutes, who cares.
As the senses came back, she became aware of her demented appearance. Consumed by her need to be loved, accepted, and understood, she had ended up discovering the new depths of her emptiness and loneliness. 

The night ended with her moving out to sleep on that unfortunate living room sofa- the lifeless object that had become her constant companion for past many nights. 

Of all the good and the bad things that happened between them, this night was special. It was in this night that she most clearly saw her place in that household and marriage. 

In the face of a screaming wife, that night, she saw herself as a helpless and frightened girl, a human puppy, fallen into a ditch of despair, crying and begging to be helped and pulled out; and he was a passer by; who heard the voice, looked into the puppy's eyes and walked away. It was not the lack of love but mercy that broke a little girl that night. 

On the other hand, that night, in her greatest fall, she rose and became a woman.