Time to live

I was standing on the edge of a precipice. There was nothing but darkness beyond it. An unknown force was pushing me closer to the edge ever so gently. I looked back to see my family watching me helplessly. I turned away. A dark cloud was enveloping me in its menacing tendrils. Another step, and there I was, falling into nothingness, my hands flailing wildly for support that wasn’t there.

I woke up with a start, drenched in sweat, trying to discern dream from reality. The little alarm clock by my bed said it was 5:10 in the evening. Exactly three hours and twenty minutes earlier I had heard those words “… six more months.” I suddenly became aware of the headache that was my constant companion of late.

The street outside was as noisy as ever. Sharp beeps of motorcycles interposed low drones of cars. Vegetable vendors were vying for attention in high pitched yells. I could hear children playing in the park beyond the road.

The sounds drifting in through the open window made the silence in our home even more palpable. Every evening, at this time, our house would be bustling with activity. My sister and I would return from college and have just enough time for a quick wash and snack before going out with friends. Our mother would be hollering after us to be back before nightfall, while our father would look on with an amused expression. But today our house was quiet.

The doctor had been solemn and grave as he read out my medical report. The tension in the room was thick, and seemed to settle in a mist around us. Those terrible headaches and blackouts hadn’t been random afflictions after all. He had lowered his eyes when he finally ended “… six months, at most.” My first thought had been, “Why me?” And when I looked at the horror on my parents’ faces, my second thought had been, “Why them?”

As shadows lengthened, the sounds began to fade away.

A gentle breeze began to blow, rich with the scents of monsoon. As street lamps came on, damp patches on the ceiling of our ancient bungalow were beginning to look like strange works of art. The walls added to the melange, as plaster had begun to peel off in places, and tiny cracks were working their way down the walls. I switched on the light.

A sudden movement caught my eye. It was a lizard that had just made prey of an ant. Right next to it was a peg from which hung my most prized possession, my guitar. A faithful companion through many an evening, it would envelope me in music I loved and block everything else out. Only yesterday, I had been playing my favourite song on it. Hanging limply by a fraying cord, it implored me to pick it up. I looked away.

Across the wall, in a corner of its own, a spider was painstakingly spinning its web. Underneath it was my bookcase, with all the books I had collected since childhood, right from my first fairy tale to the latest science fiction I had bought a week ago. A tiny glint from the corner of a shelf reminded me of the trophy, a relic of the rare occasion when I had actually won any competition.

A moth flew inside from the open window. The little creature was attracted to the light bulb, and seemed to woo it with a dance of its own. It cast flitting shadows on our family photo on the dresser beneath. As a family, we had our differences – plenty of them. We hated, bickered, argued and cried. But we had also loved, supported, laughed and enjoyed. The photographer had done well to capture our moment of togetherness. I stared at the four faces smiling happily at me.

Whatever had happened after the doctor’s pronouncement was a haze. I couldn’t hear my parents burst out in disbelief and outrage in one moment, and then beg and plead the next. I couldn’t hear the doctor express his helplessness and say words of consolation and reassurance. I don’t remember walking out to the car park and getting into the car. I don’t recall watching life whiz past my window, as hundreds of people around me went about their daily rigmaroles.

Now, in the solitude of my room, my mind was full of only one sentence - I was going to die in six months. The progressive disease would consume me bit by bit. Every day, I would see my family suffer a little more, as they watched me die. Every day I would die a little more, until I was all dead.

The lizard was moving again, looking for its next victim. The spider was now sitting next to its web, and seemed to be marvelling its own handiwork. The moth was still fluttering near the light bulb.

I vaguely remembered having read somewhere that a moth’s lifespan was just about a week. Did this one know that it just had a week to live? That was if the lizard didn’t get to it before that. Or if it didn’t inadvertently fly into the intricate trap that the spider had set for it. Seven days to live. Yet it was merrily engrossed it its incandescent soliloquy.

I got up, walked up to the door and stood with my ear pressed against it. My parents and sister were still in the living room. I could hear my mother’s muffled sobs, interjected by the deep baritone of my father consoling and comforting her. My sister was silent for the most part, except for an occasional monosyllable of support.

I opened the door and entered the living room. Three pairs of eyes turned to stare at me. My mother’s cheeks were wet with tears. Her eyes were stricken with grief that refused to ebb away. Never one to betray emotion, my father’s face registered nothing more than a frown. Yet, the thin veneer of calm was doing little to conceal the fear and anxiety beneath it. My sister looked pale and ashen, as though I were dead already.

I felt dead. I could see myself die, in those three pairs of eyes. And yet, I wanted to live.

“I’ve thought about this,” I began, not knowing exactly what I wanted to say, or how to say it. “I don’t know what’s going to happen in the days to come, but no matter what happens, I want you to be the same with me. That’s the one thing I want – that my family treats me like I’m going to be here tomorrow, and the day after that. I can’t bear it any other way.” They remained silent, so I continued. “And that means I still want that cool synthesizer we saw the other day.”

For a minute no one knew what to say. My sister’s face wore a smile, even if it was forced, as she ran across the room to hug me.

I saw my mother wipe away her tears. The frown had disappeared from my father’s face. All of a sudden, I felt light.

I wasn’t going to die in six months. I was going to live for six months.