N – Nothing

She hated waking up early. But in 2 minutes, she would wake and be fully up and not go back to sleep.

Because there were no happy thoughts to think about anymore, no dreams she wanted to continue while being partially asleep. No big arms, even imaginary ones, to keep her warm. This was it. She had to wake up and move on. Yesterday when he told her that there’s no big a wound that time cannot heal, she wanted to punch him. She knew that in 2 years it wouldn’t matter that she was dumped. But she had to wait to get to those 2 years. She had to wait for bigger and better problems to keep her mind off this and him. She had to wait to be dumped again by a new man to get her mind off this one.

What is it about the smallness of people, their hands, their bodies that seek protection from big ones? What is it about those big arms that you bury your face and your whole fucking soul in? Why is it so hard to let go of them? What is it about those hands that cup your body into a ball and hold you tight to their chest? Why does this leave you more vulnerable than anything?

She pushed away her warm, blue rug and lay in bed trying to let the cold in. It was a cold, cold morning and still dark outside. It was in these few moments that she would decide if she wanted to move on or pull the warmth back on and continue wallowing.

Maybe it doesn’t have to be 2 years, if she could just stop craving for warmth and bigness, she could move on now. This instant.

The Diwan gave a short, deafening screech as she tore her body from the mush warmth of a dozen heaters on the coldest morning ever recorded. Her body was heavy with disapproval and anger. She kicked her bag out of the way and slammed the bathroom door shut. She let out a soft scream when she touched the icy cold water and then she tortured her face with a full blast of that diseased water. She hadn’t cried yet and this was her way of attacking that big lump in her throat that had appeared last evening and was persistently making itself known ever since.

She shuddered with every splash of water that she threw on her face with a force that was hitherto unknown to her.

As she pulled her cycle out at 6.00 AM in the morning without scarf or gloves, she discovered a new physical discomfort and gladly accepted it. It was a great substitute to that threatening lump of ball in her throat. She cycled for half an hour before stopping at the market place which was a whole new world at this hour. It was busy, noisy and smelled like fresh carrots everywhere.

She smiled and looked over the coconut trees to find another ball, only bigger and an orange so red, it hurt her eyes. She shrugged and cycled on. The lump was gone. It would be back in a couple of hours and make rude reappearances in known spaces, in traffic signals, in lonely dark corners of theaters, in sand, in bed, in showers and in conversations but she was OK for now.