Rare Circumstances

In the year of 1999 all my hopes shattered, my idea of life was uprooted and bones tingled with fear at the very thought of love for I believed that every happy thing ends on a rather sad note.

Yet after years in hospital and more years in therapy I came out to be a strong person. And during my periods of sanity I realized I had inherited much. But the irony is when I wanted money I was penniless and now out of nowhere I have everything I don’t want.

Pushing my wheelchair hard, mainly out of frustration, I decided to end my social identity as a recluse. I decided to sell books on a stall by the road!

I could not continue with my old job of running a heartless company and neither could I possibly face the monotonous schedule and official diorama. Added to this, I didn’t have many friends who would ridicule my desire to be with people of a different genre. But there was Mr. P, my psychologist and I didn’t tell him about my future venture.

I was young and reckless but that is how I found my wife.

Of all the books at my home my most beloved possession was The Lord of the Rings by JRR Tolkien. Almost every night I would fall asleep by its side. My father would read every line with heartfelt emotions and mother would help me dress like an elf whenever I wanted to run away into my dreams. But as I said happy isn’t what was planned for me. Now, whenever I am broken I have my copy of the book and I would read it just for the sake of old times.

Years later, I was beside my stall, hoping to be greeted by a customer I read my favorite book. The street was dark with a distinct smell of O’ Henry’s burgers. There was a strong wind which made the atmosphere more gloomy and pale, yet I had a strong feeling of being watched. Amid the howling dogs, honking cars and screaming children Mr. P came. Stomping at the carpet he said, “Hello, Jensen. How have you been feeling lately?”

I found those words unwelcome. If I said that I was fine he would emotionally blackmail me and if I said that I wasn’t he would hover over me till death. To avoid all the agony I said in a rather puny voice, “Same old, same old.”

 “Well, since you didn’t return any of my calls I took the liberty of allowing myself to ponder over your shop. And by seeing your under-improved state I suggest you should find another means to spend your day. And how many times do I have to tell you not to read that book, not to fret over what had happened?”

“This is my idea of happiness and that is all I have to say.”

Providing much relief, a woman too pretty for her age stepped ahead looking for a romantic novel (a genre I hate more than anything). She scrolled through a book and flipped through the pages just like the breeze which ran its hands through her unbelievably dark hair. She asked what the price was and I couldn’t speak. She was just as I had imagined her to be, my Arwen the fairest creature from my beloved book. I searched for words and surprisingly instead of saying anything required I demanded two dollars.

That night I couldn’t sleep, I had been hallucinating. Scared I went to my bed with difficulty. My inability to walk had rendered me useless. I flipped through the pages of the wonderful book. I went into a deep slumber. And when I woke up my world had changed. I wasn’t Jensen Archer, the poor rich guy. But I was the king of the men, Aragorn, the rider from north gifted with wisdom and longevity. My love of life was Arwen and I was there to save the world from its doomed end. I wasn’t in wheelchair any more for I could run. I had somehow found a passage to the place I had always wanted to be in.