goldfluke

SEVEN
He liked being alone.

He had outgrown the need and desire for company. A detachment that had served him well: no obligations, no emotional chains, no debts to repay or loans to incur.

And yet this morning was different: he had woken up with an acute need for company. To be in touch, with people who would want to be with him, people he would want to be with. This was not an alien feeling; one he had dealt with in the past and had gotten over. Then, where in the name of god was this vacuum from?

He flipped open the phone, wondering whom to call, what to do with that somebody, then stopped: coz there was nobody to be with, let alone do something with. By design he had systematically deleted all variable support systems. People, who were on their own trajectories, living lives as far and away from his as he was from theirs, filled the phone book.

“The feeling will pass”, he reassured himself, all he had to do was stare it out, re-deal with it, like the initial months after.

He walked into the living room and there she was: standing with one hand on her waist, the smile reaching her eyes, her hand tucking her flick behind her ear. Infected, he smiled too, his eyes wandered over her, noticed her airline tag attached bags lying near the door, her ever-present cell phone resting on the dining tale, her sandals resting next to his. A thousand thoughts bullet-trained through his mind, she caught the look, “Shhh…, come here, baby”.

They hugged, not too hard, he always thought of her to be fragile; always worried he might hurt her. She lit a cigarette and sat down, within arms distance, like always. She talked and he stared: the comfortable rhythm they had loved so much in the past, seemed as much at home in the present. The conversation gurgled about tours, people he didn’t know, hotel rooms, strange cities, friends and strangers, the room filled itself with warmth, laughter, words, kisses and touch.

And then the bell rang, he got up to answer the door, knowing when he would return she wouldn’t be there: the mind construct would expire; the memory bubble would burst.

But that was all right: the parchedness had gone, the desire had ebbed, the weakness had turned, just like she had promised: “Death wont’ part us, only lack of love will”.

He liked being alone.