By Freyan S. Wadia
I take a moment to ground myself, to remember who I am, what my name is and where I come from. What’s the point? I tell myself. Nobody remembers but me. Nobody knows me in these parts- or any parts, really. I go out by night, draping a shawl over my head so they cannot even try. But I remind myself- that is a good thing.
The moment you love someone, there is something that binds you to them. Something that makes you go soft inside, something that makes you want -to please them. However, they may or may not be bound to you. If they ever were, that bond could be broken in an instant, either retracted by themselves or circumstances. Watching everything and everyone you love shrivel up and die is something that comes with being immortal. Oh yes, and an eidetic memory. The perks of being a demigoddess.
I gaze out the window, my eyes scraping over the same higgedly-piggedly houses, trashcans overflowing with orange rinds and carrot tops. Loneliness hits me like a brick as I see children in the street, grimy, rough, but happy. I see a young couple strolling past, hand in hand. Even in this filthy neighbourhood, there is love. Except for me.
I suppose I could walk down the street and drop by a house. Any house, it wouldn’t matter. But what do I say? What do I do? Would they like a random stranger just dropping by to say “hello”? What if they hurt me? What if I hurt them? Worse, what if they like me and I like them and they disappear forever? By choice or by death, both are equally bad.
I can’t go out there, I realise. I haven’t really connected with anyone in forty years. But maybe that’s why, more than ever, I need to get out of this cage I’ve built. It’s time. I steel myself and I put on my coloured lenses and step into the cold outside.
I see a lady talking nonstop on her phone outside. Does that tablet-like appliance really make life easier? I am yet to decide. When we make eye contact, I shift my gaze to my feet and walk faster, just so that I can’t change my mind.
There’s a warm glow coming from a house, one that looks fairly well-ordered. I hesitate, then scamper over the driveway like a frightened rabbit. One of these days I’ll remember I have superhuman strength- I could pretend a truck was an empty soda can as I crushed it, should I have the mind to- but right now, I’m petrified. My heart is racing, my palms are sweating and I’m breathing fast as I knock on the door. No answer.
Just when I was deliberating whether to leave, the door flew open.
“Hey, wait a moment, I recognise you-” I begin. My mouth hangs open slightly as I observe the cashier who works the night shift at the 24-hour grocery store. Derek recognises me, smiling a dimpled smile, but that is not what takes me aback. It’s the unmistakable violet of his eyes.
“Tea?” he asks, ushering me inside. “I’m gonna need it for my shift.”
“No, you won’t.”
He raises an eyebrow at me, but I am sure. A hundred per cent.
“You- you don’t need sleep.”
He tilts his head, looking confused. He acts well.
“You’re a demigod, aren’t you?” I bite my lip and fidget.
He breathes sharply, turning to face me a little too fast for a human. His eyes narrow, searching mine. I hold his gaze and nod, ever so slightly. He flinches and, for two whole seconds, you can cut the air with a knife. He glares at me, looking ready to turf me out.
I extend my hand, “Okay, I’m sorry- this is a lot. I’m not used to conversation. My name’s Sam. Uh, yeah, the only reason I said anything was- it’s just that your eyes are the same colour as mine.”
“Yours are brown,” he falters.
“I’m wearing coloured contacts.”
He clicks his tongue and then facepalms.
“Dammit, I knew it was wrong to take off those stupid contacts at home,” I hear him say under his breath.
My hand is still dangling in the air.
“Uh, do people still shake hands? Or should I just-” I retract my hand just as he extends his.
“Oh sorry,” we mumble at the same time as he withdraws just as I reach out.
“Hang on. On the count of three- two- one-”We shake hands and manage a simultaneous chuckle.
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret,” I say, smiling.
He laughs. “Sure you will... You- you will, right?”
“Nope, that was a trick!”
That was probably not the right thing to say because the air suddenly grew cold and Derek inched back a hair’s breadth. His eyes run over me, calculating and- I couldn’t believe it- afraid.
“You, uh, okay?” I ask, leaning forward slightly, causing him to jump. “I was kidding.”
He gets out of his chair, shaking his head.
“I-I have to leave now,” he says, flashing a quick, but uncertain smile. “Shift’s calling.”
He taps his foot on the ground, arms folded across his chest. He clears his throat and it dawns on me- he’s asking me to leave.
“Oh. Oh, right! My bad!” I say, getting to my feet, tripping over a dip in the carpet. “I guess I’ll- I’ll get going.”
I open the door and I brace myself for the freezing weather outside when I feel a hand on my shoulder.
“Could I walk you home, though?” he says, a shy smile on his face. “Provided you don’t live on the border of Mexico- I won’t make it back to work quick enough.”
“Haha, no, I stay just down the road. Blink of an eye away.”
“In that case-” he says, extending his arm towards the gate. “Shall we?”
I never really noticed the walk back home- it just felt really nice to have someone to talk to. Especially since he had the same problems as I.
“I’m telling you, Sam, I blacked out one day in 1940 and the next moment, I’m in the ‘80s with Michael Jackson and television and those ridiculous hairstyles. The most traumatic decade of my life!”
We reached my house, too soon. He raised his hand for a hi-five at the same time I leaned in for a hug.
“Sorry,” I said, shuffling back, my face hot.
He tilted his head to a side, then wrapped his arms around me with an “eh, okay”.
He waited till I was inside my home before he turned to leave. I watched him from the window and just before he disappeared around the bend, he turned around and smiled in my direction. I waved back and then he was gone.
I like to note that I made a run for coffee- or was it cornflakes- to the grocery store around midnight. I am still happier to note that the cold didn’t bother me as much as it used to.
Looks like I could still make friends, after all these years. Fingers crossed, I’ll keep this one.
By Freyan S. Wadia