Notes On Memory

Short Story

Photo by Ilyasick on Pexels

Of the million demands Beeju made of me, I remember just the one. Never be lonely, he said one time. The lonelier you are, the louder your thoughts become. And then it’s like you’re hounded by sounds. All forms of it — clamour and quiet — climb into your soul and spread ugly in your blood.

I’m learning Beeju was right. It’s my sole reason to go to work. A roaring tsunami of silence chases me at home, bouncing off the empty hallways. In bed, giggles lash out at me when I turn sides. I wake up gasping. What was that, I ask Beeju, whipping my head this way and that. Where’s this coming from? He never replies, not at night.

It’s hard to lie still with the sounds. I have to leave the bed. These days, I find myself at work at six a.m.

In the taxi on my way home, I try and keep my eyes on the clouds and recall Beeju’s laughter. You could close your eyes to shut the images. But how do you close your ears? Sounds of all shapes eat at me. Oceans of sludge slewing into a river. The river too small to contain, the sludge too large to stop.

And if it weren’t for these clattering thoughts, I could’ve heard the driver.

“Kavya Madam. O, Kavya Madam?” he bellows, smacking the horn.

I tear my gaze from the misty window.