Pangs of Separation - Part 2

While the worm of unease made its way through the dark caverns of his brain, his strong rational impulse strove to assert itself, like a sapling that rights itself after being bent. He shook his head trying to rid himself of the senseless thoughts that threatened to pull him into a panic. Of course, nothing could go wrong. They were there in his apartment, the new one that he had moved into a month ago, coming up in a newly developing suburb of the city which was yet to become a landscape dotted with concrete monuments dedicated to progress, standing in worship of the city’s growing need of space. He had come to the city a month ago when he had got the new job that seemed to be the answer to everything that he had been searching for. And it had happened just two months after he had met her and he had joked saying that finding her was the key that had unlocked this door as well. And he remembered the doubt in her voice even as it had reassured; the flicker in her eyes as she had showed her support of his decision.

That had been a stormy evening indeed as he had planned it as a surprise announcement and was surprised by the second thoughts she had. And while he sought to convince her about the decision and that it was exactly what he had been looking for, that little bird at the back of his mind tweeted that her instinct for these things was very strong and that he should listen to it. He brushed off the thought and went ahead cheerfully to make her feel alright with the decision. They had then fought about it as well, their first fight of that intensity. Previously, they had only had minor arguments and then she would use her special magic on him to make him understand, capitulating to conquer, until he actually thought he had made the decision in favor of her suggestion.

But this time, the fight had erupted over his wanting to take her out for a drive and her refusing saying that she had to go early for work the next day. It had escalated into something that was bordering on vicious for some stupid reason that neither of them could remember. He remembered almost walking away and then cursing himself and turning back, only to find her in tears. He had run back, hugged her in desperation murmuring apologies that neither of them understood and making promises of never hurting her, clinging to her for life itself. Neither of them referred back to that evening anytime thereafter, choosing to simply shut it off from memory. The fact that he remembered the incident at this instance was itself disturbing, making the worm in his mind larger and stronger as it whispered its way through the caverns, rustling as it snaked through.

He walked out into the hall, turning slightly sharply at the door to avoid the extended nail that for some reason had been left jutting out of the door frame. It had already left an imprint on him when he had first moved in, deeply scratching him just above the ankle. He had been resolving to get that nail removed from the frame for some time now except that he had not yet got around to it. It was one of the things that he had shown her yesterday as soon as she had come in, cursing himself for forgetting to repair it and hoping she wouldn't get hurt while promising himself that he would get it pulled out the very next morning. He suddenly stopped and looked back at the nail, afraid of what he would find. The sight of a dark piece of cloth snagged in it alarmed him and he bent quickly to look at it closely. He pulled the cloth from the nail and brought it close. It was a strip from her pajamas, the favorite that she had insisted on unpacking and changing into even though it had been quite late. The dark grey one with the puppy embroidered down the leg. The one that he had just stopped short of laughing at, the first time he had seen it, luckily guessing that it would have been a gross over stepping on his part. He had then realized that this was her treasured possession, something that she had grown to see as a lucky charm, along with her dark pink top. It was what made her sleep well, she said.

He stood there with the strip of fabric in his hand trying to figure out if it had any blood on it or on the nail. Luckily, it appeared that only the fabric had snagged and torn and no injury of any sort had happened. He was sure he would have to pay dearly for even the tear. She would have been so upset. Somehow, thinking of her upset made his stomach flop, almost as if someone had upended it and all the contents had rushed down leaving a completely empty air space on top that threatened to stop his breathing. He had to find her and get to her quickly. Only he knew how to make it alright again. He turned around with a quick step, looking around the living room. The two chairs and bean bag that he had brought in were still there but nothing else. He glanced across at the dining area where he had a couple of chairs and a small table. He half expected to see nothing there as well. But his heart quickened a beat when he saw a cup standing on the table. His stomach flipped back into place again and he nearly ran towards the table.

Reaching it, he stopped short again, for the cup was still half full. In all the time he had known her, nearly six months now, she had never left a drop in her first cup of coffee in the morning. It was very unlike her to simply leave half the cup. A thought struck him and he quickly dipped his forefinger in the coffee, expecting to find it at least slightly hot. It was tepid, down to room temperature, the skin on top having clearly formed across the surface of the coffee. He stood there for a moment wondering what could have happened that would have dragged her away from her dear coffee. It had to be something very important indeed. Then something caught his eye. Something black and shiny was lying on the ground next to the chair where she had sat down to drink her coffee.  He bent down and realized that it was the bead bracelet that she normally wore. She must have worn it after getting out of bed. She alternately used it as a bracelet or a hair band, looping it around her hair when she wanted it tied up.

