The reunion

His profile picture on Facebook showed him holding hands with his wife on a Goa beach. She was almost a foot shorter, but as love would have it, she fit right into the nook of his shoulder. They were both smiling – his was the familiar impish one, while she wore a grin that made me want to like her. They looked so “supposed to be together”. Not that I was jealous, because I could afford to not be. My own albums would show me standing with my more than perfect husband – most often laughing, he was great at making me laugh. We were happy. And that was what was strange. I was happy, so then why was I looking at my first boyfriend’s pictures and being an obsessive witch. Could I even call him a boyfriend I wondered? We never went on a date, never held hands, never even had a decent conversation about our lives. We had just behaved like teenagers did – grinned, blushed and were too embarrassed to reveal our true feelings. We always hid our feelings – at least the good ones. The bad ones were aired out at more than one occasion. And then later, once things got messy – he liked me, I didn’t; I liked him, he was dating a much prettier girl; I still liked him but he went on dating another – we were never the same again. John Mayer surely knew what he was singing about when he crooned “Friends, lovers or nothing”. We were never lovers because fate had intervened; we weren’t friends anymore because when one erred, the other chose to not forgive. So we had ended up being the last option – nothing. It seemed now that all epitaphs about first loves were false. We knew each other from the time the opposite sexes started knowing each other; he stood outside the medical room as I got a pad for my first period; he held my hair back as I vomited my first drink; he had hugged me tight the day every time I felt low – in many ways, he was my first friend. But today, we were nothing. I didn’t know if he still liked Nirvana, or if he thought Megan Fox was the hottest. I didn’t know how he knew his wife was the one and I couldn’t tell him that I thought he think my husband was a great guy. I didn’t know if he ever thought of me like I thought of him, ever so often. The memories which were laced with love were tainted with anger of him behaving the way he did with me – cutting me off so brutally from his life. Though strangely, it didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. After all, as I said before, first love wasn’t all that it was cracked to be. But I did allow myself a peek at his life once in a while, just to see if he looked the same, smiled the same. Maybe I wanted to see a smile that made me feel he would have forgiven me – after all, water under the bridge and all that. Maybe he had forgiven me for being not being able to shut my mouth when I needed to, for being selfish, for being insensitive, for being one not to be trusted with a secret and feelings. And though I resented the fact that he never looked at the good things I did – I knew all he wanted was a break from all my drama. Even his wife must have heard about me – the loud mouth witch from her husband’s otherwise pristine past. I was the black blob and so I was removed. Even another good friend had commented,” I must be a rare one who doesn’t hate you”. Did everyone hate me? Oh god, I had to stop being selfish.

The FB notification was talking about a school reunion. Did I really want to go and be probed by a bunch of people who hated me? But I wanted to see my ex best friend and his better half, even if I was going to be ignored. So I was going to do it – suck up and be a star. Or at least, pretend I was. If they didn’t like me, so be it. At least everyone will pretend to be cordial, some laughs, some taunts, and some massive drinks later, the evening will be finished. That didn’t seem so bad. But yes, I was going to look good – at least that was something I was good at – despite the love handles. Maybe I could slip on some spanx, tuck in that tummy. Be fatter than the bitchy ladies? No way. I know it sounded so petty, but this was the real world, and in the real world, it mattered if I looked good enough or thin enough. It did, it was a world where the real me had no takers.  So I stuffed myself in a new blue cocktail dress that hid those flaws that were only for me to see and entered the room with a tentative glance. My husband seemed to notice my apprehension because he held my hand, and suddenly I felt the knot in my stomach melt. But it was back again as soon as the bunch of vultures descended. “Hi, it’s you. Have you lost weight,” asked Purva, the gossip of the school, who had once told me that everyone thought I was easy, when it was actually her spreading the rumour. “Saw your byline the other day, good going!” said Akash, the ex crush with whom I had made out on the bar of a once popular haunt. I had not remembered even a single detail the next day, but my school had. “Oh my god, it’s you. Guys be careful with what you say in front of this one. She and her mouth are two different identities,” said Manu, who deep down knew where it hit me the most. But through it all, I could see him -- getting a drink as he guffawed at something, his throaty laugh floating over.

He saw me and I thought I saw many feelings flash on that good looking face. I almost imagined him winking at me – the way he used to every time we had a secret back when we were in 8^th grade. But he was not winking. His face was contorting, as if it was making up his mind on what expression to take on. But he was suddenly not even looking at me anymore. The girl from the Facebook picture was next to him, and he looked away with relief, even moving out of my line of vision. The vultures were back again, and I downed a martini to become indifferent. This wasn’t going to be easy. This was the only way I could get closure, and I didn’t want to let it go. My friends often asked me why I needed closure. Why couldn’t I just let the man be – he had a wife, I had a husband. Why was I still fixating on the man who obviously had made his decision of throwing me out of his life? Didn’t I have any dignity? Wasn’t my husband enough for me? And that’s where I pitied them. We were two people who had started our adult lives together. Didn’t we have a right to end it on a note that didn’t make us cringe? But I knew I was asking that question only for my sake – what could he want?

He didn’t want me in his life, that was for sure. He had empathically asked me to keep away, because I was just too much of a bitch. And somewhere, I wasn’t even sure why, and when did he decide that. I was condemned without a trial and that’s what was so infuriating. I wanted to say my two-bit and then let him take a decision – even if he decide he still didn’t want me in his life, at least I would have said my bit. I know it all seemed like it was just about me. But then, how could I know what he wanted, if he wouldn’t even talk to me about it.

Namrata, my mature and so sorted friend gave me a sad smile, “why don’t you let it go. Why do you need to dig it all up? Don’t you have better things to do.” Of course I had better things to do, but this was a personal journey I had to undertake for the well being of my ego. “So it’s your ego you are concerned about?” she looked at me hard. “What would you have done?” I spat back. “It would never have been me,” she smiled and looked away. My husband had been watching all this while and I knew he noticed things more minutely than anyone I ever knew. He saw my anxious eyes search for Ankit. He saw me gulp down one too many drinks, and I knew he saw my brain working overtime going over the pros and cons. Was I hurting him? I knew I was, but I also knew that I needed to do this.

So, I held his hand and walked over to where Ankit and his wife stood. I could feel the conversation slowing down and everyone watched me cover that last mile. I felt as if I was in a war movie – walking the distance over to the land mine. It was quiet, and we were face to face. And for a minute everyone disappeared. I opened my mouth, but nothing seemed to emerge. Then, I suddenly felt a hand on my arm. Ankit was saying something about how good it was too see me, his wife was smiling that smile at me. And I was saying something similar back to them. But it seemed surreal. I felt as if I watching myself from up above. Maybe now, I could talk to him about what went wrong. I would go up to him again before the evening ended and sort things out. I knew that people was still watching us. We passed each other with easy nonchalance and as he walked away with his wife to another group of friends, I felt a load going off my shoulders. And then I heard his voice – the clear tone that was so him – “I can’t even remember being friends with her. Thank God for that, right?” As people laughed in hushed giggles, I smiled in relief. Ankit had finally given me the reason I needed to erase the past. It was not surreal anymore, it was real, and finally, it was all good. And that, what you call, closure. Thank You Rachel Green!