"It was a freak accident...." Thats how they explained it, thats exactly how. Maybe you too would have called it a "freak accident" if you happened to be present there, at that moment, you too would have seen - just like i did - the car hit her and go on to bump into a tree. You too would have stood there-just as i did-staring open eyed as your brain calculated fast and tried to come up with a conclusion on whom to help first. And its moments like these that the brain shuts down, refuses to take in anything. Maybe its just not manufactured to take in "freak accidents" like these. And after all would have passed, the bodies taken, the scene cleared, you would walk away- just like many other- to tell others about this "freak accident", but i din't. I stayed. Cause i knew, knew a lot.
But will they still call it a "freak accident" when the parents arrive? won't they be taken into a big room or a small room or any room strong enough to swollow there voices. Will they be told everything? the fight, the letters, the bottle of vodka, the mid-night stroll? Will they be informed about the night he was discovered outside the girls hostel having passed out only after shouting her name out loud countless of times? or that why she had been missing classes or the body pain she had been complaining about so much.
Mothers will cry, fathers will blame each other. Making one last attempt to calm their minds, to find an answer to the questions their children left them with.
But who shall i blame? i knew them well to understand that it was the circumstances that caused all of this to happen. I will sit down where we three always sat when we wanted to get away from everything and what will ring in my ears is something she said to me the last time we spoke:
"Maybe money cannot buy love, but u can end up paying heavily for it."
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