SwaRon FF: Smithereens | the final chapter: PG 68 | 10 Nov'14 - Page 3

A U T H O R ' S N O T E

I'll be plain. I'm a storyteller and I appreciate good feedback more than most of you can imagine. But all the same, I write because I really love to and shall not endure disappointment on the part of readership. That's to say, the frustration emerges as an obstacle between me and my stories. I understand that my work is appreciated here and I also acknowledge that people may genuinely be occupied elsewhere, busy with the more important things in life. But quite frankly, the lack of constructive feedback is discouraging and I won't have it because then I cannot write. In a final attempt to convey that a storyteller cannot do with people willing and excited to listen, I'll PM my entire buddy list. But this shall be the very last time. I may or may not update again even though I have eight chapters ready for publishing for the simple reason that I'm happier writing and compiling the story than awaiting encouragement and appreciation in here. That'd be it.

Chapter Two

"There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends. I have no notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature." - Jane Austen

Swayum passed out on the couch as soon as he'd removed his shoes and awoke next morning only when the heat of the sunlight streaming from the windows felt like needles on his face and eyes. He stretched and yawned and decided at once to get dressed. After twenty minutes, he could be seen in his kitchen toasting a pair of bread slices and drinking orange juice from a plastic bottle. He might have decided it in his sleep but the decision was firm. Swayum was going to let nothing tear him down. Rhea had insisted that he wouldn't go too hard on himself. He would refrain from becoming a drunken loser. Instead he'd bathe, read and look for a job. He seemed to be knocking discipline in his system. However, his eyes were unblinking and emotionless. They were neither interested in leading a normal life nor crying over the death of his wife.

When Swayum had eaten his toast he did the dishes, wiped them and put them in place. He went into his room to fetch a book. Just then he heard a hard knock on his door. It was vigorous and continuous. Sharon looked worn, her hand still made into a fist and resting on the door. "You hadn't told me which ruddy apartment, or which floor!" she scowled at him. He wanted to tell her he hadn't asked her to come. But she had come. It meant more than all the phone calls from his relatives and friends. They'd assumed an artificial plea over the phone to 'come home' would be enough. Sharon, on the other hand had actually come to see him. They had only met last night after years. Nevertheless, she came, even if Swayum was in no mood to entertain her or anybody. He held the door open for her as she happily walked inside his apartment.

She made a thorough inspection of the house and made an unimpressed face. Swayum nodded in understanding at once. And they communicated without words for a couple of minutes after which Sharon got comfortable on the couch and Swayum went into the kitchen to make them some coffee.

"Did you do something about finding a job?" she asked conversationally but pointedly.

"Not really, I decided I'd look for one." he breathed.

"That's not much but I call it progress." he could only see the back of her head but he knew she was smiling.

Sharon was the most optimistic person he knew, even more than Rhea. She had a remarkably cheerful countenance in college. It was probably her ever exceeding extroverted disposition that gave her the title of s**t in college. She wore it like a badge of honor and introduced herself as s**t Raiprakash to anybody who asked what her name was. Although she was quite popular, hence she didn't have many opportunities to introduce herself in that fashion. Rhea had been the only one for Swayum in college and after but there were about half a dozen of them for Sharon every term. Grudgingly so, but Swayum did see the point in why they called her a s**t. Her little circle of friends that knew her admired her though and Swayum didn't resent he was one of them.

Following the chain of his thoughts still, Swayum sat next to her and sipped his coffee simultaneously. She seemed at ease, her demeanor had always been like that - easygoing and calm, completely unaffected by her surroundings. Everybody Swayum had had the obligation to meet that past week had shown sympathy. They had all been affected by his depressing spirits. But Sharon was quite immune to that as well.

"How are you?" she asked after several minutes of comfortable silence.

"Pretty much like a fresh widower," he pointed out for her. "Thanks for asking." he added hastily.

She dismissed him casually by waving a hand in the air like it was no big deal for her. Then curled her fingers toward her palm and rested her face on her arm, standing on her thigh. "You cannot collect yourself before you allow yourself to smash down to smithereens." said she quite seriously, looking wide-eyed at him.

"Where did you learn all that?" he asked her, astonished.

She dismissed him again and pointed at the coffee mugs and the clean interiors of his apartment. "You're doing it in reverse, man." she said meaningfully.

"What do you think happens when one does that?" he questioned, looking away from her.

"They break too." she evasively said.

"What is the difference then?"

"Recovery almost never comes to them, man. Bottling feelings sucks." she implored him to look at her now.

"What do you advice I do, then?" he asked heedfully.

"Your wife is dead. Cry. Talk about it and resolve on not feeling gay while you do it." Sharon suggested. It was incredible and ruthless of her to tell him that Rhea was dead. It was comical of her to assess that her suggestions were not suitable for the straight man in his right mind. But was he in his right mind? He knew better than to deny he was a mess. He'd have been disgusted with himself if he hadn't been a mess, after all. His wife was indeed gone.

"She's gone." Swayum whispered, clutching the cushion behind him tightly.

"It's unbelievable." Sharon let slip of the blow she'd been taken with. They had been good friends, even spoke over the phone. But Rhea had not told her about her illness. And Swayum about what Sharon was doing. They never discussed college anymore. They had more pressing matters.

"She and I used to talk, you know? She'd tell me you're running your own company. She'd ask me questions about me and be surprised at all my answers. She'd laugh. But won't talk about herself, she won't." Sharon went on.

"She had melanoma. I never understood the doctors much even after researching about her illness." Swayum rather disconnectedly said.

"That's why they're doctors and you're a software engineer, Swayum." Sharon reasonably said, sniffing.

"Fair point," he agreed and then went on thus, "She was rather strong about it. I insisted on shifting office home but she wouldn't let me do it. She'd said "my head would explode." and I would tell her that it'd explode anyway."

"That's a very comforting thing to say to your dying wife." Sharon scoffed.

"I was scared and bitter. It took me a while to man up to my responsibilities. For a month I couldn't even go to the hospital with her for her therapy." He said, looking shaken, eyes fixed on the floor.

Sharon ruffled his hair. She used to do that during college as well. It irked him then and a part of him was irked today. But that part was essentially overcome by the grief that was knotting his stomach, the grief that was blinding him. His heart was beating inside his throat now and he could hear it. The interior of his room had turned to Rhea's bedside at the hospital. And in a matter of seconds it was gone again.

Sharon walked into the kitchen and put their mugs in the dishwasher. Swayum rose up on his feet automatically and looked like he just ran into a car and survived the blow without a scratch. Hot tears were streaming down his face and he kept rolling his eyes in every direction, wishing something, anything could give him an idea of what he was experiencing. "That, my friend, is called devastation." Sharon answered for him, sitting up on the kitchen slab and casually working on her cell phone.

She put her phone down after a few minutes and looked at Swayum, who was still standing where he was before. She shrugged and hopped down. "I have to go to work now. I'll come down with Chinese tonight."

"You're being insufferable now." Swayum mouthed rudely, getting his hair out of his eyes.

"You hate Chinese but I am in the mood for it." Sharon beamed at him.

"I meant all these visits," he spat.

"I have only come down once. Where's the hospitality? Besides, I'm leaving town tomorrow. I owe you your least favorite food, it just feels right!" she beamed more brightly at him and broke into a run after glancing at her wristwatch muttering to herself that 'Daddy Dearest will eat her alive'.

Still, Swayum didn't want to eat Chinese.

Originally posted by: NocturnalBeing

Aah, I edited.

Am proud of me self.