A big heart

I knew the story of Mrs. Murphy, the young widow at 33. About her love saga with Mr. Murphy; which spanned across 3 decades. They met in kindergarten, at the tiny age of 3 and they knew then that their heart belonged to other forever and ever. For the past 30 years, they never spent a day apart. Mr. Murphy would always carry Mrs. Murphy’s big heart on his strong shoulders and Mrs. Murphy would carry Mr. Murphy’s sturdy, noble heart in her delicate hands.

But one day, 3 decades after they gave their heart to each other, Mrs. Murphy was running errands around the town. It was a cold winter morning; the roads were filled with atl east a feet of snow. The lake was frozen and trees were barren. A chill wind blew across the town of “Big Heart” and Mrs. Murphy, in all the hurry of finishing her errands, forgot to carry a woolen wrap for Mr. Murphy’s heart.

Mrs. Murphy kept admonishing herself, knowing that Mr. Murphy would never ever have forgotten to carry a woolen wrap for her perpetually big heart.

As she walked the bridge across the frozen lake, which was a shortcut from the market place to Mrs. Murphy’s home, she could feel Mr. Murphy’s heart getting colder, almost ice cold. Mrs. Murphy kept balancing the heart between two hands while carrying at least 4 grocery bags. And as she was shifting the heart from one hand to another, Mr. Murphy’s sturdy yet noble heart slipped from her and landed smack in the middle of the frozen lake creating a web of cracks and eventually slipping through those cracks in the ice cold water beneath.

Mrs. Murphy screamed and shouted, called the cops and crawled the lake to reach out to her husband’s heart. But it slipped into the obscurity of a bottomless lake. That night Mrs. Murphy received the body of Mr. Murphy who, that afternoon instantly died of hypothermia.

Mrs. Murphy cried and mourned non-stop for a year after. Until neighbors, including my mom, started counseling her. They kept telling her that, she is still young and she should start dating now. Who knows she might find another Mr. Murphy, with an even more nobler heart?

So one spring evening, I think it was a Friday, more than 2 years after the death of Mr. Murphy, I saw Mrs. Murphy, lug her big, big heart, on to her station wagon. It was clear that she was going out on a date, she was dressed in her best clothes and I had seen her with make up after a very long time.

With me being home alone for the next few months, and my semester exams right upon my head, I did not have much of a life. So I made it my life to observe Mrs. Murphy. I dearly hoped that if not me, at least Mrs. Murphy, the young widow should get some action.

For the first few weeks of going out on dates, Mrs. Murphy would always return alone, carrying her shriveled up heart in her palm. One day I heard our other neighbor Mrs. Patel asking Mrs. Murphy about her dates, all she said in a tiny voice was, they all want the same thing, sex. Their hearts are not like my noble Murphy, Mrs. Murphy sobbed.

Mrs. Patel holding her narrow, sharp edged almost black heart in hands, then advised Mrs. Murphy, “Oh my dear girl, give them what they want. How else will they come back to you?”

The next Friday evening, as I was chatting with Francis, my best friend, I noticed Mrs. Murphy again lug her big heart into her station wagon off on another date. That night she did not come home with a shriveled heart, neither did she come alone. She came home with a man, carrying his own muscular heart, the color of vermillion. I felt happy for Mrs. Murphy, maybe she did find her Mr. Murphy, part 2, after all.

The next day, I again saw her carry her big beautiful heart for another date. If anything her heart had become bigger and prettier. I was sure it was because of the same guy with a muscular vermillion heart. But that night she came back with another man, carrying a rather tall almost pink heart.

And so on it went, each Friday or Saturday for the next 2 months, Mrs. Murphy brought a different man with a different heart. And her heart in turn grew bigger, glossier, prettier and sexier. I never saw the same man twice, and by now I started getting worried about Mrs. Murphy. The decent, church going Mrs. Murphy had turned into a vixen. During the week I would see her gardening wearing nothing but a tube top and hot pants. From knee length dresses, she now started wearing skirts that looked more like broad belts.

Seeing Mrs. Murphy like that, often did strange things to my stomach, and well generally the lower half of my body. I felt stiff, funny and restless.

If anything, I got more obsessed with Mrs. Murphy. I told myself, it was important that I keep an eye on her. Who knows the next man she brings into her home, might just turn out to be a serial killer. I stayed awake at nights keeping a keen eye and ear to Mrs. Murphy’s nocturnal nefarious activities. All I could make out were intertwined shadows with lots of shouting and moaning.

One morning I woke up from my usual place, the armchair facing the window, facing Mrs. Murphy’s house. It was the day mum and dad, were coming back from their spiritual cleansing in India. I realized it was noon already, time to bring in milk. Hopefully, it hadn’t gone bad.

As I picked up milk from my door, I saw Mrs. Murphy waving out to me, all happily glowing like an angel in her white shift and holding her glossy red, big heart in one hand. I walked up to her, it was time I finally ask her how her dating is going. Maybe getting her opinion would help my obsession.

“Layla, darling how are you? When are your parents back?”

I stared at the contours of her full breasts, molding into a tiny waist, and I swallowed. “All good Mrs. Murphy. They are back this afternoon. I actually came to ask you something.”

She smiled encouragingly.

“Now that you are dating again, how is it going? Met anyone?”

“Oh, I met many my dear girl. But none of have what it takes to be with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“But of course darling, none of them have Mr. Murphy’s sturdy noble heart.”

“Oh, so what are you going to do about that?”

“Don’t worry I have taken care of it.” She smiled in delight.

After chatting for another 15 minutes, I walked back home only to find the newspaper sprawled across the floor. Thanks to Tojo our dog, it was not only sprawled, but also partially eaten. My eyes fell on the local section, which showed the decomposed body of a muscular man, what was strange about that picture was that his heart was missing, and so were other vital parts of his body.

The paper spoke about decomposed bodies being found in the central lake of young men without their hearts and various other organs.

The thin, lanky heart that I held in my hands skipped a beat, when I saw the picture of a young happy man, holding a strong muscular vermillion heart next to the image of the corpse.

Lana Del Rey sang on the radio:

Baby, I'm a sociopath,

Sweet serial killer.

On the warpath,

'Cause I love you

Just a little too much.