I miss you.
Everything about you. Your smell, your sight. Your lovely soft curls.
I remember the way you looked at me that night, when I got home completely drunk. You didn’t say a word, but your eyes said it all. Those big, beautiful, brown eyes, sad in a way that almost made my heart melt, telling me to grow the fuck up. You gave me the look for almost 20 minutes that night. Silent. Still.
I remember, because it had scared me how still you were, and how unsteady I was, and how strong you seemed, and how weak I felt. It was as if I was tapping into your calmness to calm myself down, and into your strength to be able to be able to even sit up straight.
As you waited for me to take off my socks and shoes, I had told you about my day, and why I had had so much to drink. I told you all about my problems at work and, because of an alcohol loosened tongue, with Deepti. You never questioned me about her, unlike my friends. Somehow, you always listened. I always felt justified in making you listen; I always felt you owed me at least this much. Although I knew that you had never had, nor in all probability ever will have any such problems, and that you probably didn’t want to share me with anybody else, you always listened, and understood, and empathized. You never judged me, never questioned me about why I was with Deepti or how long were you supposed to wait till I came back to you.
I remember hesitating after I had taken off my footwear that day, my rant incomplete. Somehow, I had expected you to understand what was bothering me about Deepti, and that moment’s hesitation was the only thought I had given for your feelings. All this while, you had sat quietly beside me on the sofa, waiting patiently for me to turn my attention to you. Even after that thought, I had selfishly started thinking about myself again – justifying it by telling my conscience that you had waited for me all day and a few more minutes till I showed you my appreciation and love wouldn’t hurt you – and had continued pouring my bitter heart out to you.
Deepti had told me in no uncertain terms that she would not be with me, unless I had completely severed all ties with my past. But she couldn’t understand what it had meant to be married to someone like Mrs. Amisha Doshi. She couldn’t fathom the depth of the relationship that had been the bedrock of my life for so many years. She couldn’t understand that any attempts at erasing such relationships would only push the memories deeper; the marks they left on my life had been etched on an endless stack of carbon paper – no matter how many layers you pulled away, it was always there. She couldn’t understand that when you have been part of something that amazing for that long, it becomes an integral part of the definition of you, that essence that makes you live life the way you do.
Or maybe she did, and just couldn’t come to terms with the implications of that understanding.
I had taken out my frustrations and anger on you that night. You had only been trying to help me by putting away my shoes, but you got a tongue lashing in return. Your face had drooped, and you had quietly slinked away to your bed, yet another day when you failed to satisfy me, failed to elicit the minimum appreciation or love or something, anything, that you had been craving for hours, days, months. Failed yet again.
I knew you were not to blame for the end of my happy, contented life, but logic and reason have no place in a heart filled with anger, bitterness and non-understanding.
Even as I had watched you walk away that night, I had been ashamed and angry with myself, and had managed to surprise even myself at how cold I had become. Time, and life, had changed me.
But yesterday, time stood still, and life transported me back to that day 4 years and 93 days ago.
Just like yesterday, the cocky, three month old cocker spaniel that you had been, chased after a ball, that day. Just like yesterday, there had been the loud screeches of tires skidding, the thud and the shocked shrieks from passersby, that day. And just like yesterday, my tears flowed as freely as the blood, that day.
Unlike that day, no Amisha ran after you to push you out of the way yesterday.