The Infidel

 

The silence is choking me. The coffee has gone cold. I sit on the edge of my seat facing him. I have nothing to say. As for him there is an air of sadness about him. How long has it been? How many months? Three or is it four.

“Stephen, it has been four months right?” I say, breaking the cold silence, haltingly,” I just cannot remember, you know how things have been.”

Silence. (Off course, what else could someone like me expect?)

Now it is my turn to think. It was before Valentines day, may be long before that. Holy Christ! It was six months ago. I cannot look at him. Sitting quiet, with the imploring face of a child, he wrenches out my heart. Bleed witch, bleed!

But then this cannot go long. Somewhere, sometime I will have to apologize to him for leaving him. He will have to let go of my excursions with the others. We will have to pick up from where I left him.Together, till the end.

“I’m sorry Stephen; it wasn’t because you were dull. But then the others were so exciting. And I felt it will be long before I will be able to get in touch with reality if I stuck to you. I wanted to make up for everything I lost after moving from India. You knew I would come back to you. Didn’t you?” I plead my case.

He sits sullen, hurt by my indifference. He flutters, words in him aching to reach me. I could hear him say,” Just because I’m big, fat and dull, you cannot ignore me. You know how exciting I am. You said so. You loved my humor, dark and sarcastic it might be.Still.You left me. Just to be the others. The mediocre ones; with interests as mundane as love affairs, espionage and fantasies! I don’t know what you were even thinking. Beats me”

I let out a sigh,” Let the bygones be. I’m sorry. I’ve never loved anyone as I have loved you. You are the best. I bow to thee.” I smile as I walk to the bedroom, holding him, with all the shades drawn and rain beating against the windows.

The spine tingling contents of “Under The Dome” by Stephen King awaits me. A book I had gifted myself for Christmas, the book of which I had read 80 pages and walked away to coquette with other books by lesser mortals. Now it is just me and him, till the end of time err pages…