Till Human Voices Wake Us: Last Part: Page 175 - Page 113

Sublime – I

When death came, everything stood still. There was a chill in the air which was absent before, the sounds of bugs and insects suddenly stopped, the smell of life was dissolved and darkness deepened. The momentary flicker in the light made me realize that something was about to change. His eyes fluttered and he stared at me for ten whole seconds.

And then he was gone.

Warmth filled back into the air, the noises of the night came back like the way an engine was purred into life and the darkness of the night wasn't deep anymore. I could always tell the depth of darkness. I shook him, Brian, to wake up and look at me. I ran to my parents' room and wake them up. It was still middle of the night and they were deep in slumber. When they saw me sobbing hysterically they knew that something was very wrong.

After the death of my dog, I changed.

I saw how my mother looked at me as if I was going to burst into tears any moment. I saw how my father hid his face behind newspaper or a book whenever I was around. It was okay with me and I lessened the conversations with the both of them. Apparently talking about death wasn't something normal. I don't know why though, why adults become edgy when a ten year old kid like me asks them if death was cold and dark; they hid behind their masks of knowledge and some misplaced notion about innocence in the kids. I maintained a straight face when my mother told me that talking a lot about death wasn't good.

I did not like it when I was taken to a doctor who was supposed to explain me all the things and make my sadness go away.

"What makes you sad Geet?" The doctor asked me.

"I don't know," I answer looking at the globe that is in my vision.

"How does losing Brian make you feel?"

"Boring," I answer truthfully. "Brian was a chirpy dog. I had loads of fun whenever I played with Brian." The doctor scribbled in the book. The sound made by the pencil was little annoying but I didn't say anything. I just observed.

"You found the dog dead?"

"No."

"Your parents told me that you did."

"I watched him die actually." The scribbling became faster and there was silence for moments. I don't think the doctor expected such a response from me. I have been noticing a lot of things lately. It seemed like a good past time – notice, observe, predict, derive pattern and execute.

"How?" The doctor asked. Was the voice little urgent than before? Or was the question a key to all the things locked up in my mind?

"I felt it," I answered looking at her for the first time since we started this interview. The scribbling stopped.

"What did you feel?" She asked. Oh, she was different from my parents. She didn't look scared or looked at me as if I was breaking a rule or had gotten into trouble.

"I felt death. I knew that it was death." I answered her. I sat there as if I was in my social science class – not moving and looking attentive. My teacher never could tell if I was actually attentive or up to some mischief by looking at my face.

"Do you know why you wet your bed at night?" She asked me not questioning further about death. I was secretly glad.

"No." I shook my head. I don't know why mommy told her about it. It was so embarrassing!

"Could it be because you are afraid of something?" She asked me, her voice gentle.

"I don't know," I told her looking at the globe once again.

"Is it because of the monsters?" She asked me. Her voice was soft and made me look up.

I nodded. She smiled.

"Where are these monsters Geet?" She asked me, scribbling again.

"In my head."

To be continued.