Coda

“Hello?”

“Hey, this is…”

“I know. It’s been a while but it’s not like I can’t recognize your voice.”

"What you mean to say is, you have Caller ID and still have my number saved."

"Yeah, that too."

“I just heard the news. I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

“Really? I’m terribly sorry for your loss? Two years without a word, and when he dies, the best you can manage is that cliche? For a bestselling author you’re not exactly Mr. Eloquent, are you?”

“For someone who just lost her husband, you sound remarkably sarcastic.”

“For someone who just lost his best friend, you sound remarkably in-eloquent. Un-eloquent. Whatever.”

“Ineloquent is probably it.”

“Thank you, Susie Dent.”

“You and your Brit references. Anyway, you seem to be coping okay.”

“I don’t know how one is supposed to cope, but it’s not like I cry all day. Plus, when it’s happening all around you, at least the part of you that asks Why him knows it’s not just him. My dad’s still in the ICU, and it was a minor miracle that he even got a bed, what with the number of COVID cases."

"Oh damn, I didn't know. Is he getting better?"

"He isn't getting worse, but I see someone or the other crying in the waiting room because their dad or mom just passed away, and given that he was old and sick to begin with, it isn't looking too good. So, to answer your original question, I feel like I need to save up the tears and do one balloon payment instead of this instalment crying.”

“Oh that’s a nice analogy. I’ll make sure to use it sometime.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Ha! I should’ve known better than to pull on that one.”

“You should’ve known better, period. Did you know there’s a YouTube video of the prize ceremony? Must’ve been the husband of one of the other short story authors. We watched it together. You should’ve seen how happy he was for you. Even posted the link on our school WhatsApp group. I was less than thrilled, to be honest.”

“I can imagine. Both parts. I mean, he was probably happier than I was. I honestly don’t know why I sent it in my name. After I submitted it, I even prayed that it wouldn’t win, so that there were no consequences to deal with.”

“You could’ve admitted after you won that it wasn’t yours in the first place.”

“I could’ve. But it felt too embarrassing to admit, and I felt like if I did that, nobody would take me seriously as a writer anymore. I’d always be known as that guy. Remember Kaavya, that girl who wrote that young adult book about a girl getting into Harvard?”

"Yeah, How Opal Mehta something-something."

"Exactly. She graduated Harvard, went to law school, and did pretty well for herself. But Google her name and you'll still find a million articles titled How Kaavya Viswanathan something-something. And it isn't a nice something-something, as you can imagine. And it's not even like she plagiarized the whole thing."

“So, you were stuck with the lie.”

“Yeah. I know it sounds weak.”

“No, I can understand. What I can’t understand is why you couldn’t call him.”

“I didn’t know what to say. Once I mustered up the cowardice to not say anything to the world, it became easier to muster up the cowardice to not say anything to him either.”

“Oh, come on! He would’ve understood. It’s not like he intended for you to take his story and pass it off as yours, but I don’t think he particularly minded. He always knew you’d make it someday, so he was just happy that this helped you get a break. It’s like that thing in Finding Forrester, where the Sean Connery character gives that kid the title of one of his pieces to get him started.”

“This was a bit more than that.”

“I know, but that’s how he saw it. He was just genuinely happy for you. He didn’t need the apology. He was just hurt that you didn’t call and wouldn’t pick up his calls either. Then he decided to let it be and wait for you to come around.”

“And now I can’t.”

“No. But think of me as a stand-in. I inherited his property, so I probably inherited his right to accept your apology as well.”

“For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

“I know. For what it’s worth, you’re forgiven. But I honestly doubt it’s worth much.”

“The apology or the forgiveness?”

“Either. You’re not gonna wake up tomorrow morning and feel forgiven, you know? For that matter, if you come clean in public, that’s not gonna suddenly solve anything either. And don’t do that, by the way. That would be pretty stupid.”

“I don’t think I can, stupid or not. It’s not that I don’t think it’s the right thing to do. I just don’t have the balls for it.”

“Well, you did muster up the courage to finally call, so you’re not entirely ball-less.”

“That doesn’t feel entirely like a compliment, but thanks.”

“It wasn’t meant to be much of one. How’s the writing coming along, anyway?”

“I promised a book to my publisher in September. I’m a bit stuck at the moment, so I’ll have to work through it.”

“Well, now that your septic tank is cleared out a bit, you’ll probably find it easier.”

“I don’t think my therapist would appreciate you calling my psyche a septic tank.”

“True, but to be fair, you’re probably not the most fucked up individual she meets in her workday. Me, on the other hand…”

“Allo, you work in finance.”

“True. So anyway, what’s this book about? The one you’re stuck on?”

“I don’t know yet. I promised a coming-of-age novel, but I can’t find my character’s voice.”

“Why don’t you write a different story? I’ll give you an idea.”

“That is exactly the rabbit hole I went down last time, and we both know how messed up that tea party is.”

“Listen, will ya? It’s about a guy who wants to be a writer but isn’t able to get anything published. Then one day his friend…”