Chapter Thirteen
"Forgiveness is not something you do for someone else; it's something you do for yourself. To forgive is not to condone, it is to refuse to continue feeling bad about an injury." - Jim Beaver, Life's That Way: A Memoir
Sharon did not deem Swayum perfect. He was far from perfect in her opinion. That he was massively flawed and Sharon loved her car were two facts of equal magnitudes to her. Nonetheless it was entertaining to imagine how glad her father would be to learn that she was in love with a responsible and goodhearted man. Then again, Sharon had other things to do than think about Swayum and her father. She was bartending and dancing, day in and day out. She was therefore having the time of her life. Brushing away the thoughts mentioned afore, she turned the volume of her stereo up and began dancing. Her moves were vigorous; she was miming the rhythm of the track and incorporating it in her expression. She glided across the basement of her house (where she usually danced). She leapt and she twirled and she thumped her feet hard to match the beats of various (seven in number) songs she danced to of no genre in particular. Exhilaration from the exercise glowing on her face, she turned the stereo off and began ascending the staircase to her house. Her phone rang in her pocket.
"Yo," she greeted Swayum shortly via her mobile phone.
"My brother, Reyansh is flying down to town tonight." Swayum informed her without ado.
"And you want me to accompany you in receiving him." Sharon guessed, now inside her room.
"No, he said he'd reach my place himself." Swayum corrected her. "I just wanted to tell you." added he.
"How nice of you, Swayum," Sharon giggled, throwing herself on her bed, drenched in sweat.
"What's with the fast breathing?" he questioned immediately.
"I was doing a routine in the basement not five minutes ago." she explained.
"Grand," Swayum commented.
"I know, right," said she, smiling with her eyes closed.
"I cannot remember the last time I danced." Swayum said in a low voice, office-like voices coming from behind him.
"Me too, man," she laughed and excused herself after two more exchanges of random sentences.
She was not the one to complain really. No, she did not take to whining but she blamed him for her lack of spirits. She did not approve of a straight face unless somebody really close had died. And suddenly whenever she did not engross herself in something or another she found herself not smiling. She made a note in her mind to tell Swayum that that was on him the next time she saw or phoned him.
The last Sharon had seen of Swayum was on the night of his anniversary. It had been a fair few days. She decided to get a bottle of wine decorated with a satiny scarlet ribbon and drive down to his apartment whenever she had time in way of cordial welcome to his brother, on the lines of the same, at least. And all week long she genuinely had none. On Saturday night finally she had found the time to pay a visit to Swayum, his darling father and his brother who Sharon knew to be a fairy princess. She knocked on the door lightly, for she was free but felt like she should be utilizing the time off by sleeping. "Yes?" was the word that came out of the mouth whose owner had opened the door for her.
That man may have been a couple of years or three older than her and Swayum. He had hair that was almost as healthy as his younger brother's, albeit much shorter. Darker and somewhat shorter than his brother, Reyansh was still able to tower over Sharon as she looked up and introduced herself.
"Oh," he identified her meaningfully. "Corny but true, heard a lot about you." he greeted her into the house.
"Goodie," was all Sharon said. She grinned broadly at Reyansh and asked him if Swayum had gotten back home. He nodded in the direction of the dining table which Sharon had not seen occupied before. Swayum and his father were having soup in silence; neither one looked like they would make it through the night. Chuckling at the sight, Sharon directly went into the kitchen to get wine glasses. She noticed Reyansh looked pretty much like she did. For someone who had run away due to one of the men in question, Reyansh was quite aloof, deriving laughter out of a couple of straight faces. Unannounced she got seated in the chair beside Swayum's father so she could face him.
"When did you come?" Swayum almost choked on a mouthful of soup.
"Just now, Swayum," pouring wine into four glasses evenly, said she.
"Right, Rey, this is Sharon, the lunatic that's my friend." Swayum casually told his brother.
"I think she's a dear." Mr. Shikhawat sounded stoned even sans the wine. Nobody but Sharon paid him attention.
"From where I see it, I'm a bit of both." Sharon laughingly agreed with both notions and drank deeply.
She was engaged in three salvos of conversation. Neither the sons nor the father made much sense, as far as Sharon was concerned. Swayum was trying to contain the overly obvious fact that he had told extensively to his older brother about her. She didn't mind. She did not because he called her a lunatic in her face and she could not imagine how much more or what else would he have had to add in his account of the comical friction between himself and Sharon. Mr. Shikhawat discoursed on football, Rey on his still prevailing tiredness and Sharon amusedly evaluated every word all three said. Again, they were not making sense. So, it was quite enjoyable indeed.
Chuckling to herself, Rey and his father's long faces in sight, Sharon washed her hands in the kitchen sink. She had excused herself on the grounds that she was starving. She had been humming the tune of a Blue Oyster Cult song. Not realizing when Swayum had joined her and speaking but not being startled all the same, she kept looking for some food in his fridge other than the destitute soup, dry loafs of bread etc. She wasn't losing hope.
"Swayum, can you please help me find something to eat?" she asked, halting his rant about the ongoing tension inside his household. He replied that her lack of interest in his problem was vexing. She had previously been deep inside the fridge but now she was looking at him, hands on the hips. "The easiest thing in the world is smiling, Swayum. And I cannot do it easily anymore. It's on you." she stated.
"I didn't ask for you to fall in love with me." He reasoned with her, shoulders goofily relaxed and hands in the air.
"Fair enough," she noted flippantly and resumed, "The point really is, Swayum Shikhawat that I forgive you. If I had not forgiven you for being a widower incapable of loving me, I wouldn't have been here being your best friend, hoping against hope to find something that qualifies as food inside your fridge."
"I'm listening," he added musingly.
"Likewise, your brother and father have forgiven each other. If they hadn't, they wouldn't have been here. So, I suggest stop acting like a panicky pansy." she finished her speech but quickly added, "I'm all for pansies, came out rather offensively." Swayum smiled broadly at her. It was not nice of him to smile so effortlessly when he was causing her such struggles in being just as facile. But she hadn't been lying; she really had forgiven him or rather their little situation.
She found it easier to smile when she revised the part where she had forgiven the reason she had come so fatally close to joining the club of straight faces by whom she was populously surrounded. She loved Swayum and she recollected that he loved Rhea. Moreover, it had been she who had told him that he could not fall out of love with his wife, dead or alive. Finding the moment appropriate to apply it on herself, she started to see a friend in Swayum after a considerable amount of time. She was looking at him and he was healing, he looked so much less in pain.
Even though neither made it verbal, together they were rising above their injuries. Sharon couldn't explain it and didn't find it necessary eventually. But she got back her friend by accusing him of not loving her back. Basically, she acknowledged it as the strange way in which forgiveness worked. Speaking of which, she was now assessing the two men seated curtly together on the dining table too. Sorry as she was for them, she wished they rose above their injuries too. She could visualize happy days for them, if only they broke the silence. She thought of emotional upheavals, reunions and Swayum. Exchanging a glance with him, she found that her ability to smile was getting restored. Foodless and starving, she offered to take them all to her favorite diner. Swayum and Rey consented.
Descending the staircase into the drive Sharon was quite happily thinking about hamburgers, two beers, rock music and milkshake before bed. The sight of her '67 Chevy Camaro made her clap in delight. Rey must have seen what she was doing. For she heard Swayum tell his brother thus, "That's what I meant when I said she's a lunatic."
Anupamaa
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