LOVED TO SMITHEREENS

Loved to smithereens

Written by Divyanshi Sonkeria

It was a cloudy sun-less afternoon. Irene, a tall woman with sharp eyes and wrinkled lips stood by her husband’s grave. Her heels dug into the warm mud as she accepted condolences from a handful of attendees, half of whom were from her side of the family.

Her husband, Josh who once showed immense promise in his youth had grown-up to lead an insignificant life. He was an avid drinker and smoker, and though he was a wise man he was never able to find meaning in his life. The cause of death was the much-anticipated, lung cancer. That had emptied the bank accounts of the woeful couple.

They were college sweethearts. Irene was head over heels for Josh during their initial stages of friendship. They would share notes and hid poetry in between the pages, paid for each other’s coffee and cigarettes, pretended that they were not in love till the time she confessed.

It was quite a bold move but that did not scare her. She was a brave woman. Her feminist rage was an intricate part of her personality. She roused the crowd at debating tournaments and lousy men were scared of her. She looked like she read ‘Bell Hooks’ and listened to ‘Iqbal Bano’ and she did.

Brown lipstick was her color of choice till she adapted to the nudes and subtle reds after her marriage. The shade was known to be found on coffee-mugs and men’s necklines before she started dating Josh.

The roaring 20’s for them were full of loving, fighting, moving to a shared place, and discovering each other. Irene discovered that her idea of her husband was very far from the reality, yet she clung to the memories of love and her idealized version of him, mistaking it for the real thing. Josh discovered that Irene was much more capable than him, which made him bitter and selfish. He would often say snarky words that would hurt her but he was great at charming his way out of every brink of collapse they had in their relationship. He knew how to give her the illusion of a special love and she believed in him.

Their 30s were silent, distant, and dormant. The dormancy had seeped into their very sense of being as well as their professional lives. Irene worked as an HR executive and as the primary caregiver for their two well-behaved and silent boys. Josh, on the other hand was in-and-out of jobs. The only fast paced thing in their lives was Josh’s deteriorating mental health, that had exacerbated his habits of smoking and drinking. Leaving identifiable holes in their pockets.

They had enough to stay afloat without drowning but not enough to make choices. Sometimes, they would take the kids to a mall where each of them got to purchase one favorite toy and have ice-cream afterwards. If shoes or clothes had to be brought for a special occasion, the toy and ice-cream days would have to stall till next season.

Even though the parent-teacher meetings had never seen Josh’s face, the teachers always recommended therapy sessions for the kids because they did not seem fit-in with the other students.

Then came the days where Josh’s medical bills ate up almost all of Irene’s income. Ice-cream days were in lock-up. And to make up for it, the boys never abided by curfew timings.

It was a painful, long, never-ending time. Too many trips to the hospital, too many unbought groceries, too much time without a warm embrace between the two and too many words left unsaid. By mid 40s Josh was wheelchair-bound.

Irene developed strange habits like keeping the shower on always during a bath. Always washing dishes to the sound of news or some mind-numbing reality show. There was a time she used to think watching the news is a tedious but important task to keep oneself aware. Now, she would do anything to keep herself away from awareness, of any kind. Her world was filled up with noises.

“Is it really a noise or….?” her inner-monologue would protrude.

She responded unhesitatingly, that it helped her focus. Focus on the things she had to do that day, remembering them in an order.

Waking up. Buying Groceries and medicines. Making lunch and breakfast for everyone. Going to work. Making dinner for everyone. Keeping Josh alive because he refused to eat the medicines. Call the kids to ask where they are. Eat. Sleep. In reality, it was all a façade to help her mute out her thoughts.

However, what felt like a never-ending cycle had finally ended. There was nothing left but silence.

After the funeral when it started to rain, she drove back to her house and was surprised to not smell the lingering smoke in the living room. It felt like a weight was off of her chest. At the same time, in a long time, she felt lost.

Even in these trying times, she was organized in her mind. At least, that is what she called it and had a chore for every hour. Her mind was never present in the moment.

Now, the question “What to do next ?” haunted her like a piled up-debt she had been delaying for years.

She felt like she did not belong in her own house. Softly, at first, and then violently she cried her heart out. All the efforts she had done these years meant nothing. She had turned her back on her desires and dreams because of her responsibilities towards Josh and the kids. All these years, wasted loving and caring for a man who did not love his own life.

Clinging onto memories of love and never being able to walk away from this life. Doubting herself when all her varied efforts resulted in the same words from her husband.

At the end of the line there was only emptiness and a gaping hole between the life lost and the life lived. Her dreams had withered away like dry leaves and the grief weighed heavier than her bodyweight. No trophy, no medal just some left-over time.

Bittersweet rage washed over her as she picked herself up from the floor.

“I have to do everything. I have to make it up to myself.”

She was clueless about where to even begin. So, she started cleaning out the drawers which carried the smell of medicine and smoke. She cleaned out Josh’s closet and donated his clothes, kept a favorite baby blue colored t-shirt.

After a full day of cleaning her house, a warm glow made up of sweat shone on her cheeks. She started to remember things of her life before Josh.

“I remember running, and painting and dressing up” her inner-monologue poked at her again. This time, she sat in silence and greeted her inner-monologue with open arms.

Next day, she woke up on top of the morning at 5 a.m. and went for a run by the lake. Even though she drove by that road every morning, it felt like she was there for the first time. The cool breeze of dawn whispering in her ears, the birds chirping and the gentle lapping waves falling up and down. Her mind was immersed in the moment.

She played badminton with the now job-having kids in the evening and got them ice-cream afterwards. Her kids hugged her and five-and-a-half tears rolled down from three pairs of eyes.

Little by little she started to collect pieces of herself that were left behind. She spent her money on art supplies. The self-doubt disappeared, that was sown when she was told that her paintings are “pretty in an average sort of way” by her late husband. Her heart pounded as she dipped her fat-brush in crimson and stroked the canvas.

Questions flooded her mind as she painted. Was she beating a dead horse all along? When did Josh fall out of love ? Why did she not realize that till the end ? Did she willingly live a conflicted life ?

It was a full-blown existential crisis but she was committed to salvaging what was left. Her first painting was completed. It was a lake-view in golden hour, her favorite time of the day.

She sat back to look at it and lit a cigar in its appreciation. All these years she had been passively smoking without objection. The man was on a wheelchair. She felt sorry for him.

An intense cough emerged from her throat as she took a third-drag from the cigar. Repeated coughs made her cover her mouth with her hand. When she looked down, she found her hands smeared in blood.

It is probably the running and fatigue of old age, she calculated, and put out the minimally burnt cigar. Her fatigue and body pain were the only constant companions in her life. So, she decided to head to bed early but the coughing kept her awake all night.

She did not tell the kids because she did not want to burden them like their father.

Two days passed by. Irene sat with old poems she used to share with Josh and dozed off in an afternoon nap. A few hours later, the sun shone brightly on her corpse.

At her funeral, the kids thought of the difference between a living man, who lived like he wanted to die and a dead woman who realized she had been alive all along.