When I Die

Life : The Blood

Book Two - Flickering Lights

What happened next came in installments. Like Morphine doses.

First, Sonya's mother was diagnosed with cancer, and she had undergo chemotherapy. Those days were lonely, when I went to Sonya's house, and saw the troubled look on her face.

I couldn't even spell the term properly the first time. Keemotherapeee. I thought it was some kind of therapy every mother had to go through because of the MOTHER in the cheMOTHERaphy. I asked Sonya what it meant. She told me.

One day, Wally called. Usually the first thing he said on phone was, "how many times did you jerk off today?" or "wash the slime off your hands and then talk, you fag!" but this time he only said, "hi."
         I asked him if everything was desperate, which meant good.
         He said, "no, man."
         "What happened? Went impotent? Told ya not to shag so hard."
         "KC," he said, "Guha..."
         "Guha? Guha went impotent?"
         "Guha's dead, man."

This felt unreal, it felt like a joke. It felt unholy. I didn't ask him to stop farting. Wally could joke about anything in the universe. But not this. Not this.

It was my first meeting with death. It was the first meeting for all of us six.

Our brotherhoood of seven felt empty without that jerk. It was a brotherhood of six now. Ronnie said that six is an unlucky number.

Then, my father's father died. At a ripe old age of 89.

Amy and I had come closer. After one especially hard week when I ended up clinging to my life in the hospital--again. I was in the hospital because somethign bad happened. I'm not sure I can tell you about it now.

Amy'd come to visit me. Along with Ronnie and Steve and Max.

I don't know how I knew this, but I knew it. Amy and I had come closer. We hung out a lot more, we talked a great deal more than we used to.

Three weeks after that, Sonya came up to my door one night.
She didn't say a single word, but her face told me that something terrible had happened. She stayed with us that night, in my bedroom. She didn't speak at all. All she did was sit by the window and stare outside.

Her mother had died.

Her father was in shock. Her father refused to speak to absolutely anyone.

Two weeks later, we had our farewell party in school.

The farewell party is like Prom night. It's magical, the night when hearts unite, and hearts break. The magic is made even stronger by the fact, that it's the absolute last time all of us school friends get together like this.

Amy was my date for the evening. The evening was going to be wonderful. I knew that. Something inside told me, that that night was the night when I would tell her what I'd been telling the little mirror in my house everyday of the past few weeks. "Ah luv you, purty gurl. Ah wanta bee wit yu!" Complete with Popeye-style spinach chewing.

She was dressed in red that day. Like fire. Flames. She had her hair pulled back into a fancy style--half wet, half dry. That was the first time I saw her with make up on, I think. And it didn't really look any different at all. She looked beautiful whatever she did.

Man, I'm certain every guy out there was jealous that evening. In fact, I'm dead certain. Ah mean, Jayjus! How can dat luvly laydee hangaround wit dat chimpanzee!

We had a lovely evening, as our teachers gave short speeches on how we should behave etc etc, I was personally more interested in my behaviour with the lovely lady sitting beside me.

Everyone of my friends had come, except Sonya. I had called her in the morning, and had convinced her to come to the party. God knew she needed more than a little happiness and joy.

It was all pretty upbeat, with Rock-n-Roll booming out of the speakers.

We had a rocking time, shaking around like idiots, doing all sort of silly things, like throwing people in the air. I, being the lightest of all of us, was thrown in the air five times. They all caught one limb of mine each, and threw me up, and I felt like I was flying. Man! That was fun!

And then, the music slowed down, and slow, moody jazz serenaded our ears.

I was a nervous wreck till the dance started. Messing up my words and stuff.

And soon, the hall was filled with couples swaying slowly to the music.

She then took my hand and we stepped into the midst.

I didn't really know what the big deal about PASSION and SENSUALITY and THE MAGIC MYSTICA OF TOUCHING was until her fingers were on my neck. Just below my hairline. Oh, man. I could've died like that. Died happy.

