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Padanaram: A Short Story
By Peter Orner (Adapted)
“You can’t just talk things away.”
“I’m not trying to talk it away. I’m just…existing, trying to—”
The futility of returning to places once filled with joy struck her. It was a longing that felt perhaps more like faith—a faith she believed she no longer deserved. Yet, here she was, pretending. Pretending was the only way to keep the unwelcome memories at bay. They found themselves back to this familiar routine. When one anticipates significant change and it fails to materialize, what remains but to keep up the façade?
“What about the little beach with the broken chairs?” he suggested.
“Yes.”
They made their way to the water, three quiet blocks, and she felt a wave of relief upon discovering the chairs were gone. Settling on the grass, he launched into a discussion about real estate and the inevitable destruction it brings. He often lamented the wealthy—“the looters!”—his genuine disdain mingling with an almost desperate yearning for the wealth he could never grasp. He didn’t hide this contradiction, and she admired his open hypocrisy. To her, harboring hatred for what you desired felt entirely reasonable. Now, he attributed the chair’s absence to the affluent, who always seemed to “improve” what didn’t need it, ruining everything in the process. While she didn’t respond directly—lost in her own thoughts—the missing chairs represented a shift from their last visit, a change she appreciated, even if it stemmed from the actions of the wealthy.
“It would be nice to break some new chairs and leave them here.”
She gazed at the water, at the sailboats drifting, and at an odd floating structure that resembled a doghouse. At least that was still there. She hesitated to mention it, fearing that acknowledging it might cause it to vanish or change in some way. An old boat with a shingled roof bobbed beside the sailboats, a contradiction in her feelings. She was grateful for the absence of the chairs while also relieved that the doghouse boat remained. Yet, there was still time. The odds were not entirely against them; perhaps it was just a matter of perspective. Such moments occur daily, and she recalled a time in her mid-thirties when relief overshadowed grief. Grief, she mused, is situational—location, location, location, she could almost hear him saying.
She found herself torn—was her issue chronic conflicting desires? Yes, there was time, but could one not mourn what was lost? There’s a certain harshness to optimism. The damp grass soaked through her sundress. Later, at the hotel by the yacht club, they would undress, and the act would serve as a distraction from her mounting frustrations with him—his incessant chatter. Hotel sex had always appealed to her; it provided a means to vent her anger, not only at him but also at a God she hadn’t contemplated much until now. She could almost perceive a divine presence, a great eye in the sky, observing every action. “The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away,” she thought, pondering the emptiness she felt inside.
Later, she planned to moan loudly enough to alarm the innkeepers.
“You’re not in the mood for fish?” he asked. “Why not? Last time—”
The boats bobbed gently while the land cradled the bay like a crooked arm.
In summary, this short narrative captures the complexities of human emotions as a couple navigates their relationship amidst nostalgia and the passing of time. The protagonist grapples with the absence of past joys while simultaneously confronting the contradictions in her partner’s views. Their interactions reveal deeper themes of loss, desire, and the struggle for connection, making it a poignant reflection on the nuances of love and longing.
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