Two Words For A Lifetime

By Prissha Bajpai

"Chestnut! Slow down, Ches. Wait. Don't run so fast, Chestnut." I said, distressed once again by my best friend's bizarre antics. The only response I received was a bark — an almost impatient-sounding bark as if I was the one being exceptionally irksome today. Perhaps, the idea of being lost in the hills had somehow thrilled him, but I begged to differ. I could barely keep up with him since he appeared so much more energetic than usual.

I sighed as he barked again, pulling me forward from the hem of my trousers. Truth be told, I was quite concerned. Not more than a moment ago, he had seemed incredibly upset. Yet, before I could muster any query, he started jumping wildly and pulling me around. Was this what getting lost in the middle of nowhere did to dogs? I wouldn't know. I only wished I had bothered to learn some more about animal behaviours.

As a soon-to-be thirteen-year-old, and in all the naivete of youth, the idea of sneaking out of home and exploring the forest nearby had sounded quite fascinating, almost as endearing as it is for a newborn to walk his first. I was a terribly frail child, so the notion of momentary freedom was compelling.

…Perhaps not as good of an idea and not quite as well thought out as I had expected, but I did have fun for as long as it went according to plan — which was a grand total of an hour. I was completely and utterly lost afterward. I no longer know what time it is — true freedom for me had entailed living as, I believed, the ancients must have. So I did not bring my watch, overestimating my basic survival capabilities. I could only pray someone found me before sundown — hopefully with my limbs intact.

"Chestnut?" I asked, a bit troubled by how my noisy best friend had quietened long enough for me to finish my internal monologue. He barked meekly this time, and I crouched beside him gently untangling his fur. I cooed, "What's wrong, Ches?"

Chestnut did not answer me — not that I would've understood, but I liked to believe we had a basic understanding of each other at least — instead, he averted his face and barked softly, in a way that indicated he was terribly, terribly upset.

"I'm sorry, is it because I scolded you earlier? I'm just starving, Ches. You know I could never be angry at you." I spoke, placing a soft kiss on his mane. He always adored physical affection, I could only hope my previous annoyance had not dulled his mood too much.

And by the way his tail perked up instantly, it had worked. I laughed, my voice echoing through our silent surroundings, reminding me that I had yet to reach anywhere near town. My amusement was quickly followed by a sigh. I was starving and exhausted, so was Chestnut. Would we be able to reach home this summer?

The sun shone through the scattered tree branches, bringing light to the darker nooks of the forest. Before I could sink too far inside my pessimistic musings, Chestnut moved, much slower this time — the way we did on our early morning walks (he was most certainly not a morning dog), both missing the comforts of our beds and finding consolation in the fact that we had been thrown out together, at the very least. My mother is definitely not the most agreeable person out there, so our pitiful expressions did little to convince her.

Nonetheless, the nostalgia brought a smile to my face.

For a long time, we strode in silence, treading over yellowed leaves and a few unfortunate blossoms — though I tried to avoid trampling them over as much as I could.

Gilded rays of sunlight shone through verdant foliage, shadowing the ground beneath it. The golden glow of the sun shifted to an orange-ish hue, and I wagered night would follow shortly after. From where I stood, I could not see the setting sun, but I did wonder how beautiful a sight it would be — if it truly was capable of lighting up my surroundings in an ethereal glow like in all the books I had read.

Perhaps because there was still daylight shining through the canopies, the solitude did not feel as haunting as it should have. Yet I could not help but wonder—

Would someone notice our footprints on this muddy ground? Would they follow out of the curiosity in their heart? Or would they think us a monster and leave us to wander? Following unknown footprints did not sound like a very sensible decision. Not that I had any right to pass judgement over bad decisions — I had run away, after all.

Perhaps, our imprints would simply remain indications that someone had once traversed these paths — which, I reckoned, would turn into some cautionary anecdote to keep rebellious children home.

The tale would consist of two foolish children who had attempted to pursue freedom — eternity by chasing death (certainly because they were foolish) — in exchange for their mortal bodies and, in turn, were granted their perpetuity by some otherworldly being. A curse that could dull the most golden smiles.

They, however, would not reveal how ecstatic the children were to see the sunset, to hear the distant splash of a waterfall echo in their ears, or the melodious singing of a bird far away. Only that they were lost souls chasing the unattainable because—

My stomach rumbled, interrupting my musings. I caressed it gently. I was not used to staying hungry for this long. At home, no matter what time, there was always a warm meal awaiting us. Chestnut must be starving too, I realised. But he was still moving forward; I could admire his determination. He was always like that, after all. Holding strong when I was close to giving up. So I held on too, braving my way through the quickly darkening path.

