Feb 13, 2012


By Naveen Qazi

56/2 Street
My side of the bed
23rd - Jan- 2011
Dear Ahmed,
It’s been three days now. Do you know that up there? I don’t know how God is treating you, but after He took you away from me I hope He’s treating you good.
Words like “I’m sorry” “He was a great fellow” doesn’t make sense to me anymore, Ahmed. They don’t affect me. I watch them with a blank expression and empty eyes. How do they know what you were like? They can never know you like I do and thus, they can never know how numb I feel.
It’s stupid for them to think that they understand the agony I am in. Their pats, hugs and condolences are worthless. They don’t know what it’s like when everyone is around you but you still feel all alone. They don’t know what it’s like to try to sleep in the bed that once belonged to both of us.
Its middle of July and I’m shivering inside the double quilt. Why is it suddenly so cold, Ahmed? Can you see me right now, Ahmed?
I wish I could talk to you. I hope you would read this. I hope you would just come back, Ahmed. I miss you.

Forever yours

56/2 Street
My side of the bed
18th -Feb- 2011
Dear Ahmed,
They say I should move on now. Move on? Who are they kidding with? Your mother stopped by yesterday, she wants me to pack all your clothes in labeled boxes. She’ll send the driver tomorrow to take them to Goodwill.
I tried to open your closet and after fifteen minutes of failed, devastating efforts, whem my tears finally ran dry – I opened it. The closet still smells of you, you know that, Ahmed? The last time you walked in before that unfortunate night, wearing Chocolate AXE – the smell still lingers.
Your blue 100% cotton shirt was the first one I touched. The juice stain where you spilled it on our first date is still there. I remember the number of times I told you to be careful with a pomegranate juice. And the endless amount of time we spent, hands soaked in surf, rubbing the stain that wouldn’t go away. The stain still smells of a mixture of pomegranate juice and surf now. 
After folding all of your shirts in a neat pile and inhaling subdued odor of your aftershave, I finally gave up.  I sobbed on the floor hugging the shirts that touched your body. I cannot imagine someone else wearing the shirt I gifted you or the shirt you thought had an itchy collar. I just can’t.
I had kept all your shirts back t where they belong, forever. I don’t have the strength of giving away something that was once yours. Your mother needs to understand that now, Ahmed.

                                                                                                                                               Love, Maha

56/2 Street
My side of the bed
20th- March-2011
It’s been a month now. Why isn’t the pain I feel receding? The numbness is long gone. All I feel is pain. The piercing pain that starts from the pit of my stomach which slowly seeps through my entire body and seizes it. It hurts so much, I scream and call out your name but all I get back is echoes of my own pained voice.
I think the noise is upsetting the neighbors. But they are too scared to object I guess. It’s so empty, the house is so empty without your hovering presence, Ahmed. The last time I checked the fridge even that was empty.
You went to buy the groceries Ahmed, why didn’t you come back? Why the truck did didn’t see the red light and crashed into your Corolla? Is this what even happened, Ahmed?  Because that’s what they told me, just as I lost consciousness too.
I don’t know how to live like this anymore. It’s empty, agonizing and worthless. My life has no worth, any meaning without you. Every time I close my eyes I see your face. How is that even fair? Even if I try to move on, I can’t. But then, I don’t want to, Ahmed.
Can you talk to God and ask him to call me too? Tell him your lonely, desperate wife is begging Him. He takes lives of innocent, unwilling people it won’t be a problem to take life of a willing human now, would it?

Only Yours


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