It’s in bits and pieces that I collect them. I don’t always like to remember all of it. I put the pieces in different cardboard boxes, seal them with scotch tape and put them away; I then stack them into piles, some never to be found, some to be opened again and again and again.
On some days, when the weather outside is gloomy and the sun seems to be shy, I take a stroll down those streets. At first my eyes are closed, afraid of what I might find, and when I look up, I see them: instead of houses, I see cardboard boxes. . .sealed with scotch tape. Sometimes, the tape is so worn out that it puts up no fight whatsoever, while some are shut so tight, gathering dust, that even the windows seem to lock me out. The streets have disappeared and I’m left all alone down this memory lane.
I walk not knowing where to stop. I let my feet carry me and my feelings guide me. I take a right turn, then left, then a right once again. My eyes travel through the boxes, incandescent and impatient. I catch a glimpse of every moment I had lived. I see myself laughing when I tripped while trying to skate unsuccessfully; I see myself putting a blanket over him and smile; I see myself, leaning against the bathroom door, eyes red, staring into hopelessness; I see myself looking into the mirror, resolution in my eyes with a knife in my hand. I see myself sitting on a chair in a room, sitting across a woman – looking at her for help. I see the joyful faces of my family when they see me after years.
My feet come to halt. I find myself standing in front of a cardboard box which seems to be new – its scotch tape is intact but its door is flung open, almost as if welcoming me in. A sweet light picks me up and carries me inside. As soon as I enter, a warm gush of wind brushes across my face and the scent of lavender fills my head – my feet feel warm against the summer soil. I hear the chirping of the birds perched up on a tree, singing to me the tale of two lovers. I feel someone take my hand and draw circles on it. I giggle. I turn around and see two beautiful eyes gazing into mine, reading me. Her eyes, alive as the morning Sun, tell me a story I already know; her chapped lips curving into a smile. I feel myself smile as I lean in and kiss her.
As it runs across my mind, I don’t feel any joy or sadness or pain. All I feel is peace. My eyes take it all in like a routine medicine to keep going. My lips don’t tremble. My chest doesn’t feel heavy anymore. My mind remains a boat of satisfaction, afloat in a sea of calmness.
Written by Athira Raj
Edited by Sadhana Gurung
Artwork by Najma Shamim
Jabberwock Online 