"Chestnut," I whispered, noticing the way he stopped and the exhaustion apparent on his face. "We can stop now, okay? You've done so well. Let's continue tomorrow. How about it?" My voice was soft in fear of awakening whatever resided around here in the night.

He shook his head and his eyes clearly conveyed his disdain towards me for suggesting such a thing. I could almost hear him scoff fondly the way an elder would towards an impossibly unreasonable child, before he walked on resolutely.

"Fine then, do as you wish. Don't come crying to me afterwards," I muttered. While I prided myself on possessing a level of emotional maturity most my age did not, even I had my moments.

We wandered for a long time afterwards, and I was sure it was well beyond midnight when I caught a glimpse of warm light in the distance, flickering occasionally. Relief flooded my veins and I almost cried. This must mean that we were nearby. I could not wait to return home and embrace my parents, who most certainly would be worried sick about me. I was just about to rush forward when my companion pulled me towards the opposite direction.

"Ches. Chestnut, it's there. Our home is on the other side." I tried to reason, but the effort he put in did not subside even a little. I trusted him, but I was anxious. Maybe he did not know where he was going. I called out to him again and again, but he did not obey — gave no indication that he had even heard me. I huffed indignantly and finally gave in.

"You'll get us killed this way," I remarked. "We could fall in a ditch or starve— what?" The former half of my sentence was spoken mockingly while the last word… well, I suppose I sounded a little like a constipated Pterodactyl. I stuttered, "What — this, what is this?"

Before me lay a person, dark hair and honey skin. If the eyes were open, I was certain I would be greeted by familiar green pupils. Why, one might wonder. I saw this face every morning in the reflections of my mirror, in the glasses of water I drank and in the eyes of my beloved companion. Familiar indeed. So terribly, painfully familiar that I wondered if my difficulty breathing at this moment was some part of my imagination.

Because, clearly, I lay there — right before my eyes — a lifeless corpse. I could argue it was some long lost twin, or just someone who happened to look eerily familiar, but surely, doppelgangers who so closely resembled a living person did not exist.

For some strange reason, I could not bring myself to doubt the sight before me, despite how eerie an existence it was. I was a frail child. Throughout the journey, I did not require a single inhaler, nor was I in possession of one currently. It had struck me as odd, the way I had had no difficulty breathing prior to this moment. But I had avoided the thought, afraid that thinking of it might bring it back. After all, lifelong illnesses did not disappear so suddenly and conveniently.

Chestnut looked at me — the me on the ground — and then back towards whatever I was now, a spirit, perhaps? His eyes held the sorrow of a thousand starlit nights. Maybe, if he truly were human, he could express his grief like one. He did not — could not — cry, however. To me, it was proof of his courage. Always brave in the moments I was crumbling. It seemed like the sentiment had remained even after I'd left him behind in such a heartrending manner.

I walked closer to my body and noticed the way the tips of my fingers seemed to disintegrate in shades of a bright blue that contrasted the darkness of the starless night. I paused and peered back at the lonely figure watching my back. There were a thousand words in my throat — a thousand apologies and a thousand expressions of gratitude, ones I doubted such an abrupt parting would allow me to reveal.

I did not want to leave just yet, when I had so much to lose and so much still to live for. I had promises to keep and dreams to fulfil. I had so many nice things to treat my friends to and so many places I needed to take my parents. But when had reluctance ever delayed the inevitable? At the very least, I had my best friend right here to bid me farewell.

For a long time, I was silent, etching the face of my friend in my memory — I did not know if I would retain these memories in the afterlife — if there even was such a thing. But I did it nonetheless.

Silence between us had never meant more.

"Thank you," I said, softly, with a tenderness I did not think I possessed. With this, the last vestiges of me would disappear, leaving behind a body for family and acquaintances to grieve over. Perhaps, tomorrow when it would rain again, the imprints of our feet on the paths we traversed together would disappear as well. By tomorrow, I will be more than I am today. Someone who lived in the past, pictures on the wall instead of warm meals on the table — a scabbed wound in two years.

But I hoped my words would remain.

"Thank you," I repeated, the words I wished to impart getting caught in a light breeze and scattering as they reached a frantic couple.

Two words for thirteen years of a life I had barely lived and for the thirteen years I would not live to see.

That night, an agonising howl echoed through the canopies, ceasing only at the break of dawn.

By Prissha Bajpai