Countdown
He imagines that he is dead.
And counts the number of people who will cry, who will mourn him, at his funeral.
There was a time, not so long ago when even in the darkest of moments the count would come up to at least two or three.
Even in the worse moments, the count would be one.
So he would soldier on, survive those dark moments.
But now the count is zero.
* * * * * * *
It's as if his life shattered into two in that moment.
Before and after.
One moment they were laughing together but the next she is lying in a pool of blood on the road, motionless.
Someone is screaming. It takes him a while to realize that it's him.
But even then he had some hope.
Right up to the moment in the hospital when his friend comes back after talking to the doctor and shakes his head slowly.
And his life splits into two.
* * * * * * *
They left home with so much joy that day, planning the trip for a month.
And they never came back home, not even him.
Because home had ceased to exist.
Home was with her and she was gone.
He just came back to an empty painful shell, memories lurking at him from every corner.
He discovers the great irony of loss - that the happiest memories can become the most painful.
* * * * * * *
At first his friends, his colleagues are understanding.
When he is short of money, they help him pay to keep her on life support, hoping against hope for a miracle.
For her to wake up, open her brown eyes and give him that sleepy smile she wore on her face every morning.
But days turn to weeks and weeks turn to months.
They run of patience.
They refuse to give more money and tells him to move on.
But he can't.
They just don't understand.
She was not just his love, his friend, his partner.
Everyone has their anchor in life; a belief in a god, a job, a spouse or a partner, a child or a friend who keeps them tethered to the world.
She was his.
Without her he was not just alone but lost and adrift.
They wouldn't understand that you don't choose what makes you, or what breaks you.
* * * * * * *
He borrows money from banks, from anyone, everyone.
But by the end of few months he still runs out of money.
He loses his friends, who stop taking his calls and answering his messages after he starts badgering them for money.
In the end, he is the only one at her funeral.
He doesn't even have money left for a proper tombstone.
* * * * * * *
They tell you that the funerals are the worst part of it.
But they are not.
The worst part is the night after the funeral, after it's all done.
That night you bury the one you loved.
You cry till your whole body aches, with only your sodden miserable pillow for company.
* * * * * * *
The worst nightmares are not the ones you see in your sleep.
The worst nightmares are the ones you wake up to.
He sees her in his dreams, happy, carefree, loving.
He wakes up and she is gone.
And he loses her all over again, night after night.
Finally, he starts to drink himself to sleep.
* * * * * * *
With the debt piled up and mortgage unpaid, he is forced to the street.
He barely cares anymore.
Packing up their stuff is a depressing experience for him.
In the end, all that is left of one's life is clothes, books, few photo albums and bits and pieces scattered around.
He wonders whether this is what life always amounts to in the end.
* * * * * * *
Even in his drunken haze he notices people's contempt for the homeless.
He knows that it goes beyond the dirt on his clothes.
It's almost as if people need to build a barrier of contempt to convince themselves that the homeless are not human but a different species.
He understands.
It's their defense mechanism.
It fills people with horror to even comprehend that they could possibly end up homeless themselves.
It's easier to deal with via pretense, via labelling.
He pities them, perhaps as much as himself.
* * * * * * *
Many times he comes close to ending it.
But he can't bring himself to.
Because of her.
She would have wanted him to move on, for him to be happy.
He becomes Orpheus mourning his Eurydice.
* * * * * * *
That day evening he sees a little boy on the street with his bicycle chain undone.
The kid struggles with it for few minutes and is dejected, almost in tears.
So he goes up to him and offers to help.
The boy hands him the bicycle without question and he adjusts the chain and hands it back.
The boy has a huge smile on his face.
He fishes about his pockets and hands him a red lollipop, a thank you present, before peddling away.
That moment, he knows that he has to end it.
Not because he is miserable, but because he is finally happy.
He had found a moment of joy in the midst of misery.
She wanted him to be happy and he was.
The only way he could stay happy was to end with a happy ending, to be with her again.
* * * * * * *
The night is unbearably cold but he barely feels the cold as he unbuttons his jacket and lays out on the cold floor, using his jacket as a pillow.
He is happy as he takes the final few sips and throws away the bottle.
He lies down and waits for the winter to take him, to be with her again at last.
For the first time after her death, he looks up to the sky and smiles.
He starts a countdown in his head, counting the moments till they would be together again and sucks on the red lollipop.