Then and Now

“Life is a game. A distinctive game with unlimited chances of winning till it ends. A unique game, in which every player is his own spectator and referee. The game with tools unknown and rules unset till one learns by playing it, or if gets lucky like me, some angel would appear to help one understand; ‘the tools and the rules’”.
“Hmm…, quite deep,” I quickly ran my eyes over the beautiful handwriting in a spotless white, shimmering gold journal. It had no name, but I had some idea to whom it could belong.
I found this journal today while de-cluttering my Grancy’s attic for the funeral. I grabbed that golden journal with both hands as if holding a wounded bird and carefully laid it aside. What would these shimmering pages reveal? I was curious to know.
Grancy was my Grandmother Nancy. She was dear to me and had always been the only one for me. My mom never loved me. Sometimes I felt as if I were not her blood, though we shared identical features. If Grancy hadn’t been there I would have screwed up my life way back. Mom was never there for me. .She loved only Alex, my older brother. I never knew why. I despised him all my life then… and now; even ten years after he left.
What was it that made him so different and so close to my Mom? What was so special about him? Why Mom was passionately devoted to him and why did Grancy reject him? All these thoughts perplexed me through adolescence. But they were left unanswered and died prematurely with Alex’s disappearance.
Alex was perfect in every sense. He was extraordinarily good-looking with very fair skin, a sharp nose and dark brown silky hair which fell straight on his forehead. His body was like a Roman God, tall and muscular. But the most startling feature was his eyes. They were like huge almonds with an unusual hue of hazel and blue. Those hawk eyes never seemed dry and always chased me. The more I tried to create problems for him, to humiliate him; the more consistently I failed. That reverent behavior of Alex I couldn’t comprehend. It was far above human. I knew then that something was not right with him.
My Mom once told me that Alexander was a replica of my Dad, who was in the military. He died in 1985, a few months after my birth. I had never seen Dad’s photos anywhere nor do I know anyone from Dad’s family. And I felt no connection to Alex. He never fought, argued, or even teased me like most siblings. He always gave up, even when he was right. But he was always beside me when I needed him for problems with homework or whenever I was bullied. But it was all part of his big brother duty thing I thought then. When he departed our lives were never the same again.
My Mom went into shock for many months. A year after Alex’s disappearance she died of depression. During her last days she silently stared at that outside door from which he had walked away. Her eyes constantly moved from the wall clock of the living room to the front door, waiting for her beloved child. Our house which used to burst with noises suddenly turned as soundless as a cemetery.
I remember finding excuses to fight with Alex. I threw tantrums, yelled, and threw things whenever Mom was home. That was the only way to get my Mom’s beautiful eyes on me. Whenever I initiated a clash Mom instinctively held me in her arms to comfort and sooth me. She later used to lecture me in her silky voice. And oh! Just to feel the warmth of that gentle soothing embrace I indulged myself in that disruptive behavior repeatedly. As I grew up from a toddler the kind hugging ended and the scolding sessions increased.
My Grancy used to admonish Mom for never listening to me. I always found shelter with Grancy. She was the one who told me that Alex and I had different Dads. Grancy told me that no one knew about Alex’s Dad and that he was unrightfully dreaming of to acquire my Grandpa’s wealth. That day she was about to enlighten me more regarding Alex’s identity but Mom rushed in and grabbed me. She harshly shoved me out of Grancy’s bedroom. They had a big fight behind closed doors. I was only eight at the time.
I became bitter and irritable because of the family drama. My Mom was a workaholic. She was a renowned journalist and worked as an executive editor for a reputed magazine. She had no time to understand the turbulence in my mind. As she had raised one so perfectly decent boy she assumed that I would turn out to be the same. Moreover maybe she thought that Grancy and Alex were there to watch out for me.
I felt as if she had left me under the supervision of Grancy and Alex to free herself from any responsibility. She had always told me, “Listen dear Annie! Whenever you face trouble always call Alex. He is not just your older brother but he will be your guardian angel.” And I knew then how wrong Mom was. She was blinded by his pious and well-behaved demeanor. I pledged to myself to rip that veil away someday and show Mama the real Alex. Sadly I never got the chance and he fled triumphantly. I know now that if he hadn’t fled that day I would have been able to show Mom his true self. Grancy wanted to deliver the family’s wealth to the lawful heir who was me, not him; some street boy from nowhere. Grandpa’s sole kin was Mom and she was determined to hand everything over to Alex and make him my guardian till I came of age. This troubled Grancy.
Since the day Grancy had whispered to me about Alex’s real identity my anxiety level escalated. My tantrums took new shape. I kept myself bottled up tightly in front of Mom and Grancy but my ill acts could not escape Alex’s eagle eyes. Alex used to advise me whenever he found me alone; sometimes he lied to Mom even to cover up my silly mistakes. But I was never obliged to Alex as Mom somehow seemed to discern the real culprit.
It was no big deal over which I created so much fuss that day when Alex left. I was thirteen just entered my teen years and wanted to go on camping with my friends along with some older boys from school. Those high school guys were friends of my friend’s older brother. I wanted Mom’s permission but as Alex was against the idea, Mom simply rejected the whole notion. Mom’s attitude really pushed me to the wall. I remember composing myself and taking one last shot at it.
“Give me one good reason Mom,” I demanded.
Mom looked up to Alex. With arms folded on his broad chest he looked like a knight in shining armor standing across the living room. He spoke in a controlled and firm fashion (so typical of him). “Well, no, because…First of all you don’t know these boys. You have never met them nor do I know any of them. What kind of boys are they? Which families do they belong to?”
“Wai… Wait a min now! Hold on!” I couldn’t handle this. “Who are you to speak of types and kinds of family? What do you know about such things? You! You think you have a right to judge my friends and tell me about family. Who the hell are you, just a piece of trash?”
I felt sudden slashing pain on my face. My Mom slapped me twice, thrice and I don’t remember how many times. She was beating me hysterically and was crying, pleading begging. “Please stop that, please stop it Annie please!”.
Alex came to my rescue otherwise Mom would have beaten me to death that day. I remembered Grancy’s arm around me and my Mom sobbing within Alex’s embrace. Alex looked at me with crimson wet face and…that was the last I saw of him. He left that night.
While my Mom submerged herself in her grief, I struggled hard to navigate my emotional life smoothly. Amongst the haunting black shadows of anger, confusion, remorse and depression, Grancy accumulated courage gradually and arranged top therapists for both Mom and me. Mom could not make it and died exactly a year later. Alex didn’t return; not even for Mom’s funeral.
Grancy from then on was a changed person. Grancy and I had a silent pledge to never bring up Alex’s name again. And after ten long years God knows what this journal would expose. I gathered that it is Mom’s journal, the sole keeper of Alex’s family secret.

