The Heart in Between

As I’m typing this, the rain is beating down steadily against the window panes. And the wind has invigorated my whole body with its nostalgic smell. I look over at James sitting on the floor in front of me. And notice how unaware he is of the pandemonium and felicity of my unobservable world. Engrossed in his work, his eyebrows furrowed at the laptop in his lap, he is unaffected by the wind that keeps coming back to touch him, caress him.

If I keep looking over at him for long, I’m afraid I’ll move far away from him, or worse, closer. The space between us is empty, and yet I can’t think about anything but that space. I feel confined somehow, and as rigid as a stool devoid of any attributes, except for the ones that other people bestow. Does he believe me to be so? I wanted to ask him this, but I didn’t want to perplex him about something that he won’t understand. Why trouble his mind with such knowledge? But I’m exhausted of resistance, and of being cautious of meddling with such topics. So I opened my diary to a bright orange page, and wrote –Remember, you’re not big enough to grasp everything. Content, I took my mind off of that thought.

But I have so many thoughts today, and no capacity to segregate them. One seeps into the other, like water through a diaphanous material, and gradually all I have is one big obscure and fundamentally transmuted idea. It’s a miracle that I’m writing, because lately I have had too much to talk about, and no patience to write a single word. Thoughts came with such a flurry that I could do nothing more than to be supine, and let them come over me.

Abandoning my train of thought though, I got up from James’ bed and walked over to one of the opened windows, where the sheer curtains hung soaring with the wind. James gave me a fleeting look, no smile though. He’s too busy saving the world. Had he given me a smile, I would have turned towards him without even wanting to glance at the beautiful view outside. But I took the path of least resistance

I pushed the curtains away. The trees swayed and swished, leaves falling to the ground like dust settling to rest forever. I stood there for a long time, inhaling the smell of the past, looking for something, left to right. As if another missing piece of this story will pop up to transform my nostalgia into reality. My eyes moved past the horizon, to the dark gray skies, it was nothing like I had seen before. I could feel my insides twisting at a perception which transcended my memory, and annexed anew the experience within me. I wanted to lie down in the rain, until the blanket of stars hovered above me, until the Moon reflected the light of the Sun, until the quiet music of the night found me and until…I found myself again. 

“I want to write a book.” I said this without taking my eyes off of the sky, as if the wish will become sacrosanct thenceforth. I can’t say what his expression became, but I could sense surprise, for he stopped typing furiously to pay heed to the passion developing inside of my gut. I’m sure he has heard this many times before. But this time it was different; I sounded more determined, almost forceful. And he was sure to be gentle, because when we came over to the window, he leaned on it, arms crossed, as if he was trying to decide what phase this was, what dream it was, and how important it was. I hated it when he did this, trying to calculate and anatomize his replies, qualifying his thoughts for mine.

“A book on what?” He said, in almost a whisper, impelling me towards him. I was facing him now, and no longer seeing him through my peripheral vision.

“Divorce.” I said, widening my eyes, so that if he does the same, it’s not displeasing.

“I thought we were just dating…for now.” He furrowed his eyebrows at me, relaxing a bit.

 “And everything has to be about us! No Jame.”

“Why do you have such an inclination, then?”

“It seems like the right one for me. Disconnect, divide, separation.”

“What about the sci-fi one? Don’t tell me you’re fantasizing about divorce.”

“Everybody knows the facts James. If space-time curved upon itself, time travel would be possible. If we were to travel to the center of the galaxy, it would take us 50,000 years. So, don't try that, unless you can warp space-time so much that you are able to create a hole in the galaxy! It’s all very interesting but conspicuous! And no, I’m not fantasizing about divorce. I’m trying to wrap my head around it.”

“Write on Life, love. Write on happiness, divorce is unlike you.”

I felt frustrated, as much as I loved him, I hated his utilitarian spirit.

“Unlike me? I have this thought. We are not born with any knowledge. All that we know is from experience. So when we say that we have a fear of heights, it is just how we have come to interact with our environment at one point of time and then let it define our whole life to the point that we think that it is our innate fear! And for long we let this picture persist inside of our brains and believe that it is a part of us, that it makes us who we are. I do agree with that but I don’t agree with the fact that it becomes an irrefutable fact. Then why can’t I write about something as morbid as divorce? Will that change your perception of me? Why can’t I be what I’m not? All I’m saying is that it is ok to not be yourself sometimes, you should try it. Maybe you’ll relax a bit more.”

The second I said that, I regretted it. I know he was just trying to help, and I was too quick to attack. I didn’t look at him then, and averted my gaze to the skies, which accepted my wishes obediently. He was not it, and maybe I was not it for him too. How could I be? We were both imperfect human beings.

We can harm people in many ways; by getting them to think poorly of their own capacity was one of them. And expecting them to be ingratiating was another. We make one bitter remark, and it acts like a potent poison on all the other ideas that we have in our mind. We give in to procedures which give rise to such acts and thoughts, and soon, we develop a tendency. The justifications that we give are not tenable.

I could feel his hot breath on my bare shoulder, I don’t know if it was anger or just exhaustion. He took a step back, and then several, gradually vanishing from my periphery.

Silent tears pricked my eyes, and I made no efforts to control them. I repeated in my mind – remember, you are not big enough to grasp everything. I said it over and over again, until he came back, with a book in his hand.

“This is a book on Divorce and the Effects it has on Children. I required it for one of my law courses.  You should read it. It’s pretty interesting and will be very helpful.” He presented the book to me, without looking up at me. Surprised, I tried to take the book, mumbling thanks. Our hands touched, and he looked up at me, without letting go of the book. I don’t know how long we stood like that for, but I could feel my frustration waning, and my heart surrendering. I took the book from him, and hugged it to my chest, suddenly realizing what had transpired.

“It was such a nice weather today. You have been busy. I am going to go to my house now.” Absentmindedly, I did what I always did. I tried to make him feel guilty. Guilty, for having invited me over and letting the day go to a waste, for imposing his thoughts on something so sacrosanct to me, for feeding my fury, for making me cry, and then, for trying to appease me by handing me an old book that smelled like rotten eggs.

I hoped he had understood the implication. And so when I turned to leave, he grabbed my hand. I resisted, wanting to go home and get over our faulty personalities. And write, on divorce. But he held me in place, grabbing me by my shoulders.

“First, nothing is ever going to change my perception of you. I like how crazy, intractable and brave you are. I love that about you. Even if you were not you, I’d update myself with the new you because I know that there’s a part of you that knows, and will always know love. It doesn’t matter if you want to write on divorce, or even zombies. I just wanted the world to know about your heart. Guess I’ll keep that to myself.” I wanted so bad to leave his place, and not talk to him for a week so that he and I could both relax, but I kept forgetting, he doesn’t relax. Not even on his thoughts about me.

So I kissed him, holding the book tightly, my arms wrapped around his neck. And the skies witnessed divorce and harmony, divorce and unity. I learnt one thing. That making the best choice isn’t always about trying to get to the best possible outcome. It’s sometimes also about trying to minimize the chances of something disastrous happening. So I settled, with my imperfect feelings for him, and our imperfect lives; because if I am thunder, he is rain.