Safe Journey

I sat in the front of the bus for the first time today. And it would probably be my last.

It felt so surreal, I tried to gague the gravity of the situation. I almost sobbed halfway. I told myself to stop there, to not think about it anymore. It was any other day, the sky was dark with the fresh morning air, the same people in the bus were there, the same bus conductor who had been driving for what seemed to be his entire life. But the morning air knew, the people in the bus knew, and the bus conductor knew and the fact that they knew couldn’t make me stop thinking about it.

And then the terror started to grip me. A crippling terror that leaves one gasping. That same terror had kept me from closing my eyes, which only drove me now to a headache. The mind was a fickle thing, or so I discovered in the past few years. If I looked at a knife like it were meant to cut a cake, my mouth would water, but the same knife would make me tremble if it were thought to be on my neck. I knew all this, not through my own endeavors of life, but from the advice from others, who told me to meditate, to practice yoga, to keep the mind and body healthy.

But no matter how much you trick your mind, in the end your mind is you. It knows what you are hiding in your tight pandora’s box and like the devil, it pops it open the second you look away.

So you keep looking at the box. Keep telling yourself and reminding yourself in the mirror that everything is fine. Because if you get distracted, it catches you unaware and you sink into the pit of the irredeemable. Imagine if you were on a holiday, after running away from a country for something wrong, and you peddaled in the beautiful waters of safety. One day, when the same waters turn treacherous and you are found, will your legs not turn to lead? Will your heart not stop in stone? It would be seconds before you drown.

I told myself everything was fine. I did my yoga and meditation. I ate my food and had my rest. I looked at every mirror that passed to stop myself from paicking. I took a minute to calm myself down.

But man’s greatest fear is fear. I had lived in it for years and I had grown tired of it. I takes a toll on the body, the mind, the soul. I fear I have none left. None of anything. I tried to end it before. Then I tried to get into an accident. Nothing.

Being a cancer patient with no hope or money should make every living moment special. It has haunted me instead.

There is no one to care for me. Those who know me will forget in the course of time, they’ll learn to live with it.

Rumors about me had started long back. Some of them said I was crazy, some said I was old, and some said I was depressed. It was quite close to the truth. I was old and tired and I had seen every corner this ugly world had to show.

I hadn’t brought my bag with me today. The conductor’s face dropped before he laughed and asked me if old age had made me forget about it. ‘I didn’t forget,’ I told him, and his expression told me he had known it. He ushered me into the front seat, mumbling something along the lines of a crowded bus, and started to drive. Half the bus was empty as it always was. My bus stop was among the first few.

‘Not heading to Malatown today?’ one of the ladies I knew asked, referring to my workplace. There was no usual chatter in the bus. I could tell that everyone was waiting for my reply.

‘I can’t sleep Miriam,’ I told her honestly. Then not so honestly: ‘I’m going on a night out with myself to the Woodlar Dams, that’s all. I’ll be back to work the next day.’

‘The Woodlar Dams, oh I can’t hear a word of this!’ I heard someone say.

 ‘I’ll be back tomorrow..’ I murmured. The sky was beginning to lighten. One side of it was a rainbow of color and the other was still dark when my stop arrived. The dam sounded like a roaring waterfall.

Behind me, I had seen the conductor with one of his age old wrinkled hand on the wheel and the other covering his watery eyes, and the distressed faced of the rest of them. And by some supernatural sense, I was aware of my phone, locked into the prison of my home, dinging with unread messages and missed calls.

My heartbeat was too loud. The headache returned. I walked towards the waterfall and let the noise drown it out.