The roads it took

When I awoke this morning, he wasn’t there. Not on the bed. Not in the kitchen, sipping his coffee. Not in the balcony with the papers.

Somehow it didn’t shock me. I had seen this coming. I cried, for formality. Hit my wrist against the bathroom walls, let out a melodramatic howl. Like I always do.

And went on with business. Something stuck me and i rushed to the basement. The car was missing. Our car. Our second home during all these years.

Last night it had rained. The first showers of this season. No, it wasn’t the ‘cats and dogs’ type; the one I would have loved to dance and drench in. Slight drizzles. A tangy muddy smell. A silent song in the background. I was flirting with the window pane. Turning to his side once in a while, starring at his profile. And trying to guess if he had cried. He had. It must have been difficult for him too.

Melancholy is very difficult to deal with, unlike anger or pain. Just like love without that ‘spark’.

Oh yes, the car. It has been a witness to our zany love story. The bizarre emotions. During our courtship days, we went on very long drives. I adored them; there is a strange peace in driving to no destination in particular. You are on the road to nowhere but you still go somewhere and then get back. I would hold his hand and squeeze them hard; he would know what I want to say. I would look at him and wink playfully; he would know what I had to say. We stopped in the middle of a deserted road and danced to a melody. He smoked and I danced.

Once we were married, we traveled on weekends to exotic places. I had learnt to drive by then. We made passionate love in the backseat, just for the kick of it. Years went past us. Zara was born in the car, on the way to the hospital. She fancied going to school in the car. Last night infact we picked her up from school and drove back home.

It rained. The first showers of this season. No, it wasn’t the ‘cats and dogs’ type; the one I would have loved to dance and drench in. Slight drizzles. A tangy muddy smell. A silent song in the background. I was flirting with the window pane. Turning to his side once in a while, starring at his profile. And trying to guess if he had cried. He had. It must have been difficult for him too.

I had shouted and screamed. Called him names. For the heck of it, I wasn’t capable of genuine anger ever. Yesterday I discovered how fake these emotions were, I never really manage to dislike someone that I have loved with all my heart. But I threw sarcastic remarks his way, for formality.

He uttered no word. Like always. And that irritated me. Like my howls made no difference to his existence. Like he wasn’t human. I cried and cried. And locked myself in the bathroom for quite sometime,hoping he would come and apologize. He didn’t.

I went to Zara’s bedroom, she was fast asleep. I climbed on to the bed hugged her tight and tried sleep.

When I awoke this morning, he wasn’t there. Not on the bed. Not in the kitchen, sipping his coffee. Not in the balcony with the papers.

It rained again. Very heavy. ‘When would dad come back?’ she asked. Never, I said. And pulled down the window curtains.