At first, I braved the heat. I went out at all times of the day and was oblivious to the way it scorched my skin.
The cherry tomato I bite into popped all over my fingers.
After a while, I started to manipulate the situation. I no longer woke up at first light. I stayed up late at night. But reversing day into night confuses me. Days were hazy.
I felt like a dog on a lead. Going somewhere but who knows where.
The rusk dipped into the remains of my chai with milk becomes soggy and as I lift it splatters across the table.
The heat started to make me hallucinate. Actually, it didn’t. But hallucinate is a much more dramatic word. Much more melodramatic than the mundanity of what happened. I walked around with a buzz in my head. My eyes were so puffy it was not a pleasure anymore to be awake. My feet and fingers became so bloated they literally wanted to burst out of the confines of my skin. And oh this ennui. My throat burns no matter how much water I drink.
I despise the air conditioned air that is recycled 24 hours a day. But I also love the icy respite of a cool room, coming in from the oven-like temperatures beyond.
Celery sticks are chopped haphazardly on the small plate. Big thick sticks that will quickly lose their crispness now. Must start chewing.
I think perhaps the heat is responsible for his madness. The way he morphs into an ugly beast and pummels into me words more hurtful than the hot lighter that touched my cheek the other night, by mistake. It must be the heat. I can’t leave him at this point in the journey. But hasn’t the journey gone on long enough? When, for the love of all sacrifices, will I be absolved?
There must be no heaven for me.
I’ve packed my bags many times before. Mentally of course. I’ve taken the bare essentials. I’ve started to pack into boxes those objects of memorabilia that no one else but me cares for. Packing away a lifetime. But it is all in the mental haze. I never actually move and do it. It is always a comfortable thought. It carries me through.
My mug is empty. No chai, no tea leaves to foretell.
I ate the last stick of celery.
