A Letter For You

You, 

I am writing this letter for you. Because it’s You. That’s all. There is no agenda except that I wish I could say some things to you.

I am not good with words. You stay silent long enough, words start to fail you. I guess that is the best way to describe me. But that doesn’t stop me from wishing you would know what I mean.

I wish for you to see that behind every “I’m fine” is a “I need a hug”. I will never say it, or at the most, I will make a joke out of it. But it’s there, like a silent plea escaping through the cracks of a façade.

Every time I come home to my fortress of solitude, I heave a sigh of relief, away from everyone. “People”.
I love being by myself but that doesn’t stop me from wishing you were there to welcome me home, ask about my day and tell me it’s ok even if the world sucks.

I know I don’t say this. But unfair as it may be, I wish you knew.

I am writing this letter precisely for that reason. Because it’s you.

You, a stranger. You, who do not know me, but make me wish that you did. You, the intangible distant concept of a person who would figure me right out, really know me for what or who I am, and not for what I say or do. You, who would be able to tell when I want to be left alone or when I need to be tugged into a warm embrace ignoring my protests. You, who will know when to humor me or to steer clear of me when my claws come out. You, who will hear what I don’t say, not because I don’t want to, but because I can’t. I can’t bring myself to tell you just how much care I have for you, but I so wish you knew.

You, a stranger indeed. An implausible dream, maybe.

I can write this letter to You because I don’t know you. I don’t know who you are, I only know who I wish you were. I wish I was someone you would wish for too.

Yours,
Me

Till Death Do Us Part

The wind ruffled through my hair. My eyes stung. I didn’t blink. I let myself fall till my hands suddenly met the cold metal. I grasped. It was muscle memory at work. I held on to the grill and pulled myself over the railing and into the tiny balcony. Then, I ran across to the other side, flexing my fingers in preparation. I climbed over the ledge and launched myself towards the window sill jutting out a few inches from the wall. My fingers latched onto it, my toes placed flat against the wall. My limbs strained themselves as I climbed first onto the scaffolding, and then finally, onto the parapet of the roof.

My throat was dry; with every breath I took, I felt the cool air against the back of my mouth. Sweat trickled down my forehead, slid against my eyebrow and down my cheek. My muscles pumped blood, throbbing with a rhythm.

The neighbourhood stretched out before me, houses stacked up against each other, lights pouring out of the rooms. The street lights added a fluorescent glow to it. I smiled. I had crossed the entire area in... I looked at my watch... 5 minutes.

I deserved it. To win.

I took a deep breath, letting the wind cool my skin, my aching limbs glad for the relief. I could hear my heart beating inside my chest, such was the rush that Parkour brought me. It was my favourite bit about this. The thrill. It was all consuming. As long as I was in action, I didn’t even need to think about anything else.

I didn’t want to think about anything else.

Completing the stretch in record time was an added bonus. 5 minutes! My heart leapt with joy. It was the best attempt ever!

“Second best,” a voice rang out from behind me.

No. Not you. Not here. Why can’t you just ... No.

Suddenly, the wind felt way too cold against me. It was only September, the cold was unnatural. I could feel goosebumps erupting on my skin. I became aware that my legs were too tired, so I slowly sat down on the parapet itself.

I didn’t answer.

I heard his footsteps coming towards me.

“You think so?” I asked, dryly.

He pulled himself up beside me and settled down.

“You know so.”

I stayed quiet.

“4 minutes and 20 seconds.”

I glanced at Prateek. He was staring ahead, a slight smile playing on his lips, as if remembering a very fond memory.

My mouth felt really dry.

“That was just one time,” I replied with some difficulty.

He laughed.

“It was enough to terrify you.”

I felt shivers rising through my spine. My eyes stung, this time, there were tears.

“I am the champion! I deserved it!” I growled.

Prateek laughed, again. I felt overwhelmed. I scrambled to my feet, anger... and was it terror... coursing through me.

“I won! I. WON. Not you! Now stop torturing me!”

Prateek stopped laughing. He kept his cold eyes trained on me as he got up, leveling with me.

“Tell me. Did I lose? Or did you not let me win?”

I could hear the blood thumping in my ears.

“You fell! It was an accident.”

“You knew the scaffolding was broken. You it broke it yourself,” Prateek replied, calmly.

