Bottle Green Daffodil

Chapter 11: Collide

There are pockets in every towns and cities where time seems to stand still. Out there, change is a foreign concept; if not foreign then it is an entity arriving at snail’s pace.  

Israel Wolowitz’s room hadn’t witnessed much change. It stood as a shrine for her fancies- childhood and adolescent.  

A train of kaleidoscopes lined the shelves otherwise reserved for trophies one got for academics and other curricular activities. Olive green walls peeked shyly from spaces between Nirvana and Coldplay posters. Ticket stubs hung as collages on the wall beside the door.  

Surrounded by all these testaments of her past, Israel lounged on her bed, scribbling on a sheet of paper, eyebrows knotted in concentration.  

“Oh, blast it!” she growled scratching the written words with another frustrated stroke of her pen.

She began anew.  

“Does it have to be a haiku?”  

The question wasn’t met with an immediate reply. It lingered in the suffocating quietness of room before evaporating with a sigh.  
Hesitancy had spread its claws and imprisoned Israel.

“I think this one is okay,” she spoke after a length of time and read aloud her written piece.  

Adding memory
burning a hole in your pocket---
that’s what birthday is.  

“You are quite insightful,” Tom quipped.

 “Sarcasm?” Israel started inking the words on a birthday card.  

“Basic observation.”  

Conversation abated after that. It was the lack of willingness more than anything else. With no venture from Israel’s side, it was only natural that the flow of talks ceased.  

She slipped the card into a gift bag and started digging into the chaotic pile of clothes in her closet. Tom sauntered past her and began inspecting the shelf of kaleidoscope. From the corner of her eye, Israel saw him pick one up and look into its colourful world of fantasy.  

“Siobhan used to tell me you could trap genies with these,” she said.  

Israel carried her clothes- a pair of denims and an off shoulder sweater- and stepped into the bathroom.  

The click of the door sounded louder, an echo of her recent aloofness.  

Three days ago when Israel rang Eshyang to give her birthday wishes, she hadn’t foreseen her friend’s plan.  

“Why don’t we meet this Sunday? I’ll treat you guys to a dinner. It’ll just be us old gang,” Eshyang gushed happily. “You’ll be there, yes?”  

Israel had obliged after a good deal of ten seconds.  

Now that the said affair drew near, she wondered if the evening would go well. Awkwardness was bound to settle between her and Karma, like a nosy aunt, before general discussion of whereabouts and wellbeing expelled it away.  

Eshyang’s birthday dinner threatened to be burdened with nostalgia.

"Are you staying at your sister’s tonight?” Tom asked the minute Israel put her foot out of the bathroom. He sat on the window ledge, facing away from her, spindly legs drawn towards his chest.  

“I guess. But I think she finds it rather convenient without having me around.”  

“Not everything you speculate is true.”  

“You’re quite insightful,” Israel quoted Tom. She perched herself on the bed and began folding her clothes.  

“Well, thank you.” Tom angled his face towards her. “Because I can tell you’ve been avoiding me like a bubonic plague.”