Ever wondered what is to live fruitfully, reach the pinnacle of your life, see all your dreams and all your wishes come true. When your ambitions have been satisfied and you are happy, happy, and happy to the fullest. Your life never gets any better than this. Then what would you do? You seem to get stuck in that one moment and that one moment becomes all doesn’t it? Doesn’t it-It do! An utter sense of desolation sets in. To hell with it, it does.
I am not a writer, you see. I needn’t have ever picked up my pen to write if my best friend had not turned 20. Yup! She made me promise that I would write for her. This was her last wish, you see, always a drama queen. Full of herself! She always did everything in style. She came into, no, stumbled into my life when we were in 8th standard together. The first thing she ever did was to stumble upon the lace of her shoe and bang into me, clutching my hands for support and knocking my purple water-bottle straight out of my hands and splattering water in all directions. I was going to blast on her (I was famous for my anger) when her small ‘sorry’ and her long face stopped me. “Fine” I grumbled which led to an introduction by our common frenemy. The frenemy was hoping to instigate a heated rivalry; instead he ended up forming a strong-cement like bond of friendship-a really thick foundation of the best kind of stone you would ever find. I am not a writer so you better excuse my expressions. I am, anyways mad at her so I am not going to honor her by saying that I miss her every moment of my life, the stupid sweet things which she did for me, the guys whom she apologized to when I slapped them or the annoying brothers of mine whom she shooed off and the numerous gleeful short-forms which we invented for every and anything on this earth. I am just writing this to tell her I hate her.
16 July was her birthday-the happiest day of her life (so-called), I called her up to wish her some 10 minutes before midnight. She kept on chanting like a parrot-“I love you”(too much of love, if u ask me). In the evening, when she met me, she hugged me as if it was the last time she was ever going to hug me. She was crying when she hugged me, calling it “tears of happiness”. She was surrounded by love, breathing love and living love, getting smothered by love. This birthday for her had been the most beautiful one. Her life had been a joyful one. The guy whom she had wanted to be her boyfriend had finally proposed, her parents had thrown a big party, her friends had thrown a huge lunch and I(separately after the lunch) had unleashed a flood of surprise gifts on her (probably should not have). I thought she was drunk after on vodka-Absolute and Smirnoff and beer while she kept on shouting in my ears that it was the best moment of her life. The last thing on her wish list had been to see me and that being done; she decided to believe that her life could not get better than this. She wanted to preserve the moment, be preserved in it. She wanted the things to get frozen, remain forever as they were. Keep on living this moment, remain alive in this day and till this day. Her last wish was to go to her grave with the memory of only this life which she had lived up till now. Nothing else, nothing else and nothing else. . .
My friend always did whatever she said. She did this too. In hindsight, I realized that when she had secured a promise from me to write about her, she was planning her death. She did everything in style. She came to my life in an unexpected style and left it exactly, 8 years later in an unexpected style. Come to think of it, she never did cut her birthday cake, she slashed it into pieces. I should have realized it when she was destroying, mutilating the icing on the cake in which her name was written. She was a very rational human, you see. She had a procedure to do all things. Her wish for me, the drinking, the slashing of the cake, she would always do things in a very secretive manner. She loved tall buildings, structures that kissed and caressed the sky. I had left her on the terrace of her house-third floor. She had a beautiful terrace garden. She had clicked pics of me and her in that cozy little garden. She probably jumped from it an hour later.
I only write this to because she asked me too but to tell her that her happiness was all fake. It wasn’t beautiful, it smothered her, crushed her to bits and pieces. If this was happiness, then what did I used to feel when she was there with me? Right now, I was in shock and pain. But I didn’t let her going disturb me. We were born few months apart, the date being same. I was going to follow her to tell her that her entire plan had failed, she had ruined the happiness of those around her and all of them were miserable and choked with grief and hate in parts. Her preservation of the moment theory was plain simple nonsense. I could go and tell her all this in a few day’s time or probably years. She deserves to know what a huge fool she had been but she can also wait a little longer, a few hours at least. You see, I am turning 20 tomorrow.