I stepped out from the bright lights of the metro station, into the deep, dark shade of the pavement. Fighting through the hordes of rickshaw-waalas offering to take me anywhere within a 2 km radius, I started walking home. The leaves had begun to come down in large numbers and as they crunched underneath my boots, I looked up to look at the pitiful orange sky peeking through the bare branches of the trees.
There were surprisingly few people on the streets that night. The Old Man in the Beret seemed to have skipped his evening walk. The two Kheera-Waalas sat behind their carts, sharing a cup of tea by the light of their customer-free stalls. Even the pan stall was empty that night, something that so rarely, if ever, happened. I needed a new lighter, but I didn't feel like stopping. It was one of those nights when my feet just kept going. I kept walking.
I tucked my hands into the pockets of my jacket and picked up a pace for no reason but the chill that had started to bite me a little. I breathed a little harder and my breath condensed in the cold night air.
At the end of the street, I turned into my lane and I instantly saw a belt of smoke rising up in the distance. 'Some bastards are having themselves a bonfire', I thought, at first, but as I got closer, I realized that this huge swath of smoke couldn't be coming from even a large bonfire. This was someone's house going up.
'That poor bastard', I thought, and I crossed to the other side of the road and kept walking. It had been too good of a day and I wasn't going to bother myself with some other idiot's sorrow. My heels had begun to ache from being on my feet all day, and I couldn't wait to get home and soak them in a bath nearly hot enough to scald my skin.
So I dug my hands deeper into my pockets, kept my eyes on my feet and I kept walking. The air had started to smell like acrid smoke, and the sounds of the crowd got louder and louder till I realized they were coming from the house above which Leo lived.
I stopped completely short for a second. A strange horror came over me, the eyes widened and I had to remind myself to keep breathing. Suddenly, the fire engine/ambulance sirens that had been mere background noise a few minutes ago became a loud, raucous screams. But I kept walking.
As the sounds drew nearer, I broke out into a run till I was at the outskirts of the huge crowd that had gathered outside the house. I pushed my way through all the neighbours and jumped over the fence to see Leo sitting on the lawn, knees up, face in his hands. I ran to him and put my arms around him, but he just wordlessly curled deeper into a ball. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to comfort him and say soothing things, but something told me it was wiser to walk away.
I unwrapped myself from around him and walked to the edge of the lawns. The firemen were putting out the destroyed wreckage of the house, as Leo's landlord watched with blank eyes. I turned to him.
"What happened?" I asked.
"Heater short circuit" he said.
"I'm so sorry" I said.
"It's fine. I was insured."
"Not for the memories."
A tear rolled down his cheek and I mentally kicked myself.
"No. Not for the memories."
"You know, your friend wasn't insured for anything" he said.
"I don't think that's what's going to hurt him, though." I said.
"He's sitting there, crying about his shirts." The Landlord said.
"His... shirts?" I was baffled.
"You know those concert shirts he's always wearing. He had dozens, from dozens of concerts, he says, when anyone asked him. It's just shirts. Jai shri krishna. These kids."
"It's not the shirts, uncle. His whole life was in that room. All his music, his guitars, his journals. Everything was there. And maybe the idea that he's lost everything, all his family photos, the books his father bought him, the memories.... maybe that's too much right now. For some reason crying about the shirts is easier than crying about the utter destruction of so many things of sentimental value. Who actually thinks their house is going to burn down? Did you? Try to imagine yourself dealing with the fact that the things you once cared about so much were nothing more than ash. A life's work is wasted. So maybe Leo is crying about his shirts. But maybe Leo is actually crying over being completely, utterly lost. Shirts might be the easiest thing to admit to, instead of pure devastation."
I could have gone on with my rant, but at that moment, Leo looked back at me, with a glassy stare that made me feel like he was looking right through me. I walked over to him, crouched down and put my arms around him again.
He put his head on my shoulder, and I put my hand over it. I ran my fingers around his head, through his hair. His breathe was warm and short on my neck. I stroked his back, and he looked up.
"I can't believe it, Trillian."
"So don't. Just close your eyes right now."
"No. I need to find a place to stay."
"No, you don't. Come on. Let's go home."
He looked at me for a whole moment, at the end of which we got up, still wrapped up in each other, turned around and started for my flat. The Landlord looked at us with his blank eyes, but we kept walking.
I didn't know what I was going to do. I didn't know how my tiny 9' by 9' room was going to fit the both of us. I didn't know what this meant for us, or how the sleeping arrangements would work. I didn't know what I was going to tell my own landlord.
All I knew was that for the first time, someone needed me. For the first time, someone needed my help and support. For the first time, I had to take care of someone and I was damned if I wasn't going to do it.
So we kept walking.
I stopped completely short for a second. A strange horror came over me, the eyes widened and I had to remind myself to keep breathing. Suddenly, the fire engine/ambulance sirens that had been mere background noise a few minutes ago became a loud, raucous screams. But I kept walking.
As the sounds drew nearer, I broke out into a run till I was at the outskirts of the huge crowd that had gathered outside the house. I pushed my way through all the neighbours and jumped over the fence to see Leo sitting on the lawn, knees up, face in his hands. I ran to him and put my arms around him, but he just wordlessly curled deeper into a ball. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to comfort him and say soothing things, but something told me it was wiser to walk away.
I unwrapped myself from around him and walked to the edge of the lawns. The firemen were putting out the destroyed wreckage of the house, as Leo's landlord watched with blank eyes. I turned to him.
"What happened?" I asked.
"Heater short circuit" he said.
"I'm so sorry" I said.
"It's fine. I was insured."
"Not for the memories."
A tear rolled down his cheek and I mentally kicked myself.
"No. Not for the memories."
"I don't think that's what's going to hurt him, though." I said.
"He's sitting there, crying about his shirts." The Landlord said.
"His... shirts?" I was baffled.
"You know those concert shirts he's always wearing. He had dozens, from dozens of concerts, he says, when anyone asked him. It's just shirts. Jai shri krishna. These kids."
"It's not the shirts, uncle. His whole life was in that room. All his music, his guitars, his journals. Everything was there. And maybe the idea that he's lost everything, all his family photos, the books his father bought him, the memories.... maybe that's too much right now. For some reason crying about the shirts is easier than crying about the utter destruction of so many things of sentimental value. Who actually thinks their house is going to burn down? Did you? Try to imagine yourself dealing with the fact that the things you once cared about so much were nothing more than ash. A life's work is wasted. So maybe Leo is crying about his shirts. But maybe Leo is actually crying over being completely, utterly lost. Shirts might be the easiest thing to admit to, instead of pure devastation."
I could have gone on with my rant, but at that moment, Leo looked back at me, with a glassy stare that made me feel like he was looking right through me. I walked over to him, crouched down and put my arms around him again.
He put his head on my shoulder, and I put my hand over it. I ran my fingers around his head, through his hair. His breathe was warm and short on my neck. I stroked his back, and he looked up.
"I can't believe it, Trillian."
"So don't. Just close your eyes right now."
"No. I need to find a place to stay."
"No, you don't. Come on. Let's go home."
He looked at me for a whole moment, at the end of which we got up, still wrapped up in each other, turned around and started for my flat. The Landlord looked at us with his blank eyes, but we kept walking.
I didn't know what I was going to do. I didn't know how my tiny 9' by 9' room was going to fit the both of us. I didn't know what this meant for us, or how the sleeping arrangements would work. I didn't know what I was going to tell my own landlord.
All I knew was that for the first time, someone needed me. For the first time, someone needed my help and support. For the first time, I had to take care of someone and I was damned if I wasn't going to do it.
So we kept walking.
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