Platypus Problems

        What if? Such an odd question I find myself thinking as I sit on the stony outcrop. Below, the park is full of happy people, walking dogs, playing sports, being together. The sun shines from a brilliantly blue sky and birds sing, It amazes me that I could be here, among them, watching them play and yet feel utterly unattached, lost in endless possibilities of ‘what if’.

               Like, what if I hadn’t gone to that stupid party? What if I had never stepped foot in that backyard? Would I be different now? Would be happier, easier to deal with? Would my heart be broken right now? Who’s fault is that I wonder, not for the first time. If I’d listened to my gut and just stayed in bed that whole day. My guts are always telling me to hide, to sleep, if it were up to them, I’d never get out of bed.

               It’s the mistakes that plague me, keep me in this indecisive state. Sometimes I feel like that cat in the box with uranium. Am I dead, if I choose not to participate in life, or am I alive because I get to make the choice? Is it even living, what I am doing with my days?

               To the left I see a family at a picnic table. They are laughing, joking together. Such a wholesome sight of mom, dad, bother, sister. They are eating something, but I can't tell what it is. To the right a couple sit on a blanket, eyes only for each other. It's like a before and after picture, and I’m the middle, without a side of history I just get to watch. Alone, heart broken, feeling toxic and dark. I watch. For a moment I try to see the future, imagine that the woman on the blanket is me and the man…that’s where my mind shies away. Loneliness closes around my throat like a vice. I choke on the emotion. It tastes bitter and mean.

               I suppose if I go back far enough, I could blame just about anyone. I could blame my parents for their one night of poor decision making that brought me into this world, a responsibility that no one had asked for, least of all me. It doesn’t feel right though, it's not their fault really, how could they have known?

               I could blame the stars, fate, the universe. I would blame god, if I believed in such a thing. Only it doesn’t work. The idea doesn’t fit in my head, too big and sharp and ugly. Blame, guilt, shame, all cut deep, I know, and anyway in the end there really is no one to blame but me.

               I went to the party, I reminded myself, though it was Kit that dragged me to it. Almost kicking and screaming I recall. She told me to put on a dress and get out of my room. She thought she was being kind and I guess that’s why I indulged her. One of my few remaining friends who still tries. She knows I respond better to commands then requests so its not like she even gave me much of a choice. She knows me well.

Had it been a choice, I would have skipped the party, lost in the endless possibilities of what if? In the end I would have made no decision on my own, just allowed time to take care of the problem for me.

               It will be fun, she told me as I tried to drag eyeliner across my lids, Pin up my hair. It had been a while, I was out of practice. Kit tut tutted and came over to ‘fix me up’. I sat back, watching the mirror as she transformed me from ‘trash bag lady’, to decent human being. I felt like a pig in perfume, but I said nothing. I could see her smile. I went with it.

               Once we arrived, the house was smoky and cramped. A three-bedroom affair, poorly lit, poorly ventilated, packed with people. Inside my guts quivered, if they could speak they would be screaming but I patted my belly and told them to quiet down.

 Laughter, loud talkers, music blaring, it was enough to drive me into the back yard, into the dark and cold air. My last refuge from the drunken rabble. I slid the glass patio door open and found myself in a fairy garden.

               Beneath the sparkling stars, I followed the little path until it led to the back of the garden. There, next to the little fountain, and the unlit fire pit and chairs, stood a man. Not just any man, but him. He, of the blue eyes and dark hair, he of warm humour and easy manner. I tried to stay in the shadows, but he must have felt me approach. He beckoned me and silently I came. Like an alley cat lured by the smell of human food freely offered.

               “Hi” he said as we faced each other. I chewed on a lip, stuck between fight and flight. My brain was firing at a million watts a second, but I forced myself to breath.

               “Hi” I finally responded. And blushed. Why was I so painfully shy? I demanded of myself but myself only shrugged.

               “Nice night, isn’t it?” He said, head cocked, studying me. A little smile was playing at his lips and I felt foolish and ungainly.

               “Sure is” I said lamely. If I was Kit, I would have said something witty, funny, a little sharp but with a spark in the eye that managed to soften even an unintentional blow. If I was Kit, I would have said or done anything else, but I am me and I just stood there. Waiting. The moments stretched out between us like islands drifting apart on tectonic plates. 

               “What is your favorite animal?” he asked, conversationally, and I was taken aback. No one had ever asked this before, not at a party like this any way. What a weird question I thought before my mouth opened and I uttered

               “The platypus” I wished I could take it back as soon as it left my mouth, but the grin it produced on his face was so boyish and pure that I stopped beating myself up for a moment and just looked at him.

He reached down and lifted his sweater. Beneath is a bright blue shirt with a platypus stretched across it. Above ,cartoon lettering read “Release the Platypus!”

               I  giggled, then laughed, it was so ridiculous, and it caught me off guard. I laughed as much to release the tension that had been building in me then because it was funny. He laughed along with me and I could feel the wall I had put between us begin to thaw a little. He put his sweater down as a gust of wind reminded us that it was still early in the year. The days may be hot, but the nights still had a bite.

He shivered for a moment and I knew that at any moment he would go back inside, leaving me here, alone.

               To my surprise, he went in the opposite direction, towards the fence where the wood pile lay. He gathered an arm full and dropped it at the fire pit. He smiled at me and asked me to bring him some paper and a lighter. Without thinking I reached into my pockets. There was the poem I had written, emotional diarrhea I wouldn’t have shared, even if my life depended on it. I crumpled it up and handed it to him, he saw the writing on it and looked at me quizzically.

               “It’s not important.” I tell him and watch as the paper, my thoughts, my pain, go up in smoke.

               It surprised me how good it felt. Normally I hoard these crumpled odes like a dragon hoards jewels and gold but now watching the fire consume my words, I felt like they were somehow free. Given back. The flames lolled me into a kind of trance, and I spent the rest of the party in the yard, with Him.

               We didn’t talk much, somehow, we had already found a comfortable silence together. No pressure, no expectations, two strangers with a mutual love, the most indecisive creature on the planet.

               When the party ended and Kit came outside to collect me, drunk and flushed with joy and connection, I followed her meekly to the front door. He stood, nodded to me, and smiled. I waved and walked away. Certain that I would never see him again. I was surprised by how much that bothered me.

               Now sitting here, alone, in turmoil, I kick myself mentally over and over again. Why didn’t I ask his name? Why did I let the shyness and indecision rob me of someone who could have been real? Looking back at the couple on the lawn, I think, that could have been me.

               I could blame Kit, for bringing me to the party, or Him, for giving me exactly what I needed and nothing more. I could blame the people that threw the party and invited everyone to come. Hell, I could even blame the Platypus for being the poster child to my very problem of indecision. In the end I only have myself to blame though. What if I had asked his name? asked for his number? What if I had told him mine?

               Lost in the what if’s I watch as life seems to keep on going, with or without me.