Pieces

3. Can't Stop, Won't Stop

The airport was surprisingly busy even at the hour. People from all walks of life were scurrying around like little children in a playground, carrying their luggage. The ladies clung on to their purses throwing glares at every person alive accompanied by men, standing silently, in the poor excuse of a queue, for there were atleast about five queues merging into one, tired and exhausted, as most of the children kept running around and playing even at such an unearthly hour. There was a lot of noise, with cars blaring horns, the guards busy blowing their whistles, trying to manage the traffic, loved ones yelling goodbye to their relatives and friends and the crowd in the line screaming at each other to move out of the way. 

I stood silently at the end of the line, waiting for my turn. I didn't move or try to stop people from dodging the line and get in, I was too preoccupied analysing what I was doing.

I was here. I was really here. At about 4 am on a cool Friday morning, waiting at the aiport. Alone. It all seemed too surreal. I couldn't believe I was doing this. Me, the usually shy, unless around friends, girl. I was here at the airport and I was scared. I was very scared. I probably hadn't thought this through. My legs were wobbly and despite the cool breeze, I was visibly perspiring. I was a nervous wreck. I had barely made it to the airport in that taxi, there was no way I could go all the way to Bosa.

Maybe I should wait. That's what a practical person like Anita would do, right? I should've asked her. She'd have helped me. I didn't even know what the hell I was doing. I shouldn't be here. I can't do this.

"But you can." The familiar words flashed in my mind, drawing me back to the time when I'd told Marcus of my dreams. When I'd told him all about how I really wanted to become an author when I grew up, but decided to go for med school instead because there was no way I'd ever become one. I wasn't good enough. I would probably never be. You can't just wake up one day and become an author. If it were that easy, half the population of this world would become an author, and the other half a publisher and we'd all be throwing money around. I'd never given it any thought. I knew the dream was like a child who believed some fairy would come and give him all the toys he wanted one day. It was impossible.

But Marcus. He believed in me. More than anyone ever has. He thought I was good. He thought I could always become an author whenever I liked. I argued he was just saying that because he wanted to be nice, which was so predictable. He grew firm then. "Fine. If you don't want to believe me, that's up to you. But all I wanted to tell you is that I believe IN you."

"I can't become an author, Marcus. There are so many out there who are so much better than me." I'd replied.

"But you can." And that'd been enough.

I'd ultimately decided I was going to work on it, probably get a Masters in Literature some day. He'd made me believe in myself. Something no one had ever even tried to do. 

I can do this. I can't stop here and look back. I won't. I've already made it this far. 

And with that, I shoved the man who had tried to dodge the line and went up ahead, boldly, and showed the tickets Antonio had mailed me the previous day. The guard let me in and I went about the usual procedure without any second thoughts.

I couldn't afford to have second thoughts now. If I did, I knew I'd give up and go home. But then I'd probably regret doing that. I'd even stop believing in myself, thinking of myself as a girl who was too scared of the world to face it. And I didn't want to be scared anymore. I wanted to come out of my little cave and explore. If I didn't do that now, I might never be able to.

As I sat on my seat in the flight, next to a five year old girl, with her mom, my mind flashed back to the night's events. I'd been so anxious all day. Thinking everything through. Checking things. But nothing had been as hard as deciding what to do about my parents and Anita. 

I hadn't told them. I couldn't. Or I wouldn't have been out here. I knew I would probably go home to be labelled as a rebel, a selfish little brat, a typical teenage runaway, but I didn't care, really. I only cared about what my parents would feel about me. Would they ever love me the same again? 

It hadn't hit me until last night how much of an impact I would be making on their lives. How much of a hole in their hearts. And I hated myself for it. But I can't not go, I'd thought to myself. I can't. 

In the end, I'd decided to leave them a note. I'd atleast written ten of them before finalizing one. The paper was a large one, but somehow hadn't seen enough. I wanted to explain, but I didn't know how to. I didn't know how to put it. And Marcus thought I could be an author. Damn right he was. 

"Dear Mom and Dad,

I don't know how or where to start. But first things first, I don't want you to worry about me. Please. Don't. I know, as parents, you worry. But really, I'll be fine. I am fine.I just had to go somewhere. It was important. And I couldn't wait and didn't tell you because you wouldn't have allowed me to go. You'd have asked me to wait until I was older. And I know that'd have been for my own good but I felt restless. And I couldn't have been able to manage feeling that way till I was "older". I had to find peace and so I have decided to leave. I am coming back and I promise I will be in touch with you. I promise I will call you almost everyday. Just don't try to look for me. I need some time away. I'll be back in a few days, two weeks, tops. Think of it as a school trip, but without my friends or Anita. 

I could have easily lied to you about this. Told you that I was going on some trip with Anita, but I didn't want to. I know this is asking for a lot, but I don't want you to lose faith in me. To feel betrayed. I know that's going to sound really selfish. But as promised, I will be in contact with you. Through mail and even on the phone when I can. But I need you to promise me that you won't try to locate me. It's not because I am doing something wrong or simply unacceptable or unforgivable other than running away. It's just that if you found out, you'd come for me and I don't want you to.

PS: If you still trust me, you know I'm not doing anything wrong. And I want just that from you. To trust me. I hope you'll still love me the same when I come back. I know I will and still do. I wouldn't ever do this to you if it wasn't important. You've known me for 15 years, you should know that by now.

I love you. 

-Garima."

Somehow that paper seemed to have everything but just not enough. I prayed for their wellness. I know I was hurting them. I'd realized that. But I needed this. And I hadn't and still didn't expect them to understand. Yet, I hoped they would. I really did.