August Panic

January, 2020 may not have been the best time to DM my crushes.

February, 2020 was not the best time to flirt with him or her.

March, 2020 may not have been the best time to confess.

April, 2020 was the worst time to plan a trip with strangers.

My first exploitation of independence from my parents’ decision was to take a trip. The last round of examination in my high school career was cancelled. Before trudging off to college, I’d planned to enjoy a vacation weekend in a small seaside town with these two people. March kicked my academic life into a wrench. April threw rest of the pieces of my life into a box, that my house is, and kept me locked in. I got manhandled in the box as April played the game of ‘pass-the-parcel’ with May, June and July. The parcel landed in the grubby hands of August.

August, in Bengal, is a month of rain and cloud with zero talent for anything good. No one expected August to start singing. August didn’t sing for that matter, but sneaked me a little cassette with two pieces of music in it. Thus, on the first of August, in a sanitized red and scratched Wagner, smelling of Dettol, my new lovers drove to my house. Friend and friend’s older brother – I told my parents and left for their ‘hometown’, admist a global pandemic.

I climbed into the car, red from embarrassment, at all the checks my parents had done to see what level of shady my companions were. “Your shirt doesn’t look normal; are you sure you are her older brother?” – What kind of question was that? It was not like I was some chaste baby who had not run off to strangers’ houses for sleepovers before. I loved camps, nights-out and untrodden roads. I knew what kind of people did not like having me over; they were not those people.

Raj and Zara were two years older than me, twenty-one – both with chocolate skin and dark grape hair. I was an academic failure of three years, only getting out of school at nineteen. Call me old-fashioned, call me creepy, I eased in with them on the worn leather seat as soon as Raj turned up the MP3 player and blasted the only accepted summer song – Tum hi ho bandhu. The boomer song with preppy rhythm made me admire Raj’s face, as we drove south on the highway. He had the classic mustache and beard. Sunlight filtered through broad shades, making his eyes look hazel. We were in for a perfect belated summer romance, the type that you’d read in a California contemporary.

Zara, in the backseat, put a white pill in her mouth. I didn’t do drugs but didn’t mind the ones who did. I didn’t have enough education to know what it was anyway. “Where are we going?” I asked, instead.

“Not that nice of a place, but you will see.” Zara, from the name itself, was some upper-class fortunate kid who roomed with Raj against her family’s wishes. They had been quarantined together from March and took this opportunity to get out, as soon as the roads opened.

Every normal person from our district has gone down this road at least once in life; it runs by the metropolis and goes south-west to the popular seaside town, the picnic spot for any random occasion. The littered lively metropolis was now clean and dead. The one-inch-in-a-hour traffic could be seen only through Nobita’s desk. We raced away and reached the destination in four hours, a belt unlike ever before. We knew each other. Chitchat was minimal and we were in the need for fresh air after being held captive for so long. The only strange thing was - Zara had sent me a picture of them in the gas station in the morning. Why was the car tank indicator complaining of the lack of fuel?

We drove into Zara’s family property at about one, stomach growling. It was an empty stretch of private beach, with a wood cabin. “It’s small, but will keep us provided,” she said, unlocking the door and carrying the baggage in, which contained only a lunchbox and bottle.

“It’s not small.” I observed the line of palm and coconut on two sides. It formed an alcove around the property. The noon blaze shone down upon us, knocking the weary travelers into horse nap. The cottage was in the centre of the sandy ground, just above the level of high tide. Spacious and luxurious by my standards, it was three steps up and then a wooden door to an insulated space. There was the blue panel on the roof. Solar could not run air conditioner, so stand-fans were lodged at each nook and cranny. I plopped down on the hard sofa, rough bristles poking my skin into discomfort. Raj sat across, and I switched on the fan on both sides.

“You cannot use more than one fan at once,” Zara said. She turned off the one on his side. Raj hadn’t spoken even once, yet she had complained through everything.

“Where’s the bathroom?” I asked, feeling the natural urge poke my lower belly.

“It’s across the trees to the left. There’s the bathhouse and lavatories.”

“I gotta walk?” My stomach still had mice, doing jumping jacks. “Food first,” I said, sliding towards the fan. Raj got up and went into another chamber. This one was an enclosed porch, while the inner was the living space. He looked fine and didn’t nag, so I followed him. The inner room had more fans – on the table, beside the mahogany king, by the other sofa, above the storage trunk, in the doorway, hanging from the ceiling, under the empty bookcase, by my side, everywhere in my vision, in MY SOUL.

“Are you a fan connoisseur, Zara?” You’d have to eat fans to have any use of these many.

“I come here often. These break down often too. He is the technician out of all my lovers.” she pointed at Raj. “So by the time his turn comes around, we have many fans to spare and repair.” This statement sounded both bizarre and alarming, but in that moment, I didn’t realize why. How often did she even come here?

