Friday, April 20, 2007

The scribbled words

He held the book tightly in his hands. So tight that his hands trembled and he could feel the sweat seeping into the paper. There weren't many words that he had. There weren't many that were needed. Memories often speak through unsaid remarks. Sometimes in questions and at other times in exclamations. He wondered if memories could be quiet. He nodded to himself and maybe even whispered a 'No'.

He looked at the clock near the window. His vision darting from the time to the date on the calendar on the table next to him. Time does fly by when you are trying to slow down and look at life in retrospect. As if it was all a part of a greater conspiracy to leave him far behind when he finally gets a grip of his senses. He got up and fiddled with the idea of having a coffee and then he sat down again. Sinking a bit further into his own self, something that he had mastered over the past few years. As if he had a magic lock that he could conjure up on the board and hide behind a giant wooden door.

He would have asked for silence. He could have begged for words. He did neither. The pen infront of him stared back and he shoved it under a pile of paper. He would not write a letter. Not now. Not today. Maybe never, maybe soon! His feet were loosely tapping against the sides of the bed. His mind was ruthlessly tapping on to the thoughts that he did not even know still existed. He tried to form shapes with his fingers and looked at the shadow of his hands with curiousity and then he smiled to himself. Perhaps it was time to let go of the smile and accept that he really wanted to cry. Perhaps he would not do that.

He got up and went down to the garage. His fingers toyed with the keys for a while before he fired the ignition. His eyes exhibited with a rather loud clarity that he had no clue of where exactly he wanted to go. He knew though, that he did not want to stay anymore. Maybe driving away from his house would help him walk away from his thoughts. Or at least that is what he was hoping...

It was around an hour since he left the house and the road shimmered shyly because of the rain that had come down not so long ago. His eyes were fixated somewhere far on the horizon and his mind was lingering somewhere far behind in his past. Another sign board, another motel, another gas station. Life was passing him by in a flurry of activity...

He lied still on the hospital bed, unable to move his right hand or his legs. The walls were a deep shade of white! That is what he thought to himself. The plethora of instruments around him rhythimically beeped and hummed while he looked at himself. He was not shocked. He was just too unsympathetic to his own presence there in that hospital room. A doctor walked in with some sheets of paper. He thought he heard some words. He was not sure. "Last night", "Rain", "drunken driving", "accident on the highway"...

Things were probably happening in such a haste that he was in the next moment before he could react to the previous one. Someone pushed him into a wheel-chair and brought him out of the hospital. Someone held his hand and pushed him inside a cab. Someone pushed him back on a wheel-chair and propelled him into his room.

He looked at the clock again. The calendar had fallen cross on the blue covered book. He slowly extended his left hand and flipped the cover open. On the white page were scribbled words. Words that he whispered to himself. "On your birthday I give you myself forever"...

Maybe forevers are just meant to last for a short time. His eyes closed slowly around his vision. Maybe tomorrow would come with a fragment of hope and smiles...

1 comment:

  1. yet another post that captured my attention... ur one bag full of talents....good for ya hun...

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