“Wings Against Broken Glass”
By Nishant Bommuluri and Jason John
His eyes were fixed on the rain collecting in puddles in barren craters of ground. He traced drops of the downpour running down the window pane and avoided his own reflection as much as he could. The silence broke with the sound of a creaking door.
“What are you doing?” Anand asked.
His focus broke, and he looked up. He tried to find the words, but they escaped him. At last, he grasped whatever he could make of his feelings.
“I’m trying to drown it all out.”
“I feel you.”
Anand took a seat next to him, pulling over an old stool. Dust floated in the ray of sunlight shining through the window.
“What room even is this?” Anand asked.
“I think it’s some kind of storage room.”
“Oh. Makes sense.”
The rain slowed down, and the room grew quiet.
“Come down. Eat something.”
His eyes darted down, and he thought for a second.
“All right.”
He followed him downstairs, and they walked into the hall. It was grand, with plenty of seats everywhere for guests, along with trays of biryani, chicken curries, veggie fry, and other Indian staples. He held a plate and hovered behind Anand absent-mindedly. He stepped forward and grabbed the tongs, placing two pieces of roti onto his plate.
“Did you see the story Pete posted?” Anand interjected as he ladled the gravy from a curry with chunks of meat onto his plate.
“No, I didn’t. Why?”
“It’s sort of … I don’t know. It feels a bit much.”
He took his phone out, opened Instagram, and clicked on Peter’s story. It was made up of black-and-white images of their friend group over the years, accompanied by a lengthy paragraph. He wasn’t bothered enough to read it, but he saw several standout phrases, like “I miss you” and “you were my brother.” He agreed with Anand. Why did he say so much? He paused on the story, looking at it for a while. His heart ached the longer he looked at it. The thought of making a story as well crossed his mind.
“So? What do you think?”
He blankly looked up, his train of thought interrupted. Anand had a way of talking through interjections.
“Yeah, it’s a lot.”
“Right? Like, dude, we’re all grieving, but c’mon. No need to put it all out there.”
They carried their plates and sat down with their other friends, Peter, Shri, and Arjun.
“Glad you came down,” Peter said with a smile.
“Thanks,” he replied.
“What were you doing in that room anyway?” Arjun asked while chewing.
He felt a slight heat in his ears. He opened his mouth, ready to try and come up with an excuse, but the words kept escaping him.
“He just needed some space,” Anand reassured.
“If you wanna call it that,” Shri added. Arjun elbowed Shri, and they chuckled.
He looked down at his plate and picked at the food, playing around with the roti in his hand. Anand sighed but kept eating.
Peter’s eyes stayed fixed on him, watching him play with his food. The thought crossed Peter’s mind to ask if he wanted to talk about it. The words formed on his tongue, but he swallowed them down. He knew it was going to sound dumb, but he wanted to ask in the hopes that maybe someone would ask him too.
. . .
They all gathered outside near the entrance of the venue. The sun had set, painting the sky a vast, deep black. They stood under the porch, illuminated by the lights above. He looked up at the bugs flying around.
“Yo, are you listening?”
He looked down to see that it was Shri who had asked the question.
“Sorry. What did you say?”
“Do you remember the time me, you, and Krish were in Ms. Morgan’s class, and we just played games on our Chromebooks the entire time?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“I was talking about how it’s one of my favorite memories of ours.”
“Yeah, I really like that memory too. We used to do stuff like that all the time.”
Shri laughed and turned towards Arjun, who was on his phone. They exchanged some words, and soon, they were walking off with Anand.
“Where are they going?” he asked.
“I think they wanted to get some Mexican food,” Peter responded.
“Are you going too?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You should.”
“What about you? I don't want to leave you here.”
“I’ll stay here a bit longer and maybe go home.”
“Okay. Just text me if you want to come. We’ll pick you up. Someone will.”
“Thanks, Pete.”
Peter smiled and began descending the stairs of the porch. He stopped after the last step and turned around.
“Hey, one more thing,” Peter asked.
“Yeah?”
Peter paused before looking into his eyes.
“Are you okay, Shoka?”
The air seemed heavy now. The sun had gone far away, taking the wind, the heat, the happiness, and all else with it except separation. He didn’t remember the last time anyone had asked him that. Part of him wanted to tell the truth.
“Yeah, I’m good,” Shoka replied at last.
“Okay. I’ll see you later then.”
“See ya.”
