Cheers 2!

This story below is a part two to my previous post titled 'Cheers!'. I wanted to know what happens ahead and I cannot be sure what happens next here unless I write a part two to it so here it is!

 

It has been a year but I think somehow have been able to revisit how the two characters in the part one think just like the first time. I hope I have done justice to them. So without further ado, here's Cheers part two!

 

 

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‘Watch out for the pillow’ you warn standing somewhere near the door, while I make way to your living room. I am literally trying to walk. I think about when I was a three year old, and how everyone in my family would stare in awe when I tried to walk.

I imagine if they were here now and wonder what they would say. ‘She’s balancing quite well for her age’ would be the offhand remark from one of my cousins for sure. To which I would retort ‘Try walking with 5 whiskies in your belly son’.

‘Whom are you talking to?’ says a voice behind me.

I turn around, and see that you are standing in front of our closed door, staring, half-amused, half-scared. But mostly looking almost as crazily drunk as me. Or is it my imagination that you are drunk? I can’t tell. And correction, it’s your door. I should at this moment be dropped off to my apartment, wherever it is. I do not know the time. But something tells me I should not be here. So I tell you that.

‘I should be home. Let’s go’

You sigh.

‘I cannot drive you. We’ll both die’ you say with a chuckle. Yes, that drunk chuckle. I am right, you, my best friend who has driven me to depths of sin I didn’t plan to explore, is inebriated.

‘But why?’ I say imagining our graves. Two RIPs written together on cold grey stones hit by the occasional chilly breeze on a night like this. I think I am about to cry. It is moving. Two RIPs written so close together. And that too with my birthdate on both of them.

‘I am drunk silly that is why. I’ll tell you what, the couch is all yours. And so is the remote. I am off to bed. See you in the morning. And the bathroom’s here’ you show with a wave of your hand everything you own, one by one. I memorize it like kids memorize ‘A for Apple’ ‘B for Banana’. I can hardly remember why you are telling me all this. I gape at you looking confused. I know I look confused because I am watching my crazy face in the mirrored cupboards around.

You take cue and hold my shoulders lightly, guiding me to the couch, where I instantly slump. You act over-smart and put your patched blanket on me.

‘It is hot, I don’t need it’ I snap back.

‘I’ll turn on the AC’ you say. I watch you moving around your room. It is funny. You act like a parent.

‘Thank you daddy’ I kid you. You shrug it off and chuckle again. I have been meaning to tell you since forever how much I love that chuckle. But I am in better control now. I am telling myself mentally ‘don’t say a word, don’t say a word’

You open a tiny glass shelf somewhere in your dainty little dark room. I just notice it is dark, only the yellow night-lamps are on.

‘Here’s Hangover, kiddo, lets watch it.’ You let out another chuckle.

Don’t say a word. Don’t say a word.

‘You look weird, are you okay?’ you say as you look at me while settling onto the opposite far end of the couch. It is almost like you are scared of me.

‘Wait, are you gonna puke now?’ You ask and I stare back in horror, just thinking of the possibility. It is my worst fear. I have a hiccup and I try to detect some hint of nausea. I still have that horror face. You chuckle again.

Don’t say a word!

I relax a bit. I think my stomach is okay. I concentrate on the sound of the AC in your room. That is the only sound there. It is driving me nuts. I wish there was loud music. I am thinking too much. Way too much. I think I am a drunk thinker. I need music to say ‘shut up’ to my thoughts.

The movie starts. I love Alan. He is fat, looks mature but acts like a five year old, gets everyone into trouble and can cry in the presence of four grown men his age. I love him. I am just watching him. I sleep through some of the movie I think. You are surprisingly awake, watching with a hundred percent attention, almost like a critic, huddled in the opposite small little corner of your own couch. You love movies. I stretch a bit to fill up the rest of the wasted couch space.

‘They found him, they found him’ I hear someone shouting.

‘Who, me?’ I wake up in absolute panic to see you speaking to the TV as it plays one of the final scenes of the movie. And then, it just comes back to me, every little detail of the crazy evening. The sneaky liquor shopping, the crying, the consoling, the laughing, the drinking, the hugging, the movie watching idea, the entering your room, the entering your room…

Where am I? Why is there a pillow under my head?

I see you almost jumping from your little-corner-of-the-couch-seat like a kid.

‘Good morning!’ you shout out loud.

‘Damn what time is, it?’ I ask.

‘You just slept for an hour, sorry I woke you up. I think I’ll get to bed, and you sleep here okay?’

‘No, sit. I missed the movie. Start it again’ I am weirdly adamant. Some conscious part of me tries to remind me I am ordering someone in their house to not sleep in their bed but sit with me on the couch and watch a movie all over again. But I think my newfound courage wins over.

‘We’ll see part two since you already saw part one okay?’ I suggest looking at your crestfallen self. I think that is the most logical thinking I have done the entire night. Part two because part one is done. I want to see you chuckle again. I love that.

Don’t say a word.

‘I lowwwwwe how you chukkkle’ I say followed my own giggling.

You ignore the comment and simply head over to your stupid tiny CD shelf. It has more of you than me. That qualifies it to be called stupid. I mourn in silence all the while you are searching for the CD. You have misplaced it, you mutter this in between opening all the tiny stupid shelves you own. It is like you are raiding your own house. Your muttering ceases after a while. I think you have found the CD. The AC is getting louder now that you have stopped speaking to yourself.

‘You know, I am wondering, how you speak a lot when you’re not drunk. But somehow, this is the quietest I have seen you since a while. What are you thinking dude?’

I hate it when you call me dude. But I play along every time.

‘Sit with me. And don’t call me dude’ I say. It is a command more than a request. I love this newfound courage. It makes me feel powerful. I mean, one could live with it.

‘Okay dude’ you say as you sit with me. I smack you with the handy pillow which now has my head-print on it.

You just stick out your tongue and say ‘Duuuuude’

I smack you again. I think I qualify as crazy now. My conscious self tries to remind me that I am not the pillow-fight kind of person. But I don’t know, I still smack you again, a little. It looks like the logical thing to do.

‘Okay’ you say and raise your hands like I am arresting you. I put back the pillow behind us. It is big enough to accommodate your back too. Wow, we are sharing furniture and bedding. That’s a new thing.

You start the movie. Drum-roll. I love the opening credits every-time I start a movie. It is like packing for a holiday.

I watch with more concentration this time. I do not want to miss your chuckles.

'I am a nurse, I'm just not registered.' my favorite character says.

*Chuckle*

I think butterflies explode inside of me. I am literally in love with that sound. I pull your cheek like a little kid. You chuckle more.

‘Whaaaat? It’s funny’ you shrug apologetically as you speak.

I am in full concentration now. You doze off on my shoulder though, in five minutes. I wonder if I should switch off the TV and wake you up, push you to your room or something. But something stops me. I like how you look, dozing away carelessly like that. I can’t stay awake waiting for you to wake up. I am too far gone for that. But I try hard to keep my eyes open. I am almost frozen there with you. It is the perfect frame. Better than the any I have seen on the TV. It is ours, after-all.

 

 

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I hope you chuckled a little while reading and that you enjoyed the 'spirit' here. ;)
Let me know what you think in the comment section below :)

P.S. : Link to part one of this story

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Disclaimer : This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. :P  (Except that, as some of you might know the dialogue ‘I am a nurse, I'm just not registered.’ is from the movie Hangover which belongs to its respective creators.)