Shards

He yawns, stretches, and rolls over. Sets his feet on the floor. He has his head bowed. It feels like a marching band plays a discordant piece in there. After a minute, he raises his head. What stares at him puzzles, bewilders, and intrigues him all at the same time. He stood up. Takes a tentative step towards the sight that stirs mixed emotions within him. 

"When did this happened?" He asked himself. 

He was so out of it last night. Too many bottles and glasses tipped, and their contents sent down the pipe. 

"Is it that he's still asleep?" 

"Maybe it's a dream."

These thoughts and many more joined the already mixed emotions in him. He slumped back into the bed as if an unseen hand pushes him.

He tries again. Puts his feet under his weight and wills the feet forward one at a time. Finally, he can see the bewildering sight quite clearly or not so clearly. It looks like a mosaic of his life. Each fragment piece projecting a moment in his life. It is more than that. Some seem like playbacks of long stretches of moments. Series of events interwoven and interconnected. 

He staggers sideways, then back into his former positions like he is performing a choreography.

His eyes falls on a part of the fragment. He leans in. He can still hear the echoes of the exchange. It happened in this same room. He does a quick mind check on most incident that has happened in the room. Most, no. Not most. All are like there is a secret audience being performed for. Or a puppeteer pulling the string.

His eyes refocuses on the moment in the bewildering sight. It starts just like most of his night starts. He goes to a bar. Has a few. Comes home. Slurs his greetings and makes for the bed. Only for him to be jerked back by a sharp retort. Short but sharp.

"Not anymore"

He chuckles sadly as he remembers that he did not hear the words very well and asked, "What's more?"

"Not anymore," Ireti repeated.

Ireti. The one that believed in him longer than the others. The others too did believed. Just that their believing was so short-lived. He is and was not so sure they did at all.

"Not anymore," she says again. This time more loudly. 

"I can't take this anymore. We've spoken about this. You promised to change. Still, it is the same narrative every night. Yes, you were able to hold yourself up for two nights. Third night after our talk, you're gone, gone back to your vomit. I can't take this anymore."

He turns slightly to look at the same spot she was sitting when she gave the … What can one call it? Speech? Talk? Rambling? To him at the time, rambling is more appropriate because although he can recall all she said clearly now, how, he doesn't know, they were more like an annoying commercial that comes up between one's favourite TV show. 

He looks at the old plastic chair. She smiles at him. He blinks. She frowns. He rubs his eyes. Now she is bent, sorting the beans to be cooked. 

His feet zigzagged to the chair. His hands stretches to touch her shoulder. She dissolves at his touch. He jumps back. The marching band in his head is back, the marching band now comprising of just the bass drum beaten sometimes rhythmically, sometimes erratically.

He slightly bends his head. Two fingers goes to each side of the head. They start rubbing like they have been taught to do in times like this. While they are busy rubbing, the eyes fall on a spot of light. The eyes ride the spot of light across its ray to the source, a scene. Few centimeters to the left there is another just like it. Same thing one-tenth of a metre up. Down, diagonal to the one up is another. Then another to the left, down, right, slightly to the left at a declined angle. The scene keeps recurring across the sight. The same thing happening in all of them. Just a few things are different. Like the clothes he wears, the time on the clock over the window, the clothes other people in the scene wear. But the actions and reactions are almost if not exactly the same. In all the scenes, he swings his feet to the floor and at the same time moving the weight of his body from his back to his buttocks. Pushes some bottles off the bed and turns sideways. Grabs a container which has ASPIRIN written on it from the dressing table beside his. Twist the cap and tilt the bottle into his mouth. Grimaces and swallows. Gets up and sways into the bathroom. Spends some minutes there. Comes out. Puts on some clothes and heads out. Then he is at work looking all haggard like he is homeless. His boss calls him aside to give him a earful. This plays out in all the scenes. He can see them all while not particularly looking at one. He is shocked by the repetition.

He sways and shuffle sideways. His legs gets caught in a piece of clothing. His weight shifts from his feet sideways. He tries to move his left foot under the weight shifting sideways but the foot gets the message late. He crashes beside the bed, his head just inches from the door. He tosses the clothing items in rage here and there. Adding to the chaos.

He draws himself to a sitting position, his back to the bed frame. He pants like one that has run a 100 yard dash. He slides his lower body forward to rest his shoulders on the bed frame. 

"Aaaaaaaah," he sighed with relief.

From this new angle he studies the sight, drawing his eyes from one part to the other. He stops at one at the top. Smiles tugs at the corner of his lips. Finally, something to distract him from the other fragments. 

In this fragment he focuses on, a replay begins. He is at a party standing awkwardly beside the fruit punch stand nursing a glass of fruit punch. A group of lady walks by laughing. Their laughter sounded irritating but in the midst one rings clearly of mirth. He looks up to see a damsel lit with light. He will later find out the shiny brown skin was responsible for that. The damsel throws back her head and laughs at a joke. The moment seems like forever, then they are gone.

"Oh boy, what catches your attention this much?" His friend, Jaye, asked while trying to trace the line of his sight to know what grabs his attention 

The question pulls him out of his reverie.

"Nothing.."

Jaye shakes his head and pulls him towards the buffet, "Let's go put something in our bellies."

At the table, he was indecisive on what combination to go for, and there was no past experience to help him out. He walks sideways as he considers each meal. He brushed past someone. A moment later, he is tapped. He swats his hand towards the tap assuming it was Jaye doing his thing again. Another tap. Then another. He turns to tell him off. He almost drops the tray. 

"You pushed me aside just now," the voice says as a frowns at him. The same face that was thrown back in laughter.

He tries opening his mouth to say something. Nothing came out. He tried. Still nothing. 

"I'm sorry," he finally manages to whisper.

The frowning face relaxes. 

"Are you okay?" The voice asks sympathetically.

By then, he is getting to regain his composure. Awkwardly he apologizes for his actions. 

"That was how two strangers became so close and later became strangers," he thinks ruefully.

His phone rings. He looks around the room for it and finds it close to the site. Then it all came back to him. How he came home to an empty room yesterday, about to call Ireti to find out why she's not there. Only to remember she has not been for some days, even weeks. And it is not possible for her to back only because of his lack of control. He was so angry at himself, at her. So angry he throw his phone at the spot opposite. The spot which happens to be his five feet tall mirror. The mirror in fragments, in shards. So also the screen of his phone and his life. He looks at what is left of his mirror and saw his life staring back at him.