He leaned against a pillar as he watched the car fade into the distance. He looked back up and saw the moths dancing at the light. They fluttered intensely, while achieving nothing. What was it that they saw in the light, he thought? His attention focused on them now, and their flight shifted from a misguided swarm to an aggressive mob. They slammed into one another, and into the lightbulb. Flying. Slamming. Swarming. Rustling. His heart pounded, and he felt a wave of nostalgia overtake him. His eyes slammed shut, stinging from staring too long. Tears formed under his eyelids, and he could still see them, even with his eyes closed. The fluorescent light. The moths. They rattled in his head, even in the darkness. The light began to burst through the dark and washed over his entire being.
Then, the light faded, replaced by another. This time, it was the piercing white lights on the ceiling of Ms. Morgan’s classroom. Moths followed in trails towards the bright light slowly over the course of the semester, and Shoka counted every single one.
“What are you looking at, man? Join the lobby!” Anand said.
Shoka looked down, rubbing his eyes and blinking vigorously; he had been staring up at the ceiling for what felt like forever. It was the middle of class, and the whole group was queued up on some old, glitchy Flash game that hadn't yet been blocked by school administrators, not even trying to hide from the teacher.
“Alright, I’m joining right now. Who’s in?” Shoka asked.
“I think everyone is, right?” Arjun answered.
“Wait, the lobby is full,” Krish said.
“Shoot. Just join the next one. It won’t take that long,” Shri responded.
Krish nodded and turned away, tuning in to the lecture. No one batted an eye, and they played for the rest of class.
Shoka’s mind always returned to that day. Maybe it was the number of times he won, the amount that Arjun got ridiculed for being awful at the game, or the inside jokes being born as the game went on. Everyone remembered that day just as he did, and they would often bring it up in conversation when talking about the “good old days.”
After the class period ended, Krish had unusually walked in front of Shoka and Shri to his next class. He was trudging like a trucker as usual, which the two walking side-by-side behind him laughed at. As Krish was about to take a left to separate from the group, Shri caught him.
“So you’re coming to my house to play Smash Bros, right?”
“Uh, yeah, sure,” he replied, already half-turned away.
As Krish walked further away from the rest of them, Shoka broke off from the group and started speed-walking towards him.
“Hey, man. I totally forgot to let you in the lobby after the first round. My fault.”
“It’s all good. I’m not good at that game anyway.”
“You’re not, but still.”
Krish chuckled and waved goodbye, and Shoka went running after Shri to catch up.
Shoka lay hanging upside down off the edge of his bed the night before the funeral, remembering that day fondly. Blood rushed to his head, and a single tear dragged through his hairline, trickling through his scalp and cooling the skin. He tried to replay that day in his mind, but he couldn’t even conjure the images of him winning, or of Arjun failing miserably. His head burned as it hung there longer, and his eyes bored into the Polaroid snapshot on his desk of the group huddled together and smiling at an arcade. Then, his eyes drifted toward the bulb of his desk lamp.
. . .
He sat still on the porch, staring at the streetlights. The lights inside the funeral hall turned off one by one, dissipating his shadow bit by bit, leaving only the porch bulb glowing dimly as moths clung to it. In the distance, a pitch-black car with beaming headlights approached the porch, and Shoka's shadow returned to him whole.
“What are you staring at? Get in the car!” Shri exclaimed as he rolled down the car window.
Shoka ran to the car, wrenched the passenger door open, and climbed inside, shivering.
“I thought you left earlier. Is anyone else there?” Shri asked.
“Just me and his parents.”
Shri glanced once at the last remaining lighted window in the hall, but he then quickly turned to reach for something in the back seat.
“Here,” he said as he handed Shoka some Taco Bell. “Eat up.”
“I hate this stuff,” Shoka said.
Shri looked dumbfounded, but then realization dawned on him. “Oh yeah. Arjun, Anand, and I got it before I dropped them off at the airport. I forgot that you were the only one in the group who didn’t like it.”
“He didn’t either.”
Shri paused, his gaze softening and his eyebrows lowering.
“Right.”
Silence filled up the space of Shri’s cramped car as they both watched the last light in the funeral hall turn off. Shri took the opportunity to start the engine and turn on the radio, but Shoka kept staring.
Shri looked at him, worry rippling over his features, and he broke the silence. “I miss when we used to do this. Late nights just sitting and talking. All of us. College really drifted us apart, huh?”
Shoka turned back to him, eye to eye. He looked down at his lap and muttered, “Was that it?”
“Yeah, right? Arjun and Anand are halfway across the country, Pete is the busiest person we know, and Krish…”
The words went dry on Shri's tongue, and he trailed off, especially after he heard Shoka's breathing deepen at the mention of that name. The silence sat with them again, even longer and louder than the last. His face boiled over in this silence, struggling to remain composed with the awfully-timed music on the radio, the smell of cold Taco Bell permeating the air in the car, and the overall compressed nature of his seat next to Shri.
