The broken cry, the loner’s lie

The gate of the rustic lift crunch shut  with a nasal twang ,lets out a heave, preparing itself for the flight and vanishes from sight.  What’s left behind is a closed door, an empty landing and a frustrated rush of breath. She turns away, back through the door , into the darkness beyond.  Thus begins the loner’s night.

Trembling fingers scroll through the contacts hitting upon the name that lightens her , -lightened  or so to say. The familiar picture , the haughty profile , colour corrected  by the muse himself in order to look aristocratic stared  jauntily back at her. She  hits call  and waits with bated breath for the familiar  drawl.  She’s not lucky. The carefully permed pruned voice  of airtel’s telecaller told her that he was on another call. She sat herself down on the floor of the kitchen , trying to mop up her thoughts through the dam of emotions that gushed out of her. A feeling of helplessness washed over , blowing out the flicker of sleep in her eyes.   The phone bleated suddenly jolting her out of her thoughts.  She rubbed her eyes, put on her chirpy voice and pressed the green button. “Up for coffee ? , she chirped a little too brightly”. “ No. came the masked voice, one she’d of late come to recognize as the deadpan controlled one he had designed specially for her. It was a flat tone , no trace of irritation , no tint of humor , a monochrome  verbatim , that gave none away. “ why aren’t you talking to me anymore?  “Why don’t we share the good old rapport from a month back? She yelped , sadness engulfing  every trace of the ego that had held her dignity back before. The response was pre conceived and recorded “ I don’t have a problem. I’m tired okay? Let me go to bed. “. The phone went dead.

She wished Emma was around. Emma always knew what to do. Emma was the olive branch that bridged the gap, cleared the ego clashes and made them smile. But emma , was now miles away , getting on with her life and she did not want to scratch their  newborn long distance relationship with shards of their fight.

The next day she set her alarm early. She  pottered around ,  brewing sugarless  coffee just the way he liked it , and buttering his eight slices of bread.   Today is a new day , she promised herself. She was  going to get her best friend back , no matter what it took.  She picked up her phone and hit the call button. A muffled voice picks up.

“Rise and shine “ she chirped , up for coffee?

“a  distracted voice yells out through the din of traffic that he had already left for work and would talk to her later”

But , will you call me after….. she trails off as the call gets cut. Tears fall into the coffee mug , ruining the coffee she prepared for him.  Hastily washing up , she saunters into the living room , the carefully ‘i-don’t-give-a-fuck-‘ look pasted carefully in place.  “Anyone needs some coffee ?” she calls out.

Yes, ego was her new best friend.

From then on , ego was the dealer of the gamble. Ego told her that  if he did not give a damn about her , why should she? Ego  rattled to her ears that she had better people to hang out with , to stop glancing at her phone hoping for the purple display picture, to stop buying extra coffee sachets hoping he’d make it for breakfast some day , stopped her from calling Emma and breaking down ; instead taught her to  hide the coffee mug and act happy and distant every morning when he made his cursory  ten minute visit to iron his shirt. Ego was her new best friend. Ego made her cool. She could lay reading in the same room and glance up warily when he entered.  She lived a lie, behind a carefully painted mask of happiness , a mask that stifled a broken cry. 

The gates of the tears flowed free though ,  behind closed doors , and  solitary  bus rides, she wept the loss of her best friend. She lit candles at a church, asking divinity to be her alibi ,She even wished he’d died. She’d rather treasure a dead memory than have a living reminder dig knifes through her heart.

Best friends were eventually replaced and new routines made.  Words of advice poured in from ill wishing well wishers as to how her life was better off. Yeah fuck they would know better. Lukewarm advice , new best friend plans and schemes were laid out. It looked like people were trying to help her replace a lost insurance card with a new , safer option. She itched to tell them what she really wanted to, but ego shook his wise head .

she  smiled on.

 Yes , Life has a way of going on , and common grounds were soon lost in the tide of lies that surged through them. A new insurance policy was underway.

From then on , the mask ran the show.  From cursory hellos, out of habit goodnight messages that  diminished in characters as nights went by , and obligatory time together , the lie began to seek solace in her mind.

But  she wishes she ‘d been brave enough to break the mask , wrench away the lie and make her cry heard.

Then again, ego tells her that life is a stage and we are all actors. She wishes she could murder Shakespear all over again for even suggesting such an atrocious thought.

She removed her mask.

The broken cry resonated from the loner’s lie.