Swallowing Worlds
I don’t want to attend that party, but Ruana’s repeated Cassandraic warnings of Oh no! You can’t refuse! Arun will hold it against you, jog in the background of my mind, disturbing my thoughts with a steadiness that I hadn’t expected. Damn Ruana! Or not. She only has my best interests in mind. She’s so sweet, angelic even, but heaven above, I need salt now, not sugar. But, whatcha going to do? You go with what you get. At least, she’s no monster. I really don’t need another in my life.
I sigh and bitch and moan to myself, but I get to the party. Loud dance music greets me as I enter the hall. I see Arun and his fiance, Deepa, standing a few feet away from the entrance, greeting everyone. Arun spies me and greets me with a big hug. “I’m so glad you came! Deepa, look, I told you she’d come. She can’t miss my Sangeet,” says Arun, grinning.
I grin back at Arun. Ruana was right, as usual. We Indians make too much of this wedding business. Arun’d never have spoken to me again if I didn’t make it today. Well, one down, two to go. I chat with Arun and Deepa for a few minutes, but they are soon distracted by new arrivals. I meld into the crowd and make my way to a corner, as far away from the bar as I can get.
I stand awkwardly. Without the lure of vodka running through me, I am bland and dull. I spy my current crush Mithun at the bar, but currently I have zero game. I’d end up gobbling air like a fish out of water if he tried to talk to me. I press myself against the wall, hoping to blend in, hoping that by some strange trick of light or a benevolent spirit, no one sees me. I manage to stay invisible for a few wonderful minutes, but Shamee spots me.
He’s about twenty people deep into the dance floor and latest dance song is on. I wave at him, mime getting a drink and start walking towards the bar. There is no way in hell I’m dancing sober! Besides, I’m strong. I can handle it. I’ve managed seven months. A few hours is nothing.
I walk up confidently to the bar and request a cranberry juice. I sip my juice and look around. I see some known faces and I wave to them. Internally, I’m timing the amount of time I’ve spent — I’d have to be here at least an hour or there’d be a lot of gossip. And I’ve heard enough whispers behind my back to last me a lifetime.
Shamee finally manages to get clear of the dance floor. He leans on the bar next to me and asks for a shot of tequila. He downs it and shakes his head like a dog. Hmm…weird! I’d always thought that silly little shake was funny. Now, it feels pretentious, like he’s trying too hard to be cool.
“You look stressed,” says Shamee, “Take a bigger gulp of your drink. Relax!”
I reply, “It’s just cranberry juice.”
Shamee lets his mouth fall open in a caricature of shock. Then, he playfully punches me on my arm and says, “Yeah, right! I heard about your…um…diet.”
“It’s not a diet. I just don’t drink anymore. That’s all.”
“I know, but it’s because of all the extra calories, right? Come on, you can tell me!”
“No! Of course not! I…argh! Forget it!”
“Okay, okay! Don’t be upset. I know,” he says and waggles his eyebrows, “I got something better. I know this guy who can score us some joints. What do you say?”
“N…No. I’d better not. I’m trying to keep away from all addictive substances.”
“Dude! You’re no fun anymore!” pouts Shamee, “At least dance. C’mon.”
I sigh. There’s going to be no getting rid of Shamee. I take a last gulp of my juice and follow him to the dance floor. I try to keep up with him, but he’s dancing like a maniac while I feel like an old-world robot that hasn’t been oiled for centuries. Soon, other friends join us and Shamee is distracted. I take the chance to slip away, only to crash into Mithun.
Great! My life is fucking ruined! I smile. I don’t trust my tongue enough to make words. He smiles back and says, “It’s been too long! If I didn’t know, I’d say you were avoiding me.”
“Of course not! Just been busy the last few months. You know, work and stuff.”
“Yeah. I know! Shreya’s been at me for months to take a vacation, but my boss’d never give me time off. Maybe a day or two. But a week? I’m done for. What cruel fate have I been bound to?” he says with a dramatic hand to the heart.
I giggle. Mithun’s overly dramatic antics have always made me laugh, even enough to make me forget that he just spoke about his girlfriend. I’m such a sappy ass! Ugh!
Mithun says, “Ha! Knew that’d make you smile. Now that I’ve got you cornered, we have to catch up. So, what have you been up to?”
He puts a friendly arm on my shoulders and steers me back to the bar. I’m overwhelmed by the closeness of him — his arm around me incites my nightly fantasies to daylight and I see them flashing before me. My face heats up and I struggle to dial back the fantasies, touch reality once more. Damn! This is too hard. I’m starting to breathe harder. We reach the bar and Mithun’s hands are back at his side, but his phantom hands still roam me.
“Your usual?” he asks.
“Uh…no. I’ve…I’ve given up alcohol.”
“Oh! Some sort of diet?”
“NO!” I say angrily. Not again!!! If one more person talks to me about calories in drinks, I’m going to kill them. No. No. It’s Mithun. Shit! He’s going to think I’m crazy! Oh no!
“I’m sorry. I…I just meant — ” he says.
“No. It’s not you. It’s just…I’m tired of explaining why I don’t drink anymore. It’s something I’m trying to do — to choose healthier options. We’re all getting older, aren’t we?”
“Chill, chill. Don’t remind me of my age and I won’t ask about your healthy choices. Deal? Now, what would you like to drink?”
