Undulating Dreams

She ran hard. Heart pounding against her chest, legs numb, but she didn’t stop. She crushed the frothy waves on her way and crushed the little snails. She was running away from the deafening din of thoughts. She was running away from the image of blissfully happy face of her husband, transforming into a dense smokey claw.

Two weeks ago her dreams shattered on her bathroom floor when those red lines emerged on the plastic stick. She had planned long years of travelling, writing and exploring, with her husband which had brought them to the remote coasts of Kerala. They would stay there for few months, she working on her book and he collecting pictures for his grand gallery opening.

She remembered the day when they first met. It was a November sun set when he stealthily took pictures of her while she wrote in her notebook sitting on the white sand as the waves kissed her heels and shied away. The thin strap of her white tunic would reveal a strip of pale skin on the crimson shoulder as she stirred to wrap her hair around on one side. He would later admit that he had fallen in love with her that very day, weeks before he called to tell her that her pictures had won him award and that he wanted to apologize over a cup of coffee for the undue liberty he took.

The rocky shore was tearing through her shoes now, hurting her feet – yet she ran to grasp that ever elusive future she had imagined. How could he put his life, his passion, his camera aside, she thought, for the nameless, shapeless unsolicited life that she was carrying? They had argued for three nights when she finally broke down. He cupped her face, looked at her with his moist eye lashes and begged “Sweetheart - the only thing I want to do is to give this child everything that my father denied me. Please let me have this closure.” She relented, just to see the childish smile on his face.Then why did she wake up in the middle of the night every day since, dreading her decision and devising a way out? Why did she take up running on the beach every day since, as soon as he left for the shoot?

She returned to their cottage exhausted enough to think anymore. She took off her shoes and hung them on the fence. As she crashed on her bed, melting into a trance, a fragile little ‘dream’ like thought sneaked into her consciousness.  She heard a giggle, and saw two silhouettes. It was more lucid now. She saw herself as a child, pure and vulnerable, and then she saw herself, older, wiser, holding the child’s hand. She was teaching her to write.  She planted a kiss on her nose. They giggled again. ‘What is happening?’  A shadow witnessing the dream, questioned. ‘This is not what you desire – Or is it?’ Her countenance grew serious. She tried pulling away from the child who clung to her waist. It was late; she had to go but the child held her tight around her waist, so tight it hurt.

She came out of her trance in pain. The white linen of her bed was now red. She cried. It was indeed too late to ponder over the lucid dream. He had returned to their cottage and rushed to her side.

“Baby- we need to get you to the hospital. It’s a long way. ”. He was heartbroken but his wife was his first child and his first concern. He carried her outside in his arms and gently laid her inside the car.

“Let me get your shoes.” He ran back to the threshold of their cottage and picked the shoes that hung on the fence. It was drenched, battered and sand smeared. He stood there frozen momentarily as it dawned upon him - a cruel possibility. His steps grew heavier as he returned to the car to his suffering wife. His piercing glare ordered her to look him in the eyes and refute the allegations that his wounded heart was throwing. She didn’t. He gave the shoes in her hand, not by her foot, but in her hand and drove off in silence, not comforting her, just a hollow silence - leaving behind only the dreams undulating over white sand.