“We drifted way before college.”
Shri turned the radio off and asked defensively, “When?”
“When’s the last time we all hung out voluntarily? The last time it wasn’t an event where we just happened to come across one another?”
“I–”
“When’s the last time any of us has texted in the group chat that’s not a ‘Happy birthday?'” Shoka interrupted. “When’s the last time you texted me?”
Shri’s face turned red as he replied, “I could say the same about you.”
The volume of their conversation steadily grew louder, and the car remained in place for a while. They fired at one another endlessly for the better half of an hour, both laying out their grievances one by one: flaking out of hang-outs, no responses to invitations, empty group chats. Shoka’s voice began to give out, surrendering itself to a conclusion he refused to believe. He gave up. Shri put his foot on the accelerator, the car whirring to life once more. Shoka turned to look out the window, biting back tears, knowing it might be one of the last times he sat in this car. The trees outside were silhouettes, black outlines painted onto a dark backdrop. He turned back to Shri, his brow still furrowed.
“I can cover you,” Shoka offered. He forced a smile onto his face, knowing Shri would decline instantly.
Shri focused on the road, but stayed silent at the offer. The car slowed, and they pulled into a gas station. Shri turned off the car and opened his door, turning to Shoka.
“Last year, Krish asked me if you were pissed off at him or something like that. I didn’t really know the answer myself because I wondered the same, but I told him you loved him like a brother.”
Shoka looked at Shri, the tears reappearing in his eyes.
“Who knows if he believed it, but he never brought it up again. I probably should’ve just asked you, or told him to ask you, or I should’ve just told you this earlier.”
Shri fidgeted with his keys and looked straight ahead at the backlights of the car in front of him, tears blurring his vision as well.
“Would that have changed things?” Shri asked, his voice breaking before he wiped his eyes with his sleeve and opened the car door. “And no, you don’t have to cover me. I can handle myself.”
He stared at his damp sleeve.
“What the hell am I crying for? It’s not that deep.”
Shoka swallowed the lump in his throat and forced the tears down one last time. His phone began to buzz, and it was Krish’s parents.
“Hello, auntie?”
“Shoka, did you leave?”
“Yeah, just a bit ago. Why? Is everything okay?”
“There are some heavy boxes we need to put into our car, and everyone left. Is it okay if you help us out? We can give you a ride home.”
“Of course, I’ll be back soon. Bye.”
Shri got back in the car and sniffled a bit before starting the engine. Shoka explained what had happened, and all Shri could say was,
“All right.”
They said nothing the rest of the ride back, and Shoka quietly climbed out of the car. Before he closed the door, he looked at Shri one last time.
“I didn’t mean it. The things I said. You’ve been a brother to me. Thanks for everything.”
“Yeah. Sure. I’m sorry, too.”
The midnight breeze bristled against Shoka’s wrists, and the goosebumps rose sharply on his arm.
“Goodnight.”
“Night, Shoka.”
Shri drove off, and Shoka started walking back toward the hall. He approached the door, but it was locked. He began to force the handle up and down multiple times, hoping it would give. He looked inside, and all the lights had been turned off. His grip released, and he slumped down onto the porch. He closed his eyes, and tears dripped down onto his shirt. He broke out into sobs, and his cries filled the silence of the night, dissipating into the dark void of the sky. A slight drizzle began falling, and he pulled his legs closer to his chest. Krish sat down next to him. He looked at Shoka’s face, puzzled.
“Hey, Shoka, where are my parents?”
Shoka sniffled, looking at him through blurry eyes.
“They left a while ago,” he choked out.
“Oh. Then why are you here?”
The drizzle grew stronger, becoming something closer to rain.
“I couldn’t leave with them. I couldn’t leave you.”
Krish exhaled softly, shaking his head.
“Is Shri going to pick you up later then?”
“No,” he whispered, his voice drowned out by the downpour.“None of them are coming back.”
Krish put his arm around Shoka, and his joy faded into a solemn neutrality.
“Hey, Shoka,” Krish spoke softly, “Can we go home?”
Thunder boomed, and heavy showers drenched the ground outside. Shoka’s sobs were inaudible, a silent heaving in the midst of the earth's cry. The light above them flickered, turning on again before going off for good. Shoka lifted his head and noticed that Krish was gone. A sense of finality washed over him, seeping into his pores. He rested his head against the wall behind him and looked up at the light. The moths were gone.