July on the Calendar

By Mehtab Singh

The house smelled the same as it had when he left it four years ago. He tried to recall his memories there, but all he could remember was his restricted childhood behind those walls. He did not cry when he buried his parents; he thought it was freedom for him. He entered the house. Dust all around, dirty clothes covered everything, and he could smell their faint presence there. He came by to inspect the house as he was going to sell it for his new business plans.

 He kept his bag on the sofa and started exploring everything as if he were searching for something memorable there. The kitchen, the bedroom, and the washrooms, he saw everything, he remembered everything well, but there was an uneasy feeling about it. As he was passing by, he saw the stairs leading to a dark room upstairs. He remembered the attic he was always ordered to stay away from.

 He was unable to suppress his curiosity and rushed up to give it a look. As he entered the room, he saw a bunch of books and old papers resting against the front wall. Dim sunlight entered the room from a tiny, dirty glass window. The incoming light lit the dust floating around in the room. A table, filled with old yellow manuscripts was in the center of the room. Two chairs sat still, facing each other as if somebody sat on them to talk. A tiny locked wooden chest also rested silently in the corner of the room.

 The chest interested him the most. He cleaned the dust from it and tried to break the lock. He used a crowbar to break it open. As he opened the chest, he found many of his childhood photos, some letters, and a journal. His father wrote it. He sat on the floor and started to pick out everything from the chest.  He noticed some of his photos did not look like his. The boy in some of the photos had a dimple on his right cheek. As he went through the photos, some distant memories struck him.

During his childhood, his parents used to keep a strict eye on him. He despised this nature of his parents. His parents monitored his every move, went everywhere with him, and made him study at home only; he was not allowed to attend school. They never let him out of the house and allowed him only to play in the backyard. He was never short of toys, but of a partner to play with. His mother used to play with him when she was free. He remembered a few incidents from his childhood after which he started to hate his parents.

 When he was six, he went out to play with neighboring children without permission. His father locked him inside his room after he got caught. He spent a week in his room requesting his parents to let him out, but they ignored all his requests. After he was out, his mother tried to console him and asked him to accept his mistake. His father did not talk to him for days. He was subjected to emotional torture at a very young age, which broke him from the inside. Regularly, he saw his mother crying alone in the kitchen, looking at the calendar, reading July.

After this incident, he was afraid of his father. He used to sit with his father but never spoke. He used to eat with him but never asked for more. He used to study with his father, but he was too afraid to make a mistake. He grew up afraid behind those walls. During his teenage years, a fire of hate against his parents started burning inside of him. He started fighting with them over small issues. 

On his eighteenth birthday, his parents, instead of celebrating with him, asked him to come with them to church. He refused, saying that he would not listen to them until they celebrated his birthday with him. His parents insisted on it, but he did not listen to them. He quarreled with them, and his parents left. His mother was crying. Later that day, he got bad news. His parents died in a car accident. He shook for a second, but his first thought was that he was free now. A part of him was in grief over their departure. He completed their funeral and went to New York to start his new life.

He was terrified as he remembered the past. He kept his photos inside his long black overcoat. He moved on to the journal. He was not expecting anything from that, as he thought his father was a cruel man. The last entry in that journal was from a day before his father died. It read,

 “21 July, 2013

Tomorrow is a huge day for me. My son is going to be eighteen.

 I will tell him everything. After the prayers in church, in the graveyard, I will finally tell him about his older brother. It’s his twentieth memorial day tomorrow.

 Time flies, right? It seems like yesterday he was playing in my arms, and now he has become a fine young man.

 I know, I was hard on him, but I love him. I love him the most. It was because I didn’t want to lose him, as I had lost his older brother. He is rude sometimes, but I deserve to be treated like that for what I have done to him.

 His brother was gone because of me. I didn’t care about him; that is why he died getting crushed under that car. My family became victims of my careless behavior. I try to provide them with everything they want just to see them happy, but I don’t think they are happy with me.

 Finally, after all those long years, I will be able to open myself tomorrow.

 I hope he forgives me.”

He closed the journal and sat still for a long time. Tears ran down his face. He secured the journal under his coat. He was not going to sell that house now. There was something that was way stronger than the pain he suffered during his childhood.

Mehtab Singh is a 17-year-old Indian student, writing as a hobby.