I fell asleep.

21 June 2021

Today was the longest day of the year and the hottest one too. The warm air burnt me as it rubbed against my aging skin. I’d loved to chew some ice cubes I saw floating in my lemonade, but my dentures were miles away, in front of my eyes. Chris was sitting beside me. Her hairs were whiter than the milk in her glass. The skin on her cheeks and elbows hanged off her skeleton, imparting her a hauntingly ugly look. Her chair was far more comfortable than mine, with all the cushions puffed under her fat buttocks. But the look on her face made it look as if she was sitting on needles. Today we didn’t have a fight. She was in a pleasant mood, and I was exhausted after all the cleaning she had ordered me to do. Our library had begun to overflow with all the books accumulated over the years. So, I obediently took them all out, wiped off the dust, and stacked them the exact way Chris had wanted. She had demanded to keep her favorites on the top shelf. It pained her to bend down. Her favorite ones include every book ever written by Shakespeare, Elliot, and every other writer I have ever heard of. That meant all the shelves above the waistline were hers. That meant my books go below my torso, making it impossible for me to reach for them. I can’t bend too when I want to.

The sun melted into our verandah, where Chris and I sat together every day for years. Over the years, I had seen Chris turn from a merciless tomboy into a cheerful young woman and now into a fat buffalo. It seemed as if it was just yesterday we had married, and now we stand together on the brink of our life. Counting our last breaths. After all the cleaning and a quick afternoon nap, I went to make us some lemonade. Though she didn’t ask for it, I knew she would trade anything for a chilled glass of one, especially if I had made it. Her face turned red when I placed a glass full of milk beside her whilst I poured myself ice-cold, honey-sweet, mouth watering-delicious glass full of lemonade.

While I carefully examined the facial expressions of the grumpy old granny, distastefully staring at her drink, fighting the instinct to not splash it on my face, a hot gust of wind flew open the diary I had placed on the table near me. I must have left it there mistakenly. Chewed on the edges, pages sewed together so poorly as if someone had done it in the middle of an epileptic fit. The diary of my teenage years bloated itself with its last breath, and like an old man, it coughed so hard it threw out a page on my lap. I put on the glasses, and with utmost focus, I peered at the paper. Dated as today, it read:

21 June 1940

the day was hot. Chris fought with me. Today I MASTERBATED! the first time.

Whoa! I wasn’t ready for that. I crumpled up the paper in a flash, making it stiffer than a rock. It felt light on my fist, but the words written on it had made it heavier than it looked. I hoped Chris had not witnessed me having a heart attack just as I crunched the paper. She might have suspected something oddish but probably feigned ignorance. I laboriously sneaked a glance at her and took a deep breath of relief after I found her fast asleep on her rocking chair. My first thought was to chew up the page, but saner sense prevailed(no teeth, I realized). Holding the armrest, I got up as noiselessly as possible and tiptoed my way to the toilet. Just as I was about to throw the page into the pot, a strange curiosity took over my fingers, and I began to unfold the paper. As careful as I could be, creasing out the ridges, I found myself plaining out the page slowly and carefully as if it had been made of a snowflake. The handwriting was mine but looked so unfamiliar. I couldn’t believe I had written this. The first letter wasn’t capitalized(I often did that), Chris fought with me(cons of being friends with a tomboy, besides she was taller than me), and I Masterbated? (I misspelled it, cons of being homeschooled).

The longer I peered at the writing, the faster it faded away and gradually melted itself into the color of the paper(light yellow). Eyes shut, I set down myself slowly on the floor. Trying to remember the day I masturbated for the first time.

*

The tears rolled down my cheeks as Chris shoved me face-first into the dirt. My left arm clutched tightly by her, and my other arm trapped beneath my body. With her absolute might, she had overpowered me from behind and ruthlessly pressed my face against the earth.

“Eat the mud, you son of a bitch.” she screamed at me.

“I’m eating it,” I said in a muffled voice.

“Eat more.” she was in no mood to show mercy.

She had not liked the way I had addressed her before.

“Don’t ever call me Chris. I am not a boy. Call me Christina.” she shouted in my ear.

“Yes, Christina. Forgive me. I won’t call you anything other than Christina.” I said, gasping for air.

