Four Broken Strings

Chapter 2 | THE MERCHANT WEDDING

Copyright © 2020 Rubab Masuri. All Rights Reserved.

December 16, 2016

When I reach home, I find Rafae in exactly the same pose I left him in -hunkered over his laptop. I can see the screen flickering and windows quivering in the reflection of his silver rimless specs, the ones he only wears around the house or whenever he has a headache which is always the case whenever he is home and has to work. Like in someway his head would stop hurting if he'd wear them. Or maybe he likes to put on a show, like oh, I am so serious and working so hard even when my head hurts. I would never rest or take a pill. I will crucify myself for work. Blah.

He doesn't seem to notice me coming in, so I drop Emo with a light thump on the couch to get his attention. But of course, I have to articulate some form of greeting to get him to look up. "Hey," I say, looking at his face glowing in whitish-blue light from the laptop. His spec thing always works on me though. I know he's tired and I want to tell him that I am tired too, of him being tired all the time. As I come near he takes the specs off, and I inexplicably compare my husband's face in my mind to the Rafae of five years ago. I am noting that his chiseled nose and jawline were the same except for the dimples in his cheeks that are barely noticeable now because he hardly ever smiles these days. I am glad I met him before and enjoyed his face when it was happier and poked my fingers in his cheeks whenever I could, without him finding it annoying. Now he thinks all that is stupid. Since when is fun, stupid?

He presses his thumb and finger on the sides of his small brown eyes. "You've been out pretty late today," he looks up at me, his eyes smaller than usual, looking fatigued and considerably swollen. I check the clock on the wall, and it is almost midnight.

"Yeah, Adam was kind of chatty," I say, already moving towards the bathroom.

"Hmm," He mumbles blankly, still fixated on his screen.

I shower and change and make myself some tea and plant myself on the couch with my feet up. Glance at the clock again and wonder if I should get some rest, as we would be leaving at six in the morning. I get up, go to the kitchen and squint at the packing list on the fridge and remind myself to pack extra toothbrushes.

I glance in the bedroom and Rafae has now moved to the other side of the bed, near the socket. His laptop and cellphone laid in front of him, charging, along with it, a few samples of portable rechargeable emergency lights rest on the nightstand switched on (He tries out products before buying them from wholesalers). Sometimes I wonder if he would love me better if I were an electronic device. He looks up at me while I am leaning against the door sipping tea, "Something up?" He asks me.

"Get some sleep," I say cupping my hands on the mug.

"You parked the car under the shade right? There's rain prediction this week."

"Your car will be fine," I say going over to the bed, placing the mug on the table and turning on the night light.

"Just checking." He smiles at his device. I am waiting for him to ask me how the open mic went so that I can talk to him about the tryout, but he takes a call on his phone and steps out into the living room to talk. But before he comes in, and before my shuteye, somewhere in between, I am quite anxious about giving a call to the studio. I can't seem to make up my mind whether or not I am ready to make real-time music. I have never given it a serious thought before. Mainly because no one has ever told me I am any good. Except for Adam of course, but then he is a nice person and would probably be saying nice things to everyone; he can be quite encouraging that way. Maybe it's not music or how I play; maybe it's just in general that people despise me. Then in general, I kind of dislike being around people too, because most of them are like, so presumptuous. I mean, they actually think that other people are remotely as interested in listening to their tedious mindless details about what's going on in their lives. Absolute sacrilege. It's like, people have fallen in love with words and have lost the listener in the process somewhere. There is no actual conversation anymore, just one person pouring out their inescapable sadness into other peoples' ears. They would go on and on sharing meaningless conversation about the events in their lives that are so significantly insignificant to their present. While the sad ones are just plain annoying, the happier ones are the real crushers, absolutely lethal. They would suffocate you with their smug happy faces and exciting jobs and supportive spouses and comfortable homes up on the hills with a sunset view towards the fields. They would rub it on your face till your nose is raw and you concede that their life is definitely happier than yours. It's like a prize, a destination, a goal. Like, love and happiness are only worth it if you have peoples' accolades.