Pieces

1. La La Land

I didn't know how to feel when I got the news. I just knew there was something suffocating me from inside, an ache deep within my chest. It could have easily been mistaken for a heart attack, speaking rheortically.

But even if it had been, it's not like I'd have known, right? I was just a normal fifteen year old girl, how was I supposed to know these things? How was I supposed to tell the difference between heartache and cardiac problems? All I knew is, there was pain. A lot of pain.

It's funny. How could I have felt so much pain when I had never even met him? When I had never even seen him (unless a picture from his childhood, which he kept as his profile picture on Facebook, counts)? Hell, I'd only known him for six months now.

I didn't even know him that well. Or did I?

I mean knowing someone is not the same as having met them. Like my best friend, Anita, said I shouldn't get my hopes up. Maybe I would be disappointed if I met him in real life. I didn't blame her for thinking that though. People had always been suspicious about him. Wary. And the poor guy, it wasn't even his fault. 

It was just that he was too nice to be real. It wasn't easy for people to believe it. To believe him. 

He was a kind soul. He always put others before himself. I remember having warned him countless times about how some people could and would take advantage of his niceness, of his humbleness, his innocence. And he was so naive, he actually asked me what was wrong with that. 

He was a good listener. He'd always listen to me rant about silly things, but he never told anyone of his problems. And that was what I found a bit annoying. It took him some time, being the shy guy he was, but in about two months, he completely opened up to me. I forced him to tell me more about himself, tried to get him to tell me of his problems. And I'd thought he'd complied to my wishes. I'd thought he'd tell me everything. But he didn't. And now he was gone.

I found out last week that he had been diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. The bastard had not been healthy for who knows how long and he still hadn't told me, until his best friend,Antonio had told me while he was passed out on some hospital bed. 

He'd sent me an e-mail, about two days ago, which I'd read over and over again, wondering what to do with it. He'd been so right. I was mad. Really mad. And ever since I'd found out, I'd been fussing about him and praying to God, although I'd never really believed in one, for his wellness. I'd been sending him words of encouragement, asking him to stay strong, when it was really me who needed the strength.

It surpirsed me how casual he'd been all about it. As if he'd already accepted his fate. Or should I say, his defeat. 

He'd told me to go to his house. To pay him a visit. He'd apologized for not being able to come to India, to keep his promises of going horse riding with me when we were both twenty-one, of playing guitar all night, of going places without planning any trips, like it'd been his fault. But he didn't get it. He was supposed to be apologizing but not for not making it. But for not telling me sooner. 

As for visiting his place. what was the point anymore? How would seeing his heartbroken friends and relatives help me? How would not finding him there help me? 

I wanted so desperately to find him. To talk to him. Where was he right now? What could he be doing? I'd never believed in an afterlife. I'd never given it much thought before. But now that I was experiencing it second-hand, it felt like something existed. That he was somewhere not too far. In some La La Land, he was there. 

I opened my eyes to find myself, still sitting in the same position, the room dimly lit by the bright screen of my laptop. I closed Antonio's e-mail as I felt the tears drying on my cheeks. My skin felt cold and I was still shaking. I went back to my Inbox and clicked open his last e-mail. One that he had written on his own. Or more like, dictated to Antonio, while he lay in his bed. 

I read it over and over again, trying to make sense of this all. I tried to imagine what his voice would have sounded like when he dictated it to Antonio. Had he been mad at Antonio for telling me? Why had he not told me? I'd thought we were close enough. Or maybe it was hard for him to tell me, because it was already too hard for him to accept it. But that wasn't true. He'd known he was going and he seemed to be pretty okay with it. As if he was satisfied with the things he'd done in his life. With the people he'd helped. He was satisfied with everything, except he hadn't met me. That was the only thing he hadn't done and for which he wished he'd lived a little longer. So he could have seen me.Met me.

Maybe he was doing exactly that right now. Watching me. The thought calmed me.

And I wanted to do that too. I wanted to meet him. 

"It'll almost be like we really did meet". the words kept flashing in my mind. 

And for the first time in the past few days, it struck me, how much he'd thought about me. Or had it been for every one of his friends? He said he'd left something for me with some people who were very close to him. He'd left that something with the intention of passing me a message. He'd really put a lot of thought into this. Maybe he'd done it out of guilt of not being able to fulfill his promise. But whatever the reason, he'd dropped messages for me everywhere. He had, in a surreal but quite possible way, created an opportunity for our meeting. He had tried to make it possible. 

I'd be a fool to turn away from that. I'd be a fool to give up so easily when he'd already done so much on his part. I should go. I should do everything he's asked me to. And not just because that'd have been his last wish. But because I believe in him. And I want to meet him. 

My eyes fell upon the big circular clock on the white wall across from me. It was almost midnight. I shouldn't be up this late on a school night. I shut down my laptop, turned off the lights and went to bed. 

I could hardly get any sleep. When my alarm went off at seven the next morning, i'd already made my decision.

I stepped onto the cool tiled floor of my bedroom and walked over to my laptop, which I'd left on my desk last night. I sat down on my desk chair and turned it on. Having done that, I opened my e-mail account and clicked on Compose A New Mail.