She gradually started to loosen up the grip and stood away from my back. As I hurriedly stood up, I had clenched the fist to throw on her face. I was waiting for her to get off of me, adamant about taking revenge. Before I could give her my knock-out punch, she placed a kick on my bottom so hard, I leaped a foot from the ground and ran howling to my house. I could hear her laughing in the distance, and it boiled my blood.

My vision had blurred by the tears and dirt in my eyes. I didn’t want to go home as I knew Tom would make fun of me getting beaten up by Chris, so I ran towards the barn as fast as possible. Running fast helped me in these times(It dried up the tears quickly, and no matter how strong Chris was, she could never sprint faster than me). While running toward the barn, I decided to play Cowboy versus Villain (I was the Cowboy, and Chris was the evil villain). I barged open the barn door. It was darker than I had imagined. I folded my hands into a gun and bang! bang! I shot down Chris’ henchmen. I imagined Chris standing a few feet apart from me, and before she could reach for her weapon, I rolled on the floor and shot her. She fell on the ground with a thud that shook the whole barn. “Gotcha!” I said, chewing on the mud in my mouth, imagining it to be tobacco. The barn smelled of hen’s droppings. My back turned cold as I rested myself against the wall in a corner away from the smell.

The place was quiet and dim. Perfect for refuge from atrocious heat outside. With my watchful eyes on the door, I hurriedly unzipped myself and carefully let out my thang! With growing age, one needs cues to get triggered. Magazines, pornography, partners absence. Not when one is a teenager and certainly not when one is thirteen. At thirteen a dark, quiet, and secluded place is all the cue one needs. I had been trying for a few months but I didn’t get what I wanted. It would be stiff but why run your hand up and down on it. Aware of the fact that in the end, you have to stop, drained of all the effort. “Keep trying. You’ll know.” Tom had told me once. So, I tried once again. Today I had all the time in the world. Rhythmically, slowly, patiently. I stared into the darkness taking shallow breaths. My vision had begun to adjust to the darkness and the stories of the barn began to come back to me gradually. It was on the outskirts of our property and it was rumored to be haunted with the spirit of our ancestors. None of my family members came to this place, and rightly so. Now that I think of it, that place was really improper to whack off. But I can’t put myself at fault that too for an innocent mistake of masturbating upon the graveyard of our ancestors for I was to make a million bigger ones in the course of my life. It had become dark once again, then it was bright. Dark again, bright again. I realized I was losing consciousness. My hands had begun to tremble and my knees to strain. What is this feeling? Pain? Fear? No, it was different. Indescribable. Funnier than laughter, more exciting than excitement, more satisfying than satisfaction, diviner than Christ. Better than everything, and so it gradually dawned upon me I loved this feeling.

I could feel the blood run through my toes to my dick. The feeling was surreal, and I didn’t want it to stop, ever. My toes had dug themselves into the earth, stretching beyond snap. So, I fell down to my knees, bowing before the deity of masturbation. Blessed! and half dead I came off in droplets. Family, Friends, Chris, Fear, Happiness, Revenge, Love, Myself, nothing existed. The highlight of my life, the most spiritually liberating one. Near divine than I’d ever been. Squatting with my back resting against the wall, I’d thought I might have broken it with all the force I had put on it. Plink, The droplets fell on the earth. The smell of hen’s droppings taken over by the strange smell. I couldn’t get a word for it then, but it smelled like something burning. Years after the surreal experience, I came across the same smell in a smelting factory. That day the barn, the earth, my clothes, and my dick all smelled of melting iron.

The barn door hammered. I could hear Chris shouting my name. I slowly stood up, creeping up the wall. Still weak in the knees and with quivering fingers, I put my pecker back and zipped my pants. Calmly and steadily, I walked towards the door.

“What were you doing inside?”

“I fell asleep, Christina.”

“Didn’t you wash your face? It is still covered in dirt.”

“I forgot.”

“I’m sorry for what I did before.”

So, she apologized, and we married each other. Neither then, nor there but we did end up together eventually.

Back in the toilet, I opened my eyes to Chris yelling my name, rapping at the door.

I folded the paper neatly. Carefully put it in my pocket. Unhinged the door.

“What were you doing inside, Don?”

“I fell asleep,” I replied while the toilet hissed in the background.