Waiting For Sheila

He woke up from his afternoon nap. He lay awake on his back and looked up  at the white ,sloping ceiling .It was painted recently , and you could  just smell the strong , pungent odour if you were there-but you aren't. No one is. No one has been there for a long , long time.But that will be changing very , very soon , he thought.

Sheila is coming home!

He had received a telegram from Sheila .It said she was coming home very , very soon.The telegram further specified that Sheila was very sorry for what she did , and would like to come back and reconcile with what was really important to her .It did not say , however , when she was coming.

He felt like a child .He felt like a child waiting for his birthday , for the clock to strike twelve  , and the bells to chime twelve times , so that he can squirm every time it does , with those freaky bees and butterflies in his stomach , giving him a terrible urge to jump up and down  like a madman.

He moved around the house , fixing this , cleaning that , all the time gazing out from the window at the front , over the porch at the main entrance.He rarely left the house , so those archaic iron gates were rusted and dying , poisoned by the spit of time.

“ When will she be coming ?”, he asked himself again and again.He dusted the bookshelves, vacuumed the floors, wiped the mirrors, and cleaned all the framed photos around the house.He would sit down on his couch for sometime, looking out from the window,.Then he would jump up and fix the curtain here or  clean that oddly shaped stain on that mirror there.He looked at the clock repeatedly.There was no clock in the living room , so he would run upstairs to his bedroom to look at it every fifteen minutes . He told himself repeatedly that Sheila would be home anytime now , as he counted seconds , minutes , half-hours , hours.

As he was running all around the house , he was sweating : his shirt all greasy and stained , and his forehead like a fountain on a rainy day.But he didn't care.It made him feel alive.Its better than whatever he was doing before anyway.

It was getting dark outside:the sky was a bright orange mixed with a dash of  lilac and green.It was wonderful, but he didn't notice it.He was waiting for something better.

“Sheila should be coming around any moment….” , he thought.He was getting a little desperate now.He knows , though , he knows that she will be coming very , very soon. 

Cars were moving from one end of his window to the other , black and  yellow blobs moving like a flash,hurrying back to their homes ,to food, to people , to warm blankets , and to shelter from their respective  storms.

When is Sheila coming anyway ?She said she would be coming soon…

He went to the kitchen and threw the lunch out.He knows what he will do now--he will make a great supper for Sheila.She must be stuck in traffic , or her plane must have been late.In any case , she must be starving for a great meal.She had always  liked  how he made that dish , with potatoes and chicken...he still remembers how to make it, although he has not made it for a long , long time.But he still knows he can , only if he can rig up some of that old flame…..Ouch..!! Ouch ...he just got a little burn on his wrist .A little boiling drop of  gravy jumped up from the pot and hit his left wrist...he needs a little ointment and that will really fix that now…

He completed his dish , and served it out on two white dishes on the table.He heated the food  more than necessary ,so that if it is  kept out for long , it would still be hot enough for eating.

Doing that , he stepped onto the porch.The neighbour, Miss Roy was walking her dog. She saw him , and asked him whether he was doing  ok or not.”Just waiting for Sheila”, he replied.

She shook her head and walked off.

Where is Sheila anyways ? That must be one hell of a traffic she is stuck in ..…

The food has gone cold now.He heated his share  and ate it.It just wouldn't go down , so he drank a little water after every bite.

He threw away Sheila's share.He will order food from somewhere when she comes in… it will not be as good as his food, but you've got to make the best out of a situation…

You have got to make the best out of a situation.

He went up to his bedroom to look at the wall clock. The smaller handle pointed at twelve.

He decided he will wait on the sofa till Sheila gets here.He poured himself a glass of warm cocoa and wrapped a shawl around him and sat on his sofa , snuggling the warm cup between his arms and his chest.He was savouring the cocoa-it was something he did every  night , before he went to bed.After he was done , he washed his cup and did the dishes.

Now all he has got to do is wait .From where he was sitting , he could see through the window , and he could see the cold, deserted streets outside and suddenly felt not so alone.

In fact , he felt content.

He could hear a cricket chirping somewhere, and sometimes  heard a lone vehicle whooshing by : - sometimes with loud ,pungent music ;sometimes silently , except for the sound of the wind flapping against the car.

He fell asleep soon.

On the center table in his living room lay a telegram , addressed to him.It was from Sheila.It said that she will be coming home very soon , and was very sorry for abandoning him, and that she looks forward to seeing him.

It was dated 7th July , 2005.

Every day , he would wake up and wait for her.He would do the same every day, and has been doing this since the day he received the telegram.

He feels quite happy now.And if you ever happen to meet Sheila , please tell her not to go back home.

She might mess this up.