You want to know what's the greatest feeling ever? Greater than pissing after you've held it in long enough? Greater than vomiting it all out? Greater than discovering Mr masturbation the first time? Greater than the high of singing on stage? Hell, greater than breathing under a warm blanket on a cold night?

It's holding someone. Having your hands curled delicately around the curve of her waist, feeling her move; moving with her in tune. Watching her face. Watching the calm eyes; the dangerous innocence of those lips.

It goes beyond love, beyond lust; borders somewhere around worship. Around hypnotica.

There were two things running over and over in my mind that night: One was, "this is unbelievable. This can't be happening. No sir. This is too buh-luddy good!"

the second was, "let it happen. It's going to happen. Let it happen."

Every time she blinked her eyes it was torture. Every time she spoke it was torture. And then she stopped speaking. Her lips half open, half closed. She looked at me. I looked at her. And not one of those stolen-glance-kinda looking either. I really looked at her.

Let it happen; let it happen...

Then Ronnie was pulling me from behind and asking why Sonya hadn't come yet.

Whatever was going to happen, never did. The spell was broken.

If it had been about anyone else except Sonya, I would've ignored it. Let that wait.

And let this happen.

But it didn't.

A few minutes later I called Sonya up. Her aunt picked up the phone. I asked her if I could speak to Sonya. She said I could not. I asked why. I wondered if she had just left and was coming to the party. I asked her so. Aunt said, "no... it's... Her father... he's no more..."

I thought I'd heard it wrong. I asked her again. "Sonya's father... he's gone."

I barely heard what she said next. Something about not telling anyone what had happened.

I hung up the phone, and the real horror of what had happened struck me. I had to go there, I had to meet her. I had to be there.

I looked around, and there my love stood, staring at me. And then I remembered that I was going to take her to my favorite place, and tell her that I loved her, and hope for the best.

Amy looked concerned watching my face. I told her what happened. I told her I was going to Sonya's house. She said something I don't remember. But her voice was sad. Sad for Sonya and maybe what was supposed to happen.

I went to Sonya's house. Sonya, looked like death. When she saw me, she got up and hugged me, and her tears instantly soaked my jacket. I stayed there that day, and later that night, she sobbed on my chest. The only thing she kept repeating was, "Daddy killed himself... daddy killed himself..."

What can you say to something like that? What possible words can comfort a soul at a time like this?

I remember thinking about a lot of things that night, trying to comfort her, trying to stop her tears. I thought of Amy. I thought that love could wait. It didn't.

The next day, I realized why Sonya kept repeating those words the night before, and why her aunt had asked me not to tell anyone.

Her father had comitted suicide. He'd left a note, saying that he was going to meet her mother and live in heaven.

By the evening, everyone had come to know what fate had gifted to Sonya.

The brotherhood was sad, we were all sad.

All of us went to the funeral, as Sonya stared at what had been once her father. Not a single tear came in her eye that day, but when we got home, she let the floodgates open. She was lonely, confused, angry, betrayed...

Two days after that, I went to my love's house, thinking that it was time to tell her the truth finally.

And when I reached her home, the door was locked.

I never saw her again.

All the days and nights I spent after that day telling myself, "today's the day. She'll come home from wherever she's been to," all those days went empty.

Each day after that, life seemed to slip away from my hands, little by little.

I joined an engineering college, which was what the principal forced me to do after seeing my overall great scores.

Pink Floyd became my staple diet, I saw everything in Black and white. Mostly in Black.

The brotherhood was lost. Each of us went their own way.

Sonya's the only one who's here now with me.

I had absolutely no one to speak to, and how could I speak of my misery to Sonya? Life had given her enough pain already.

I tried my hand at suicide that day, and an angel saved me, you already know about that.

I absolutely lost the will to do anything. And all my hate came out on my studies. My grades suffered, and right now, I hate my studies.

Life, as I knew it, was extinct. I wasn't living, I was dying.

And in many ways, it would've been better if I'd have died.