My fingers felt numb. The cold had reached my bones, I was shivering. Tears were rolling down my throat by now.

“You don’t understand! I needed to win. I had to win!” I yelled, my voice trembling.

Prateek took a step closer to me.

“You watched as I fell. You saw me die. You killed me.”

I choked on the sobs that wracked through my body. It was so cold. Too cold. Almost like... dead cold. I was shivering harder now.

“Please, you were my best friend,” I whispered.

Prateek raised an eyebrow and tilted his head slightly.

“You still are my best friend.”

He closed in and wrapped his arms tightly around me. I stood frozen in his embrace. He was supporting almost my entire weight. My knees felt too weak to carry me. I let him rub soothing circles on my back.

“It’s okay. I understand,” he said, holding me tighter.

“You do?”

“Yes. Do you remember what we used to say?” he asked, his lips almost touching my ears, his breath, frigid.

Of course I remember.

“Till death do us part...”

He took a step towards the edge. I went with him. I didn’t really have any option. I was scared. I held him closer, tight. There was no separating us now.

“Till death unite us again,” he whispered.

 And then, he jumped.

Perfection

I walked down a lonely road.

The snow made muffled noises under my boots. As surely as I walked, fresh white flakes covered my footprints as if they were determined to hide my whereabouts. Quite a few times during my walk, I had looked back and watched my footprints fading into the snow, like magic. I hugged my jacket closer to me. My face had become almost numb from cold, but I didn’t mind much. I knew I would be home soon. Plus, I had always loved the snow, since I was a little boy. It looked so magical on the Christmas cards that we got, or in the scenes from movies. Back then, I would satisfy myself by imagining what living in that picture would be like. Years had passed, and the little gingerbread houses had been replaced with real ones, but today, the picture was the same. And it was perfect.

The moment I thought of perfection, a sharp pain erupted right in between my shoulder blades. I cringed. The pain wasn’t real, just a memory. Many memories actually, but I pushed them aside. My father had been a hard man to please but I would like to think he’d be proud of me if he saw me today. 

It was flawless.

As I walked down the winding lane of this little town, nestled between the hills, I marvelled at the sight before me. The street lamps glowed orange, the lamp shades covered with powdery white snow, some lined with icicles. The houses were quiet, giving an impression of the entire world sleeping peacefully with their blinds drawn. It was so quiet that I could hear my heart thumping against my chest as I climbed the road. I exhaled and my breath briefly formed a smoky pattern against the icy air, before the wind erased it. As I trudged up my driveway, with the cold creeping into my bones and thoroughly exhausted, I looked back one last time. I watched as the last traces of my boots disappeared under the snow. I saw the sloping roofs of houses, covered with snow, the light from some of the houses falling across their porch, filtered through the blinds. It was like everything my young mind had ever imagined. But this was better because it was real. It wasn’t just a perfect theory or an image anymore. It was reality. I smiled to myself and entered the house, closing the door behind me.

A Few Months Later

I sat down at the dining table, my morning coffee in one hand, the newspaper in another. The last few months in this otherwise quaint and safe town had been pretty eventful to say the least. It all started when the police found a dead body.

It had snowed very heavily during the winter and after the snow melted, the police recovered a body from a remote corner of the town. Apparently, the man had been murdered. The citizens were shocked and scared for days as the police turned over every stone for clues. But they found none. The snow had preserved the body, they said. So the time of death could not be confirmed. No weapon was found, no fingerprints and no witnesses either. They tried to collect forensic evidence but any DNA from the killer had already been destroyed by the snow. For a month, the police tried knocking down every door they could think of.

They came knocking at my door before the first week was over. I was a very well-known, albeit recently retired, criminal psychiatrist and Officer McGee all but begged me for help. I happily obliged. Officer McGee wore the most genuinely flabbergasted expression as he handed me the file for the first time. “We’ve never seen anything like it”, he exclaimed, “Can you help us put together a psychological profile?” I reviewed the file and agreed. But to no avail. I attempted to read what kind of a person would be capable to doing this but I could give them nothing. Nothing much, anyway.

