“When you wake up and get back to reality, the deep-rooted reality, that’s when I feel blinded. Like in water. Plain, deep, and dangerous. Formidable even and yet just. Don’t you think? ”
” Maybe you are old, sheesh, you’ve grown old more than the time I’ve seen you. Since what last winter. But what does this mean. You ? ” Butterfly said sitting cross legged on a chair. Which seemed to have bent to a side and fit her barely so. Her hair flowed down her forehead in straight streams of black. In strands which seemed to swirl with the slightest of gushes. She had changed too. She cared enough to watch me grow.
” Maybe I never left. Maybe I just walked. Through the process. Process of change and direction ” It seemed a distant something that could help neither of us. I was merely here because of that something, which spoke for her. Mirrors of face. Nothingness.
” That’s good. You always faced the other side, turned away from the right, didn’t you?” Butterfly said flapping her hands to imitate herself. Do we though ? What is internal imitation called? Habit? Behavior ? So many questions which sought no peace. Probably i should have stayed.
Butterfly walked to the wooden Iron Maiden decorated door at the far end of the house. Bought by her father some 7 years ago, the house, in the city’s more classier of areas, had been decorated and customised at every nook and corner. Butterfly had no siblings and neither many longings. Her room however was a different abode. Filled with posters, of quirky ridden rock bands and twisted quotes, which she got printed at an online portal, selected Vinyls and an obsolete stereo system. The stereo had faced her brunt twice. I was there when the first time, her fury chipped off a bit of the casing. Now it looked to have got a few more cracks over the speakers. Destruction of dear. She believed in that. Punishment. Redemption. And the cycle of life. I always loved the windows in the room. I would spend hours staring out, at the roads that intersected at the old fading statue of a union leader. Who cared who.
” Claire! Claire ! Dinners in the fridge ! We’ll be back by 11 at the most ” a rushing voice from beyond the door spoke. Butterfly however just nodded. I spoke for her replying an acknowledgement. Door got locked and people left. Parents.
Butterfly sprung up the bed and walked to her bookshelf. She hovered her finger over a couple of Murakami’s and Rushdie’s. She turned to me as her eyes still pondered over choices
” Do you think I’m old inside ?”
” Is it him? ” I asked her. He was going to treat her as someone beyond time. He had the knack. A wave of brilliance about him that wanted to overlap truth and time. And frankly he did. One finger replaced the other and an Asimov came forth.
” Despite ” she said leaning on to the bookshelf and looking me straight in the eye.
” You aren’t. You can be. Maybe that’s what counts everywhere ”
” I like the guy. Maybe I’ll kill him. But I do fucking like him ”
Loud noises greeted her in the middle of her sombre might. A fight maybe. Another day. Another week to resolve. But something was strange about the shrieks. They were being calculated . Prepared. A difference. Butterfly couldn’t stay inside her room. Unlike me she liked poking around. Then the sound of glass shattering further piqued her up.
” Did you hear that?….. Tell me you did ” she said feeling the knob of the door. Not turning yet. A moment of settling is what she waited for. I nodded and realized that she had her answer.
” Maybe I’m not what I am. But I have got to intervene ”
” My point precisely ”
And then everything changed. Butterfly walked to the edge of the hallway, which overlooked the kitchen. The sources of yelling and the people there in. She saw them. Her mother had leaned on the graphite platform which housed the steely stoves and fume sucking chimney. Her father sat a few feet away from her, with a glass in his, a half filled one, swiveling it. His optimism fluctuated with his chances. And the chances moved with his sensibility. Which hadn’t been the best of late.
” Jones…. Isn’t it about him? I knew, Oh… ha-ha.. I so knew.. You bitch!! ” Butterfly’s Father said casually, gulping the remainder of optimism. Her Mother screamed and sobbed at the same time. The next moments overlapped in their occurrence. They called each other names, and of no where, Her Mother hurled a small bowl at her husband. The Man obviously ducked but only bodily. He smashed his glass and advanced towards the woman. Butterfly had to intervene. She took one of the glass panes on the table, and stabbed him….
For an hour Butterfly and her mother, sat on the floor trying to contemplate the eventuality. Butterfly turned to me.
” Do you feel pain ? Are you hurt ? ” She said. Maybe I was. Maybe she was more. I preferred to stay quite. I would’ve advised her to do exactly what she did. Then what did it make me. But something happened then that shook the both of us. The Man lying on the ground, Moved.
( To Be Continued )