I forcefully pulled back the reigns of racing memories and flipped another page. My mom’s beautiful face popped up from her equally elegant handwriting.

“I still remember that flight. The date was 20th Nov.1983. I was on my way home from the asylum.”
20th Nov was the day of Mom’s and Alex’s birthday; I remember because we used to celebrate it with every Thanksgiving. So what else happened that day? I continued reading.

“I was looking outside from the glass window of the Boeing 747 as it took off. With the gradual ascent in the air the vast landscape, the giant trees, skyscrapers transformed into miniatures. I wanted to jump out of this window to become part of those white giant clouds which looked like big candy floss to me. I was hoping, praying that something would go wrong. The plane would crash or explode. I had no reason to live. I would never have imagined that God would be so unkind to me despite all my good conduct. If ‘HE’ doesn’t care about me why should I? God took away my Papa. I needed him. I was only eighteen, had not much of Papa’s love. Mom had his love for many years. They were childhood sweethearts but …
I quickly turned another page.
“These suicidal thoughts never disappeared. Though Mama and doctors thought that I recovered; it was hard for me to erase the brutality I endured for one whole year daily from my legally married husband! Why had Mama set me up with him? How could Mama miss his evil soul behind that classy appearance? Why on earth did I allow physical and emotional abuse from that alcoholic? How could anyone from a decent background and education contemplate pleasure in gang raping his own wife?
His sentence for life imprisonment could never heal my sufferings. Oh God I no longer want to carry remnants of that filthy act in my body. Oh Mama how could I tell you that whose baby is it I don’t know even? Tears were rolling from my eyes when I heard a sweet and soft voice. “Ma’am, excuse me Ma’am, why are you crying, may I ask? I turned my head and saw a beautiful nine year old kid with huge elongated hazel green watery eyes, clad in navy blue expensive jacket handing me silken handkerchief. There he was! My angel…My Alex!”
My mind was swirling I flipped many pages at once, all blank until I finally saw writing again.

“Oh! Annie, what have you done dear? You have taken my angel away. Now why should I live? How could you question Alex honey? How could you raise your finger at him? He was my reason to live, your reason for existence. He was the one who gave me hope, inspired me and persuaded me to live and stay in the game. “Stay in the game, play wit with courage and you will win”. That was his lesson. He was coming from Afghanistan to stay with his Grandfather, when I met him on that flight. At only nine he and his mother had suffered a lot. I felt myself so ungrateful when he told me how he had lost his parents. He had promised his Mom he would be brave, brave like his father and always help another person in despair. With tools of faith and hope you will have a great team and a great game. So play this game my child with tools of hope faith and courage. I could never imagine that a nine year old could be so composed and sanguine after witnessing the dreadful atrocities; not only the brutal murder of his American marine father but suffering through the kidnapping, raping and heinous sexual tortures of his mother and him by Russian soldiers. It was he who enabled me to be his mother and refused the wealthy legacy his father left him. Mama [Grancy] never gave me those right spectacles of understanding, hope, and courage so I could be a better player. Had it not been Alex’s teachings or his optimism which he acquired from his great Afghan mother, I would have died long ago. And Mama would be all alone in this mansion.
Words were blazing and dancing in front of me. I heard the door bell ring.
I was kind of frozen. The jigsaw puzzle was completed. The truth was revealed, the riddle was solved, and the questions were answered but the picture -- why it is so horrific to look at? I shook and jerked my head when the door of my room squeaked .Someone entered my room.
It was a tall broad figure in shining black leather boots and leather jacket. I looked up to his face. He had a fair complexion, dark brown silky hair and those hazel greenish blue hawk eyes.
Ilowered my eyes.