“The killer is probably male, because he easily overpowered the victim, though I can’t completely rule out a woman of considerable size and strength. He doesn’t torture. He just kills. So, certainly not a sadist. He is clearly smart, left no evidence at all. It’s all about the precision.”
That was my official statement to the police department. Officer McGee read my report and looked at me in despair.
“So, my suspects are every able-bodied man and woman, with absolutely no special physical or psychological marker?! I thought you were supposed to narrow it down, Doctor. But what you’re giving me is...Ugh... Even you fit the bill!”
I smiled and said, “You never know what a person is truly capable of, Officer. And I have a feeling your suspect is banking on that.”
In the days that followed, Officer McGee often dropped by, keeping me updated on the case, though the updates never had anything new to them. Even though they had managed to trace the victim’s family, they had absolutely no clue about the murderer. Finally, they decided it was nothing but a wild goose chase and probably a robbery gone wrong.

Today, the news headlines proclaimed in capital letters ‘DEAD BODY IN THE SNOW, CASE GOES COLD’.
I read through the article sniggering at the choice of words and sipping my coffee. My eyes paused over the statement given by the police commissioner. He said that his department had been meticulous in their investigation. There just wasn’t enough evidence to go on. In closing, he had termed the case as being a ‘perfect crime’. I put the coffee down and smiled. In spite of myself, I could feel pride swelling up inside me. My mind wandered back to a particular day in the office when a man had told me something that had always stayed with me. He was a serial killer, and was caught only after he had put at least 17 women to rest. And I had been given the task of his psychological evaluation. When I asked him how he got caught, he looked me straight in the eye and said, “I slipped up, I knew I would eventually. The ‘perfect’ crime is only a theory.” The clarity of his thought had rattled me initially but I could never stop thinking about it since.

The perfect crime. An improbable theory. A remarkable challenge.

 I went through the article one more time.

A little voice inside my head said, “The perfect crime isn’t a theory anymore.”

The next day, Officer McGee sat on my couch, his face sullen, and his body sagging unconsciously under the defeat. He had just finished his third drink while I was well onto my fourth one.
“You act like it’s a celebration,” McGee said, indifferently.
“Why not? Officer, I have dealt with enough horrific crimes to last me a lifetime. So I always find a reason to celebrate when a case closes.” I smiled. I didn’t know whether it was the scotch or just exhilaration that I was feeling, but my throat felt warm and my fingers were tingling.

“But we lost this, Doctor. I have no reason to celebrate.”

“You do. You have come across an unsolvable murder. A perfect crime. It’s a first. You should be honoured.”

McGee grunted. I felt the tiniest spot anger rising in my chest but I clamped down on it.

“Don’t you see?” I continued earnestly, “He figured out a way to make this perfect. For him, it’s not a murder or a crime. It’s perfection. That kind of surgical precision with a Persian knife is almost impossible. It’s art! So, let’s drink to that! You worked a case so early in your career that most detectives can’t even dream of!” I raised my glass towards him as a toast.

Officer McGee sat very still, frozen in place. He had the most unreadable expression plastered to his face.

“I never mentioned anything about a Persian blade,” he whispered.

Off-Duty

The dinner party was over and I was more than happy to clean up. I had strict instructions regarding the correct way of loading the dishwasher, the exact amount of food to throw into the disposer at once, and I also had very vivid descriptions of the fate that awaited me had I ruined any of our wedding china. I finished up, with Mary frequently calling out random advice, and finally went over to the open window.

It was a clear night, a pleasant breeze blowing through the quiet by-lanes. I took a deep breath and smelled the roses in our garden outside. Oh, how I missed it. This. The peace and quiet. The smells and the view. A cigarette glowed red between my fingers, smoke rings slowly wafted out of the window. A neighbour out for a jog passed in front of the house, waving to me as he did. Yet another smiled as he drove by. I waved back and turned away, threw the stub into the dustbin and settled down on the sofa with a magazine.

“Are you done?”

I looked up to see Mary at the doorway.

“Just like you said,” I smiled. She ducked into the kitchen.

She was going to cross-check everything anyway. I chuckled.

“It smells like smoke in here.”

 I bit my tongue. Damn!

“Honey, it was the only one I had all day.”

“Kevin, you promised.” Mary reappeared carrying a glass of water. She didn’t seem angry. I let out a sigh of relief, I wasn’t in trouble. Mary laughed.

“Hon, I really appreciate you trying to quit...”

BOOM!!

“...What the hell...?”

It was an IED. Our humvee had passed right over it. The car overturned.

“Kevin...!!”

What ...? where... I looked around. I must have blacked out on impact.