“I’ll stick to plain cranberry juice.”
“Great!” says Mithun and orders. He continues, “So, what have you been up to? Haven’t seen you much on Insta or Twitter.”
“Yeah. I’ve taken up this project and it’s seriously messing with my free time. So…” I shrug. He’ll assume it’s a work related project. I wish he wouldn’t stand so close to me. Can’t he feel the lust radiating from me? I’d think they could spot me from the ISS. Oblivious to my situation, Mithun rattles on about his recent trekking trip. The arrival of the drinks barely puts a damper on his enthusiasm. I take a sip of my drink and freeze.
I can taste Her delectable zing, every cell in my body is attuned to it. She whispers relief and numbness, an antidote to the pain that my unrequited feelings have caused. Her siren call overwhelms me for a second as I let her words sink in. For a few seconds, I forget that Mithun is leaning in to make himself heard above the music, that his warm breath falls gently on my cheek, his lips so achingly near.
I raise my hand, almost asking for a change, but the glass transforms in my hand. For a split second, it looks like a deep red world glistens in it, a world of pleasure — there for the taking. Mesmerised, I bring the glass closer, take a sip, feel the world slide smoothly down, tickling my palate with its edges, sending magic coursing through me.
She stretches, nestles deeper into my brain, crooning her sickly sweet charade. She murmurs comfort and I relax involuntarily. I feel myself taking another sip of the drink. I’ve not had a drink in such a long time. So, I’ve proven that I’m not addicted to it. Ergo, I can drink now. Parties are so not fun unless you’re drunk. I’ve had it with living like a hermit!
I take another sip. She is stronger now, more demanding, like an impatient lover. I trip behind myself to satisfy her and down my entire glass. My hand rises automatically to order another one. My eyes start to sparkle. Mithun’s closeness no longer discomfits me. I’m so over him, I think. Silly sweet Mithun.
I look at my hand. My glass is already empty. I must have forgotten to order. I order again. And one drink leads to another and then two and then four — a precise geometric progression — so certain in these uncertain times. Soon, I feel her silken glow surround me in a shimmering cocoon, decapitating doubts and leaving behind pure confidence. The beats of the music resonate with the beats of my heart and I sashay to the dance floor, screaming my delight. She’s holding me tight and I’m comforted by her familiar scent and her tingly touches. The world runs away from me until it’s just the music and me.
An arm rudely tries to pull me out of my cocoon. I try to swat it away, but it’s too much trouble. Another arm presses against me — this one’s hard, unyielding against my soft skin. I like the way is feels. I sigh. I fall into his arms. I want to lose myself in him, feel the gentle weight of him pressed against me. I want to kiss him, but it’s nice where I am too. He’s warm, comfortable and I’m tired. I must sleep. I snuggle against him and sleep.
I wake up. I can’t see. My head hurts. I rub my eyes and a piercing light shines — right through my eyeballs and into my head. There’s a horrible stench and I gag in reflex. Where am I? I squint and look around. I recognise that old sofa which Ruana got when we moved in together. I smile. I’m home.
I get up and plod to the bathroom. I need to wash my face. It feels weird. I get in to the bathroom and see a pitiful woman in there, her hair all straggly, eyes bloodshot and staring like they were terrified. A trail of what looked like vomit ran from her mouth to her dress. It’s a nice dress — purple — looks just like mine. I say, “Hey! I have a dress like yours.” The woman speaks too. I stop. Shit! That…that’s me. I…I’m not that…that thing.
I rip off my dress, run into the shower and turn on the faucets. The cold water beats on my head, exacerbating my headache, until I’m seeing flashing lights. I turn to warm water and as the water beats me, I feel something rushing into me. Reason, I think. Late to the party as usual.
I stay in the shower for some time, until all the hot water runs out. Then, I get out, wrap a towel around me and look in the mirror. I still look like hell. My dress is lying on the floor. I nudge it to a corner. I’m throwing that thing away!
I walk into the living room. There’s a huge puddle of vomit — half dried and stinking to high heaven. I retch at the stench. Damn! I need to clean it up, but first things first. Aspirin. I take two and chug down some water. I’d almost forgotten how horrible hangovers could be. I wait for my headache to subside. That’s when I remember my phone.
I drag myself to the living room. My purse is lying abandoned on the floor. I rummage for my phone. Damn! The screen’s cracked. Great! What luck! I check notifications. There’s a message from Ruana. It says,
I’ve moved out. I’ll send someone for my couch and chairs this weekend. I’ve transferred my share of the rent for the next month to your account.
I’m done trying to help you. Every time you fall off the wagon, I’m left cleaning up your mess. This time, Arun found you sprawled against the wall. And the other things you did and said. Let’s just say Mithun and Arun are not likely to talk to you again. I was barely able to get you here with Shamee’s help.
I cannot do this anymore. I know you’re hurting and you need help. But, you’ll have to find it somewhere else. I’m sorry. I hope you get better.
I read her message again. No! Ruana couldn’t be gone. She was my best friend, the one who stood by me in the lowest of my lows. I flop on the couch. A vision of the sparkling glass shimmers before me and behind it is Her. She stretches in feline insouciance and grins. I see myself swallowing the drink, the world dissolving in the red sparkle, its ashes burning my throat on their way to hell. Welcome home, She purrs.
