Sudhir had enjoyed his meeting with Jason. As confused as Jason was in his personal life, his work life was meticulously crafted. Jason continually achieved the always-inevitable goal of finding and putting his culprit in a cell far away. How many people had he held a hand in apprehending, ridding the world of the added sadness that might have been inflicted? Sudhir felt a twinge of jealousy at not having felt this satisfaction himself, and he realized that he was driven to the same end.
Sudhir was happy to be heading home. Janine was not in town for the next couple of days. He would be able to pick up his kids at his parents and spend some quality time with them on a foggy coastal evening. Every place you live, everyone talks about microclimates, but in the San Francisco-area it was never truer. You could drive a few miles in any direction and seemingly get 20-degree variances in temperature. This was most evident on the coast during a foggy day, which was the majority of days out of any given year.
The sandy beaches were heavily burdened that day with an overcast hue. The endless, vast darkness invaded without any sun present tending to wear people down at times. This was also the main reason the coastal community enjoyed a lower level of housing prices compared to the rest of the Peninsula. Where else in the world would ocean-front homes be less expensive than comparable structures further inland. It intuitively made little sense, but the fog was really the added detractor.
Sudhir paddled home through the thick substance after picking up his little ones, and, as usual on these days, his mother had packed him a very nice dinner. His mom didn’t take to Janine for the most part, but she did spoil him and her grandchildren. What mom does like her daughter-in-law, anyway? Talk about a Freudian-role issue, moms hated all daughters-in-laws. Nobody would ever be good enough for the son of any mother in her right mind.
After a nice prepared meal and the night’s assigned homework, the three of them sat down and watched a little TV. Snuggling between the two kids on the couch, Sudhir could not help but feel how blessed he was. He had amazing children who loved and admired him to no end. He worshipped his kids. Lately, with Janine going through her mid-life adjustment, they were the foundation that helped construct life into a meaningful existence.
They were watching the last taped episode of The Amazing Race, which had now become a family tradition. The three of them would make a huge bowl of popcorn and stay glued with anticipation on what couple would be the next booted off the show. Sudhir bet that night’s exits would be the two blonde girls. The show seemed to always have one group of blonde girls who were not the brightest on the block and made you laugh at the fulfilled cliché. It was either they or the frat boys that were sure to go. How the frat boys had ever lasted this long was truly amazing.
As the show neared its end and the blondes came up short as anticipated, Sudhir prepared the kids for bed. Story-time was out tonight—supplanted by TV, a more-often recurring theme as of late. Sudhir pushed the two into the bathroom for the tortuous task of brushing their teeth and washing their faces before bedtime. How bad could brushing teeth possibly be that it prompted bellowed yelps of protest every single night? You would think they were brushing with turpentine versus the bubble gum-flavored sweet toothpaste that kids used nowadays.
He placed each child in bed. He, then, set a glass of water next to their bedsides, predicting their nightly requests. Funny how the glass never seemed to be touched, but the security of knowing the water was there every evening was the saving grace. This led each child into a peaceful slumber, so it was well worth it.
After everything was quiet, he poured himself a glass of scotch on the rocks, which he had been thinking about since he first stepped across the threshold a few hours ago. He quickly gulped down the first pour. After preparing the second round, he sat down, placed the file he had been building on the coffee table, and spread out all the material. He knew he was not in a state to be much good, but maybe a different setting would give him a new perspective.
At times in your life an event threatens to rock your very core. The foundation that you have spent years building suddenly becomes vulnerable instantaneously. Everything you held true and believed in changes. Sudhir saw a name on the list of car owners, and he lost his ability to stand. He fell to the carpeted floor and hit his head on the coffee table as he went down. Like a beacon of light on a thunderstorm-ridden evening, his eyes were drawn directly to the name.
The flow of information that flew like daggers into every crevice of his brain was the sudden realization of the truth and what that meant. Everything added up too easily and quickly; but at the same time, it could not be true. The possibility was unimaginable and, therefore, was not real. It was not probable, and it was absolutely wrong. Could facts flow directionally to a point? Completely and totally implausibly in every sense of the definition of what wrong must mean? Sudhir recognized this name. The name held meaning to him and was something he never thought possible.
Sudhir felt his legs starting to weaken and realized that he was gasping desperately for each breath. Oxygen was eluding him like a wasp you might try to grab with your bare hands. His failed attempts were coming in short gasps, like the rapid fire of a machine gun. He began to understand he must be hyperventilating. He stumbled into the kitchen flailing wildly and grabbed a paper bag normally used for packing his children’s lunches. He fell to the laminated floor. He raised the bag to his mouth and lay there breathing in and out. The bag inflated and deflated as he gulped air into his over-used lungs.