“Kevin?!”

“Yeah?!! Ryan?? Peters?”

“Kevin, Rogers’ tyre just blew, right in front of our gate. Mind going out and giving him a hand?”

My ears were ringing. I had to help him... yes, I did. But where was he? My mind worked sluggishly. “Calm down,” I told myself, “and think. Start moving!”

I pushed myself off the ground and felt a searing pain in my side. I checked quickly. There was blood, probably shrapnels, but I could still move.

“What are you looking for? Your toolbox is in the garage...”

I looked around. Our guide lay a few feet before me, only half his body intact. His face was turned towards me and eyes, wide open. I forced myself to look away, quickly crawled behind the vehicle and grabbed an automatic.

“Kevin? It’s okay if you don’t want to go...  Honey?”

“Peters?” No answer. Bullets were flying from every direction. I set up my rifle and fired at the hostiles.

“Kevin? Honey? Whoa... wait, what are you doing?”

“Ryan? Are you hurt?”

“I can’t feel my legs. Peters is gone.”

I sprayed some more bullets into the fray. A grenade went off about a hundred metres ahead.

“Ryan???I’m coming for you...”

“They must have heard the blast... They’ll come. You get to the trees.”

“But Ryan..!”

“Kevin, it was just a tyre..! You don’t have to...”

“I have Andrews with me. We are covered. Go.”

“Kevin! Look at me...wait, I’ll call Dr. Keller...”

I sat up, and wheeled around.

“I’ll cover you Kevin. Go go go!”

I rushed forward, firing continuously. A bullet grazed my arm. I ran through a line of trees and ducked behind a thick tree trunk. I aimed at the hostiles and fired a round.

“Ryan?”

“Kevin, I’m here, look at me! You’re home, you’re safe!... Hello? Dr. Keller? I’m...”

“Ryan!?”

“Kevin! Behind you!”

I wheeled around. The man was almost on me. He shot at me, I jumped aside and knocked the gun from his hand. I ducked and kicked his legs away from under him. He fell down, clearly not very experienced. Here was my advantage.

I quickly twisted his arm around and caught him in a headlock. He struggled furiously. He rammed his elbow into my ribs. The hit was surprisingly soft, didn’t hurt at all. He was weak.

“Honey please... please... listen to me...”

Something fell from his grip, bounced off my shoe and onto the floor. A phone.

A phone?

“Honey! Please Kev...Help... Help”

“Not so brave now, are you? Planting bombs on the road is so much easier, eh?” I breathed venomously. I increased the pressure on his windpipe crushing it.

She gasped and tried to scratch my face. She...? But...

I let go of his dead weight.

She fell down in a heap.

I felt the cold creeping through my spine. I looked around... Where was the back up? No one was coming.

“Ryan?” I called out, shakily. But he was gone too. I felt sweat running down my face.

 I spun around... No humvee, just our coffee table...in our living room.

But... the man I just...

I looked at the floor.

Mary lay sprawled at my feet.

Honour

“I found you.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

He turned his eyes away, but didn’t move from his place.

“Don’t say that! I wanted to see you,” I pled, trying to catch his eye.

“Why?”

“Because... just because,” I sighed. There was nothing more I could say.

“I get it. You wanted to see if I was dead or alive. Well, I am alive. Happy? Now leave.” He started to get up from the table when I clamped down on his hand and held it there.

“Stop, alright? You forget; I helped you. I was the one who saved...” I checked myself. I suddenly became aware of the pressure I was putting on his wrist. It must hurt. I withdrew my hand.

“Sorry...” I mumbled as Rudhir rubbed his wrist.

“No,” he replied, his mouth taut, “I’m sorry... I was... forget it. So, how are you?”

He asked as if he didn’t care about the answer. Maybe he didn’t. He actually didn’t.

“You’ve grown so thin... you are just skin and bones... are you not eating properly? Your eyes... when was the last time you slept?”

He shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

“I’m fine, father. I had exams and... Aashu doesn’t sleep easily.”

“He is restless,” I observed.

Rudhir nodded, staring at the table.

But his eyes softened when Aashu wrapped his tiny fingers around his. He peered through his glasses lovingly and smiled when the child pulled at his tie. He twirled the metal batch on his chest. It was shiny and the child cackled with amusement. It was music to my ears.

