Thursday, July 26, 2012

My Best Friend.

       She is my new best friend. I love everything about her. To tell the truth, I USED TO love everything about her. But I no longer do. I'm scared now and racked with guilt. There is no single moment that I recall, no single moment that I recall ever being free of her obsession. You see, she is obsessive to the degree of killing me, if I so much as even think of other things. No fantasies, no smiles, no happiness. These are the things I agreed to give up when she approached me for friendship. I was too naive then. Far too naive to know how cruel she could be. I wish I had the guts to ask her to leave. But I'm a coward. A fool.

***

The woman has dark circles under her eyes. She frets and impatiently chews he nails. She seems in her early forties but appears much older. She jumps up when the receptionist calls out 'Mrs Linner' and almost dashes against the desk on her way to the door.
The doctor looks up from the giant desk, behind which he is seated. Immediately his eyes are clouded with pity for this weak yet strong woman.

"I'm just so tired, Doctor. I'm just so exhausted. How can I help her if she refuses to see reason?"

"You need to deal with it, minute by minute, day by day, month by month. We have been supporting her for all these eight years. At least you cannot quit on her, not you of all people. Susan, I know this is hard, but You have to keep going. There is only so much that these medicines and therapy can do. Only so much."

"How I wish. How I wish." She sighs and clasps the doctor's hands. He puts his hands over hers. They are old friends. He can only do so much, after all. She follows his instructions for the new medications and takes the prescription. He has added some new pills and replaced Valium with another. 

***

Mum is back from Mr Roth's. He is a gentle man and doing all that he can. But I know it is of no use. He doesn't know it is now a war between us. It is either my friend or me. She is strong. I wish I had never got into this mess. But it was Kate Moss that did it. And Victoria and Angelina and Paris and Cheryl and all the millions of beautiful women on in Paris and Milan and Munich and Amsterdam and everywhere. 
You would understand if you saw me grow up. Even though my initial years were centred around huge tables laden with enormous amounts of food, the house over-run with guests each day, every day; a laughing Mum and Dad shushing us and piling our plates high with all kinds of eatable stuff, Even though any other kid would have exchanged her best stuff with me to be brought up in a house like this, filled with love and all things nice and wonderful, she would never have know the agony of being called names at school. 'Dumpling', 'Mattress', 'Fatass', 'Hippo' were names that gnawed at my insides, hours after school, in the nights, making me stay awake for long hours, crying silent tears into my pillow, gasping for breath because the grief just mashed my heart into a pulp. Not being able to walk like the others, not being able to avoid doubling over with sheer breathlessness after a two-minute walk or run, not being able to fit into pretty little dresses like my eight-year old classmates. Even now, I can relive every single taunt, every single jeer from those days. And only my best friend stays by me. Then how can I push her off, just like that, tell me.

***

Mrs Linner is inconsolable. Mr Linner holds her throughout the ceremony. It is mercifully, brief. The coffin is being displayed for the guests to say their final goodbyes. Inside is the skeleton of a gal who was once beautiful and lively. Skeleton. Because Amy's body is only a heap of bones. Her gaunt face stares even with the eyes closed. The skin pale and white, like chalk used to whitewash walls. Her skin is transparent and you would think it would split open if you looked for a while too long. Her elbows and knees jut out. Her lips are already black and her mouth a black hole with tepid breath and rotting teeth. Who is this gal? The guests wonder. These guests who have seen her transformed from a healthy adorable child into the pitiable, tiny teenager lying in this coffin. Some of them think, Death was a tad too long in the coming. And Amy should have been mercifully put out much earlier. However all is as the Good Lord insists. However they cannot but help shudder to think that something as evil as this could exist in their midst. 

The eulogies are read. The farewells said. The goodbyes offered. Mrs Linner insists on sitting next to the coffin the whole time. While it is lowered into the ground, she flings herself upon it. 'Forgive me. Forgive me, Amy, for I could not help you', she cries pitifully. Mr Roth is there too, teary-eyed. 

***

I was scared when the lid closed. I wished I could comfort my mother. I tried to get up and hold her, but I could not. Something stuck me to the coffin bottom, glued me to it. I could only peer at the faces of the persons who looked in. Some gasped, some shuddered, some cried. But they all loved me. That much I knew. I was scared again when the earth closed around me in my little box, but then suddenly as soon as all the mud was around me and I could no longer hear it falling over, I felt a deep peace come upon me. When I woke up I was here. In this beautiful open place smelling of a thousand flowers in full bloom and the green grass and moss and dew, with a hundred birds chirping. I can go to my special window and look down at Mum and Dad and see them hobbling along on their grief-laden feet. I no longer feel pity for them. I find that I'm incapable of feeling anything except a tremendous feeling of calm and lightness. I know they will join me here, when the time comes. 

I'm peaceful and alone. 

My best friend of nine years, my possessive friend, the one who killed me is no longer with me.


4 comments:

Abhyudaya Shrivastava said...

Brilliant!

The Fool said...

Brilliant intense narrative. Quite an air of mystery. What is this best friend? Anorexia?

deeps said...

life is like that

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