She was nervous. She was nervous because she was not prepared. But she could manage. One step at a time, she told herself. Get on the plane first. I’ll deal with the other things as they come along.
But the other things were already coming along. Going to meet him was a big step. And it was too sudden. It was bound to happen someday. But she didn’t expect it so soon. Talk had suddenly turned into action. So there she was, on a 50-minute flight towards his home. She would have been less nervous if he was with her. But this was her test. Of strength. Of wisdom. And above all, the test to put into action, everything she had said before. But, she could handle the situation. She could not handle the people.
It was not always like this. She had always been sure of herself. She always wanted to be the perfect person. The perfect friend. The perfect daughter. The perfect wife. None of that had worked out that way. This time, it involved strangers. And she wanted to be the perfect stranger. But the more she thought about it, the more self-conscious she became. What if……………..??
The flight arrived earlier than expected. The town was suddenly coming into view. It was enveloping her in its soul. This was the other part of the journey. The town. Her love for the town was as strong as her hesitation to come. The town welcomed her like an old friend, with new memories. It showed her glimpses of her memory that were long buried under new ones. It hinted at its perfection, which she loved. It questioned her about her long absence. It amazed her with its growth. It was beautiful and calm. Like always, it boasted of its splendor. It was the place she could remember as her getaway: where paintings were cheaper than ice-cream; where people slept in the afternoons; where the roads lead nowhere, but bring you back to where you started from; where there were all the things they spoke of in novels- the lake, the orchards, the markets, the palaces; everything. It was the town that gave this journey the sense of comfort. A sense of security. A sense of going home. It was also curious to know what she was doing here. But she could not answer. Not because she didn’t know, but because she wanted to be sure. “I’ll tell you when I’m leaving”, she said. “It doesn’t matter. Welcome home.” it answered back.
He was late. But he came. His silence reassured her. He didn’t think of it as unusual at all, that she was there. Nor did he think it was special. He had come to meet her there because she had wanted it. He had cut his trip short and come back because she had agreed to come. He was neither reluctant, nor enthusiastic. It was his town, anyway. It was only a friend of hers, but it belonged to him.
They went home. It was unlived in. They went through the motions. Food. Beds. Cutlery. Cleaning-up. Dusting. They did it in silence. With the rare question from her. And an answer from him.
It was late evening when they sat down to dinner. “Tomorrow you can meet everyone”, he said contentedly. She was glad. She knew he wanted this too, but didn’t want to seem too excited about it. “This is good for us, she thought. We need this time”. They finished dinner and did the dishes in silence. He went down the road to the lake, like he always did. She waited and a while later, she got tired of waiting and went to bed. She never heard him come back, take off his shoes hurriedly, climb up the stairs noisily. But she felt him climb in the bed tenderly, as if he didn’t want to crumple the bed sheets. She heard his breath, fast and happy, slowing down peacefully as he put his arms around her. She held him, tight but soft, like a feather between her palms.
“Thank you for coming,” he said.
“I love you”, she said.
One thought led to another. They ended up on the kitchen table, at dawn, eating leftovers of dinner, talking like people who, pretending to be dumb for an experiment, had just been given permission to talk. They spoke, told their stories, laughed, wept, complained, thanked, questioned, argued, agreed. They fell asleep at sunrise and awoke when the telephone rang much later.
“Wake up, you fucker”, they screamed into his ear. “We want to meet her, dress her up and bring her down here now!”
She awoke when he laughed out loud at this.
“Time to go?” She smiled.
As she dressed, she realized that she was not nervous anymore. She was doing what she had come to do. But it was the strange sense of comfort that had crept into her that made her wary. She was happy. An unconditional happy. Simple, pure happiness without any doubts or fears. Happy because she was comfortable.
They went out to meet them. It was a day to remember. They were happy to see her. They talked liked old friends. They welcomed her, just like the town had done. Not out of joy, but to understand. They all knew each other. They had never met before, but they knew much about each other. They knew the stories which they could not connect together now. They knew what each of them thought about the other person. But nobody could admit how much they knew. Nobody could admit what they felt. It was too soon. You don’t pour your heart out in the first meeting.
She was comfortable. She was not assessing each of them. She was not remembering what he had said about them. She was not trying to connect stories. For the first time, she was comfortable being in a completely uncomfortable situation. She was handling it beautifully.
“They are all so fragile”, she thought. They were all an extricate maze of relationships. Each standing on it own, leaning momentarily, several times, on each other. Not for support. But for proof. Proof of existence. I for you. You for her. She for him. He for all.
She wanted to hold on to them like that. All of them. She knew that it was because she loved him. This made him happy. They made him happy. And she wanted this for him. He looked content. She knew the questions would come later. But the moment was blissful and it was his.
“This is what he wants. This is good for him”, she thought.
They drove back home in silence. Their thoughts were doing the talking for them. When they reached home, she started to pack her few belongings. He sat by her, in silence, watching her hands. The hands had never touched him, but could arouse in him a feeling of joy that was inexplicable. They gave him the security of knowing that she would always be there. Whether he wanted her or not. Whether he needed her or not. Like the town, he thought.
“Why are we both sad when all we have is happiness?”, he asked.
“Because I’m leaving, and you are not asking me to stay”, she said.
On the flight back home, she thought about his question again. And thought of a hundred different answers. “Because I love you, but we can never be together…because she wants you more than I do…because you want her, not me…because you will never let me in…because you belong to all of them. And I need you for me..because they need you more than I do…because this is so perfect that it seems fake…because I want to protect you and you don’t need protection.”
All the answers made sense. They were all true. But, if they were ever confessed, they would shatter their silences. And then they would be left with nothing. She knew that. She would rather have his silence than have nothing at all.