He likes shiny things. Much like Rudhir when he was Aashu’s age.

 I just sat there, watching them. I was ... enchanted.

“He has grown so big,” I exclaimed quietly, “He is beautiful!”

Rudhir nodded, “Yes he is. He looks like her.”

I sat up straight, and ran my fingers over my mouth.

“He misses her,” he continued, “we both do.”

I felt my stomach lurch. I didn’t reply.

“How is mother?”

“She misses you.”

“Good.”

I watched the child... my grandson... play with the tie for a while.

“Where does Aashu stay when you are in class?”

“They have a crèche here. It’s for staff but they made an exception for me.”

I nodded and watched my grandson, who now sat on his father’s lap tracing a tattoo on his forearm. Aashu’s father. I barely recognise him as my son anymore.

“Son, you are too young to be doing this alone. It’s been two years! You have been attending classes, working part-time and raising your son. Let us help you! You don’t have to do this alone. You are almost a child yourself for God sake!”

“No. I will raise him alone. And you have helped enough. I don’t need anymore,” Rudhir replied quickly, wrapping his son in his arms, as if afraid I would take him away.

I sighed and got up.

“I know you still blame me, son. But there was nothing I could do. She was too young. You both were...”

The baby had been born. It was boy.I had a grandson. The other doctors and nurses had left. It was just me now. The girl was critical but stable. I stood staring at her for a long time. So young. Very pretty. No wonder my son loved her. But they were young and stupid. What did they know of life? Had they known the way the world works, they would have known this would never be. Rudhir was only 20. Too young to know right from wrong.

Rudhir kissed the child and held him closer, tears silently rolling down his cheeks.

“... Giving birth at only 17 is risky for the mother. Her body was too weak to survive it. I did everything in my power to save her.”

He nodded. Aashu looked up at his father and touched his tear-streaked cheek with his tiny hand. Rudhir quickly checked himself, wiped his face and smiled at his child. The child giggled back, his attention now taken by Rudhir’s shiny glasses.

We were Rajputs. I had to protect our honour. Had she been of higher birth... even slightly respectable... maybe if she wasn’t an orphan...?

 With steady hands, I picked up the empty syringe and injected air bubbles into her IV channel. In her weakened state, an air embolus would be enough.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“You are a good father,” I observed, my voice heavy. Rudhir tickled Aashu. The child giggled hysterically, the tears sliding down his father’s cheek forgotten.

“You will always do what’s best for him,” I said.

That’s what fathers do. That’s what I did.

“I hope Aashu thinks so too,” Rudhir replied, quietly.

I started walking away.

“Thank you”.

I turned. “For what?”

“For saving my son,” Rudhir said.

I smiled, waved a small goodbye and resumed walking. I felt my sight blur with tears.

My heart jumped with a start. She was awake and staring back at me. There were tears streaming from her eyes.

“I have to protect him. Our family. You have to understand. I wish it didn’t have to be like this... I’m sorry,” I whispered, pleading.

“Please don’t kill my child,” she whispered back, closing her eyes.
  She never opened them again.

Yes, I killed her ...

Yes, I killed her and I don’t have any regrets. She was in pain and she asked me to. She said I was being kind. I was. I ended her pain because no one else would.

Yes, I killed her. I didn’t mean to hurt her, but she cried anyway. When I closed her eyes and wiped away her tears, she looked peaceful.

Yes, I killed her. She just wouldn’t try to understand me. I wanted her to believe me. I tried, I really did.

Yes, I killed her. She wouldn’t even listen as I pleaded. I didn’t want to force my will but she left me no choice. How could I let her walk away from me? I knew she didn’t want it either.

Yes, I killed her. I had warned her of the consequences. She said she’d take her chance. That chance didn’t turn out so well. She was back by my side by nightfall.

Yes, I killed her. I loved her. She slapped me and drew blood. She was feisty like that; liked it rough. Her eyes remained open through it all.

Yes, I killed her. She refused to believe me. She pretended like she wasn’t happy to see me. She had to, she was being watched. I could see the terror in her eyes. I had to free her.

Yes, I killed her. I still remember how her eyes grew wide every time she saw me. I never understood why she would deny our love. I asked her. She didn’t answer.

Yes, I killed her. She was very still. When I asked if this was truly what she wanted, she cried. She wanted relief from the pain and begged me to deliver   her. In the end, she thanked me.