He lost track of how long he lay on the floor, as memories flooded his mind. They were too numerous to count, and he felt overwhelmed with the conflicting feelings at war with his disbelief of what might be possible. How had he been so blind? Had he allowed alcohol to deaden his senses so that he no longer consciously acknowledged the very things that were most important? What world was he living in that anything like this was even possible?
Sudhir felt the immediate need to connect to somebody and bring some sense back into what was happening. He was navigating the mundane tasks and was forever finding himself lost in the daily routine. It is usually at the moment of self-reflection with a forced dose of reality check that one reevaluates their lives.
Sudhir remembered a time when he was younger. He and a bunch of friends were playing at one of their houses. Everyone was swimming in a pool and playing as boys do with adolescent abandon. The sudden fights that erupted usually dissipated quickly. If you were forced to narrow down the differences of boys versus girls, it would have to be that boys get angry and move on. Who remembers what yesterday’s fights were about? Who really cares when there are more important things to do in the present?
Girls get angry and remain so for hours, days, and even weeks. The anger they feel builds up inside them. If they are not careful, it can consume them from the inside out, leaving them hollow and alone. Why can’t girls agree to disagree without one of them having to come out on top? Does there always have to be a winner and, sadly enough, always a loser? Boys, in most cases, can’t even remember what a fight was about the following day as new adventures and unexplored avenues open. Boys hold simplistic ideas, like strapping a firecracker to the tail of your dog and watching him chase himself silly until it explodes.
Sudhir’s mind wandered to the day when there were five of the neighborhood’s boys running, jumping, and playing in the local pool. It was early, so nobody was around. Parents were still waking up. They had been playing for a couple of hours already and were sitting on the lawn chairs, exhausted from the devotion being thrust forth in the latest activity. Life was simple then, not like now.
Sudhir was finally feeling a sense of control coming back to his breathing and felt strength returning to his limbs and torso. He slowly raised himself up from the floor, grabbed the metal arms of the kitchen chair, and braced his stand back to fully upright. It was too much to handle right now, and he just needed to let things digest before he went any further.
He now frantically started looking for his glass of scotch and decidedly filled it up with fresh ice cubes. He grabbed the entire bottle and sat down in his favorite recliner. He flipped on the TV after his third glass, and he felt the drunken numbness filter to the very tips of his fingers. He knew he would not be in control of his drinking tonight. He would finish the bottle with utterly no care other than getting drunk and staying drunk for as long as he possible could.
He aimlessly flipped through channels, but he never stopped for longer than a few minutes. His vacant stare was sign enough that he was not really paying attention to the contents of what he was watching. He was merely using the background noise as a distraction from reality. He paused on one channel where a boy stood with his dog. They were playing fetch on some beach as the dog dutifully ran back and forth, excitedly, bursting off each time the boy raised his hand.
How many trips to the beach had he taken? Grabbing a friend’s dog, tugging and playing in heaps of arms legs and tails? Sudhir often watched his friend’s dogs. He would volunteer for the effort. Taking enjoyment out of the peace a dog brought with its joyful exuberance. Dogs were fantastic creatures. He only wished that Janine would allow him to have one someday--someday, before he was no longer part of this world.
The fogginess was now at full force, and Sudhir felt his eyelids growing heavy as he sipped of his drink. The inability to feel has its advantages though the permanent results are sad. You will always wake up, come back to the real world, and be forced to face reality. The only perceived benefit is the postponement of dealing with the issue.
It is not always a bad thing to let the dust settle and approach the same formidable obstacle from a new angle. Sudhir knew what tomorrow would bring. He felt as though somebody had dropped a steel wrecking ball from several stories high directly on his head. The next day would require him to remove the ball and face the truth.
He would hold out hope that he was wrong and that his leap to a conclusion was the result of his own imagination baselessly freefalling out of reality. A person could fabricate all kinds of hypothesis, but only facts led to a firm conclusion. He would wake up tomorrow, filter through the facts, and not let his emotions sway him any longer. He was feeling isolated and alone. He could not tell anyone of his instinctual thoughts until he knew completely that he was either right or wrong.
Sudhir didn’t feel the glass slip out of his hand. It tumbled to the floor from his outstretched fingers. The contents seeped into the deepest recesses of the padded cushion beneath the Berber carpet. Sudhir’s eyelids were now tightly shut as he snored. The volume of his snoring always matched the amount of alcohol he drank.
Every drink he took of scotch seemed to increase the volume knob one click on his labored nightly breathing. It would be another night in the chair for Sudhir. Troubled thoughts haunted his sleep as to what was to come.