MURALI

Murali is tapping his fingers to his forehead, trying to remember something. His shoulders are hunched over and his feet twitch sporadically.
“What? What is it?” I ask. He sighs and shakes his head. I trace the letter ‘s’ down his back and yawn. When I open my eyes, Murali is gone. I look under the bed and behind the chair. I call out his name but no one answers.

*

“Diya?”
“What? What happened?”
“Murali’s gone.”
“What do you mean he’s gone?”
“I mean he was sitting right beside me and I yawned and now he’s gone.”
“Don’t be silly, he probably left.”
“He couldn’t have left, he doesn’t know how to open the door. Meaning it sticks and he can’t get it open by himself.”
“Is this some kind of joke? Do you two have me on speaker phone or something?”
“No, he’s really gone.”
“Listen, call me back.”
*

I begin to tabulate everything I know about him. He is left handed and has scars on his feet from a bike accident. He collects butterfly wings and hides them between the pages of an empty pocket diary. He never wears a watch. He believes that my door is haunted. Sometimes he thinks there are tiny demon-hands holding it shut. Sometimes he just kicks it and says ‘Stupid fuck.’
“How come I can get it open?” I asked him once.
“Because,” he said. “You’re haunted too.”
I open the window to see if he has fallen out and broken his ankle but he isn’t there.

*

“It’s Diya. Is he back yet?”
“No.”
“Are you high or something? It’s ok if you are but are you sure he was there? “
“I’m sure. I don’t know. I thought he was here.”
“Ok. That’s ok.”
“Diya, I need you to come let me out.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t get the door open, it’s stuck.”
“Ok. Ok hold on.”

*

The light dims and bends on the floor like liquid. Murali suddenly seems to be everywhere at once, in colored bits and pieces. I remember the curve of his teeth, how I sometimes felt like shrugging him off like a heavy overcoat. I think of all the questions people will ask.
Where you the last person with him?
Yes.
How often do you lose things in your room? Have you ever lost a person before? How well did you know him?
I know that he hummed when he peed. I know that as a child, he thought girls came from their mothers and boys came from their fathers.
Was anything bothering him?
He didn’t like my door. He thought it was vindictive and haunted.
Did you make him disappear?

I don’t know.

*

“Hey, it’s me Diya. I’m knocking, can you hear me knocking?”
“Yes.”
“Ok, so how do you want to do this?”
“Pull the door towards you when I say.”
“Ok. Now?”
“No wait. Ok now try.”
“Fuck. What happened?”
“I don’t know. Usually I can open it fine. I don’t know what happened today.”
“Is he still gone?”
“He’s not here. I don’t know what happened.”
“Everything will be ok. I’m going to get somebody to help open the door and then we’re going to figure this out. We’ll go look for him, how about that? I’m sure he’ll be there.”
“Where?”
“We’ll find him, don’t worry. We’ll figure this out.”

*

I picture roots shooting from the base of the door like sprays of black lightning, anchoring it down into places filled with broken things. I don’t think they’ll be able to get the door open. I don’t think anybody will be able to do anything.
The dim light of the evening fades into a thick, dark smudge, swallowing the lines and corners of my room. The only thing I can see is my pillow which is lying on the floor. There is no trace of Murali– no fingerprints, no butterfly wings, no notes saying ‘gone fishing’ or just ‘gone’. It is like he was never here.