As he picked it up, the beads slid from his hand in a rush, falling onto the floor and bouncing off in all directions, skittering away from him. Startled at first, he realized that what he held was only a small piece of the band that held the beads. It must have broken and one part had fallen off and was lying there. He knelt down on the floor, down on his hands and knees, picking up the beads one by one, as if this activity would give him something to do rather than think of what had happened, as if these beads were the most important thing in the world at the moment. He finished picking up all that he could find and started to get up, when he banged his head on the dining table under which he had been reaching. His head swum with the impact, his eyes tearing, and he fell down on the floor. He lay there for a few seconds getting his wind back. Finally, he made as if to sit up when he saw a few more beads lying on the floor off near the chairs in the hall. How the hell did they get there, so far away?

He stood up and walked to the spot, expecting to find the other part of the band. However, he saw that the beads were all lying scattered around, as if they had been broken in some force and had gone flying. There was also an impression on the cushion of someone heavy having sat down, or was he seeing things now? It sure did not seem like the kind of impression that he made when he sat down. Or did it? He went and sat down on the other chair and then got up to examine the dent on the cushion. He could not clearly say whether there was a difference. He tried to think of when he had last sat on the cushion. And then remembered that it had been the previous evening when they had come home. After showing her around the house, they had come back to the living room. They each sat on a chair and then finding it too distant and remote, she had simply come over and sat down on his lap. He had held her and then they had talked about the apartment and what she wanted to do in it. He had listened to her, a slight smile on his face, imagining the way she painted the picture, her hands darting all the while, shaping this, pointing to that or describing something else. That must have been the reason for the deep imprint on the cushion! He almost sighed in comic relief, his mind giving up the ghost that he had almost started chasing.

But he still could not explain the broken bead bracelet and how it came to be lying there. He walked across the window sill from where the road outside could be seen. He stood there for a few moments, looking down at the street. People were already up and about now, school children waiting for their bus, the newspaper van dropping off bundles at each apartment and the maids and drivers making their way to their jobs. A few early job goers stood waiting for the bus to come. There was no sign of anything amiss. The world had started its routine that day just like any other. He came away from the window still clutching the beads like he had grabbed onto a lifeline that he would not let go.

He walked toward the kitchen then, some degree of desperation now casting strong ripples across the pool of his rationality. Some part of his mind was hoping she would be there, bent over the kitchen counter, her hair hanging down and covering her face from both sides. It was only after he stepped into the kitchen and found it empty that he realized that he had been holding his breath in anticipation. The cooking range had a bowl of milk that she had boiled. The counter had the cutting board out and a knife there but nothing had been taken out to cut. There was a pan with water in it that had been kept ready for something. It appeared that she had been about to do something when she had simply stopped and walked away. He stood there in thought when a sudden loud thump from the hallway brought him back to earth in a hurry. He turned around and almost ran into the hall, hoping it was her.

He heard a couple of more thumps from outside and realized that it had been the newspaper being dropped off at his door step. He walked towards the door to open it and was shocked to find it open and slightly ajar. The newspaper boy had thrown the sheaf of newspapers and they had hit the door opening it even further. His alarm bells went off now in full force and his face furrowed into a frown as he furiously thought back to the previous night. Had they left the door open after leaving the basket out for the milk? They had spent about half an hour searching for the basket which he had placed somewhere in the kitchen and then for the milk coupons which he had kept so safely that they could not lay their hands on them. Finally, after having located both of them, they had argued about how much milk they needed. His justifications that a half liter would be sufficient since there were only two of them; were met with mischievous denial. Finally, they had put the basket with the one and a half liters of coupons out and he now remembered distinctly that he had locked the door, an elaborate procedure made more so by her holding him from behind as he locked it.

Would she have brought the milk in and left the door unlocked? Though it was highly unlikely, it was the only possibility he could think of at that moment. Or alternatively, she had stepped out of the house and left the door open. This possibility was even more unlikely given the half drunk coffee and the cutting board and knife in the kitchen. And then there was the broken bracelet with the beads lying scattered on the floor. His brain was on fire now, the worms having lit the whole place up.