Raj handed me sandwiches out of a tattered travel bag. I accepted the food with a kiss to his cheek. There was no surprise in his reaction. He pulled my face close and kissed my lips. Spontaneity was my favorite trait. I returned to him, wolfing down my sandwich. Zara watched us from the sofa, a smile on her glossed lips. Besides the nagging, she was gorgeous. Deep brown skin with light eyes, she was like a goddess out of my fantasies. These two were my crushes for a reason.

She closed the distance between us soon. The bed was inviting. The three of us threw the thought of the summer beach and embraced the bed life. We would have time to get out to the sea later.

When I remembered my bladder it was four in the afternoon. Intimacy can make one forget to live. Clouds had rolled in without notice. We had no opportunity for a sunset view. With another sandwich in my hand, I ran out of the cottage, past the grove of coconut trees and into the bathhouse. I emerged from the lavatory after about a minute and decided to explore the bathhouse.

It was normal at first sight. There was a big tub made in a Japanese style room. Zara had tastes. A glass wall had an open view of the sea. We could come here after dinner. Unlike other countries, Indian dinner means a serving of rice or bread at ten in the night. By then, Raj would take out the wine and we could have a bath rampage at each other.

However, on closer inspection, the shampoo and soap bottles were empty. The body wash in the corner lay toppled. Content was dripping, as if someone had used it within a day. Maybe Zara rented this place to someone. Where were the other guests then? There could be another house here. I’d ask later.

I made a detour around the sea. The tide rose and came up near the cottage. Warm droplets from the sky and the sea hit my skin, making me think August could sing. I returned to the cabin, not wanting to stay away from them for long. My nerves sizzled from the afternoon action. Four months of inactivity had aggravated me. Maybe at night, Raj would let me take his –

I heard conversation from inside as I walked into the porch. They still seemed to be in bed. Zara said, “No, you cannot.” They spoke in whispers.

“We should not withhold information.” His tone was cautionary.

What was going on? Could I just walk in and ask? No, it would be better to not interrupt. The rattle of the fan made it hard to hear the conversation when I sat down in the porch. The weather cooled with the rain and chilled my skin. Broken speech reached me alongside the roar of waves and fan.

“Zara,” he said, “you don’t look good.”

“Shut up - I’m fine. I took the pill in the morning.”

“What if something happens?” He sounded worried. “I’m going to –”

Clear what? – say that we came here with – two days ago?”

“Of course, being honest will reduce our chance of getting sued.”

“We didn’t know – is sick – I switched on my phone now.”

My heart sank. Didn’t these two say they were holed up in their room for four months? Were they lying?

Weren’t we open dating? Why did they lie?

Raj walked out of the room and saw me. Zara came out, saying, “Raj, listen to me, don’t –” She stopped, seeing me.

“Don’t what?” I demanded. “You people might be sick. You brought me here and did this. What if I contract it?”

That drug in the morning – it wasn’t sedative. It was paracetamol-650. I felt like banging my head against the wall. My breath shortened and came in gasps.

“Raj! You knew it. Why did you do this?” I asked, as if wanting him to confirm what I heard was false. The panic, spread by the media, was enough to shake a commoner up to the core.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he said, staying at a distance. But it was too late to keep distance. I fell on the sofa. “Drive me to the hospital tomorrow.” I said, feeling my breathing grow labored. “I might be –”

Raj sat down in a pouffe on the further end, while Zara looked lost. “We didn’t receive the news until today evening,” he said, “The person we came with was Veer. He told us that he was healthy. We didn’t know it would be like this.”

“But you lied!” I cried in panic.

“I am sorry. We’ll take responsibility.” I didn’t want to trust him. The situation was ridiculous. The meme virus wasn’t much of a threat inside one’s home but out with lying strangers, the meaning of its name was apparent. Were we compromised or mistaken? It was impossible to tell.

Zara took some time to process the situation and sat down at a distance from us, blanched. She was starting to look sicker. We spent the night sitting six-feet apart. I passed around the food, but no bath was talked of. Let’s stay calm – we assured each other. We would find out next morning anyway. In the night, the thousand fans were not required. I shivered under my blanket all night, not knowing if it was the microbe or fear.

From the porch, the ocean, under the house, seemed to be foaming at mouth, threatening to devour the lighted mast of the traller ships that were out fishing in the dark.

August had a terrible voice. It was just the prelude and August made it seem like we wouldn’t stick around till the end of the performance.

Next morning, to the great horror of my parents, we went to the hospital. The results came out a couple of days later. It was negative, but I was to stay put at home for any symptoms. Raj and Zara texted me profuse apologies, and my phone rang in concern every day. I decided to not contact them until August stopped making noise.