Yes, I killed her. What else could I do? She was a witness.

Rashid’s stomach lurched. His spine gave an involuntary shudder. His jaws were set tightly, partly to keep the nausea away. The metal tabletop felt ice-cold under his fingers. He took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. The tiny room seemed to be closing around him. He looked at the man sitting across from him, both hands chained to a little hoop at the centre of the table. The man looked back at him with a steady gaze, without the slightest bit of emotion and waited. Rashid flexed his fingers, trying to prevent them from going numb. Then he reached back into the envelope and pulled out a picture of a woman. The man took one look at the photo and nodded.

Yes, I killed her...

Rashid sighed, his breath trembling under the cold, emotionless gaze.

He had forty more photos to go.

Yes, I killed her...

She

She walks down the corridor, one hand clutching the strap of her bag slung across her shoulder. She walks with confident steps, facing straight ahead but quickly scanning the crowd, although absent-mindedly. Laughter reaches her ears, she slants a glance towards the source and sees two of her classmates laughing, sharing a joke. She catches one of them staring at her.

Maybe they are discussing her, laughing at her.

She recoils within herself. Maybe it’s the weight she put on recently, or the dress that she’s wearing. Or maybe it’s something she did earlier which is being shared; she continues walking like nothing happened as possibilities flit through her mind.

Maybe it has nothing to do with her. After all, why would they be discussing her? They hardly ever noticed her.

She relaxes, but can’t resist pulling her hand through her hair and smoothening out her dress once, making sure nothing is amiss. She judges that she looks fine by the eyes that surround her. She waves and smiles at the people she knows. Most of them reciprocate, like it’s a reflex; some of them in their hurry to get somewhere, miss her. She doesn’t mind. After all, she is only the most ordinary girl that no one would notice. She exits the corridor, still unnoticed.

The teacher announces a project, divides the class in groups to stage a play. She looks around to find herself in a group of twelve. Some of them are good students, who start throwing around ideas, getting ready to work. Some of them, hardly interested, sit around with bored expressions. She keeps quiet; trying to figure out what to say, what would be accepted. She doesn’t want to stay something that would get brushed away, so ends up quietly listening.

The next day, decisions are to be made. She looks around to see that ideas are already clashing and egos working up. She keeps quiet for sometime before she finally speaks. At first no one even hears the words coming out of her mouth. When they do, they look at her with surprise, not accustomed to having her speak. She recoils, again, fearful of being slighted. When the group waits for her to speak, she gathers her courage and does so. She traces out her idea, carefully designed to incorporate the best of all the ideas thought out aloud the day before. She does it carefully making sure she doesn’t upset anyone along the way. Her group likes the idea and breaks into conversation with new energy, ready to work. One of them gives her a pat on the back, announces her name as the leader. She eyes the girl in amazement even as she basks in the glory. Days go by; the group works in close proximity. She works hard making sure everyone was doing well, pulling their weight, solving problems, always more than ready to adjust around the others. Her unwillingness to upset others gets appreciated as leadership skill and tact. She is more than happy to let them think so.

The final presentation comes. The play is huge success. The teachers love the performance; say it is commendable for a bunch of high school students to be able to think this maturely. The principal herself is impressed, says a few kind and encouraging words to them. She smiles all the way. Her group pats her, shouts cheers and congratulations to each other. It’s a happy day for her, a very special day. Any other day she would be sitting in her corner, clapping for someone else; and much like her, the ordinary gesture would also go unnoticed.

One of the girls shakes her hand and says, “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Of course, you didn’t. No one ever does!

But she doesn’t say it aloud. She smiles graciously and shakes her hand.

Next day, their class teacher calls the group forward, intending for the class to give them three cheers. She is sitting at the back, her friends busy talking about their recent shopping exploits. She is bored so she just listens. When the teacher’s voice reaches her ears she stands up. Her friend just moves the chair, without looking at her. She tries to go out into the isle but finds her path obstructed by bags. The rest of her group is already standing at the head of the classroom, the clapping starts. Her friend can’t hear her voice as she asks her to remove the bag. By the time she stumbles to the front the sound of clapping is already subsiding. Her group pulls her to their side. Smiling happily she joins them. 

One of them clutches her arm and whispers, “Where were you?”

She smiles, “Right there, you probably didn’t notice.”