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Sunday, November 24, 2024

Forgiveness

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Susan Sharma

I wake up with what is probably going to be the second worst hangover I have ever had or going to have in my lifetime, because I know, even though I have had a little more alcohol than I should have but I am willing to dilute my senses a little more. Because at that particular moment, I was not strong enough to command my senses. I want to drive them with a little stroke of madness. My entire left cheek has been moist by the pool of saliva and a slight presence of puke, I managed to excrete. What a stroke of luck that I didn’t choke on my own puke to death? Or at this particular moment, what a pity that I woke up alive. The worst feeling about being drunk is always the hangover, the guilt. The hatred towards the fact that you chose to lose control over yourself. What a blessing it would be if you could just drown yourself with alcohol the previous night and wake up in sobriety the next morning but alas that wasn’t the case. I woke up with a terrible headache and worst part, I don’t remember if I had paid the bills last night or not. I didn’t dare to ask the waiter because of course, they are businessmen. I tried to play safe, making confidence my ally. 

I ordered a bottle of champagne and the waiter’s grin gave me a hint that I hadn’t paid for my last night’s craziness. He stared at me as though I were asking him to buy me a drink, in my own pub. I tried not to focus on the waiter. Instead, I forced my brain to make itself ready for another wash down with alcohol, ready to face the guilt. I know I have no taste for what variety of alcohol is meant to be sipped at what hour of the day but all I wanted is breakage from the mental cacophony. I sat down at the table and opened the bottle. I didn’t pour it in a cup, instead I imbibed it a little by little. Blurring my vision, deafening my ears, losing the feeling of touch, slowly I went to a phase where I could finally dare to remember her. 

She ! Damn she ! Beautiful she ! I know it’s too early for me to even feel sad about our separation. Hell, we haven’t even had an opportunity to attach properly. I remember her, with me. Last night. When I saw her, I had already cried a river and drunk just as much. I remember seeing her, feeling the tension in the moment. I remember seeing her sad, yes I made her sad. I know, I always say that all the people we meet are just another road to lead us to where we are finally supposed to be. Yes, she was a short road but I hadn’t travelled as fast as I did with her, in the road of life. As if, we had a telepathic connection, as if she were the last piece of my jigsaw puzzle, fitting in perfectly to make the artwork complete. But it was rather obvious from the beginning, like opposite poles of magnets approaching each other, we were bound to be repelled. “No; I’m just using metaphors to make myself feel good. Nothing was pre-planned. It was me, who single-handedly hammered the completed puzzle until every single piece of it was separated. But anyway, I have to prepare myself for heartbreaks. After all, Ernest Hemingway once said, “The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.” I console myself that I am ready to face her while I know it is the champagne talking. I don’t have what it takes. 

Accompanied by the alcohol for the entire day, I try to push myself to back up my decision of staying separated. The waiter was quite surprised when he got an order of a cup of hot lemon, from me. I was like a Messiah to them, making their business bloom for almost two days now. I asked for the bill and looking at the ‘paid amount’ row, I was quite surprised. I asked who paid yesterday’s bill. I was in more fury with myself when I found out it was her. ‘She paid for her humiliation; how humiliating is that for me?’

Anyways after gaining slight control over myself, I paid the remaining bill and exited the hotel. The sunset had just begun and it was indeed beautiful. Not only for drunkards, for sober people too. I hated myself because I felt so terrible even on this beautiful evening. I realised I was in a hilltop restaurant and I had to walk down the forest to reach the bazaar. 

Like a glass falling into a hard concrete, my shield of confidence broke with the first glance of her. I know, I hadn’t stared into her face, but as I did at that moment, I again realized just how beautiful she was. She was shining like a sunrise, as if the sun had handed its duty to her. I just realized what a stinking mess I was at the moment and backed two steps because I didn’t want her to know I was drunk. Even if she knew, I didn’t want her to know. I had lost senses again; surprisingly the vocal cord stopped responding too. I stood there like a pillar of guilt, ready to break down. 

“Dude, can we… just pretend…like…like yesterday never happened.” She bit her tongue as she said that. 

She had no idea how big of a stone she had lifted from my chest just by saying that. That was the only problem I had with her. She was just too nice. Just listening to her talk made me hate myself even more. I know she deserves so much better than me and I know it would be selfish of me to agree with what she just asked me to. But I don’t care; I just want to embrace her, tight. So as to never let her go. I wanted to surrender all my senses to her; she would control them so better. Maybe things won’t go down quite as planned, maybe we will soon indulge in another stupid fight, maybe worse was to follow, but I didn’t care about ‘Maybe’s’. I just was astonished by the fact that I was offered an open apology for a mistake that I was going to remember for a lifetime. I was just astonished by the fact, how beautiful she was. I was astonished by the fact that she was mine. Slowly getting the vocal cord online I uttered, “What yesterday?”

[Susan is a student and a keen writer. He is an aspirant of creative writing.]  

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