Aftermath of Overthinking

‘You can suffocate a thought by expressing it with too many words,’ a quote by Frank A Clark. Even the most complex thoughts and emotions could never be matched by simple words. Metaphors and similes can only go so far in this world of literature. I wish I could be mysterious with every sentence of mine to contain hidden meaning, or would that be too much? Too intimidating? Or not enough, and not reach the expectations of others? Or perhaps, I’ve over thought about this once again. 

My thoughts overwhelm me, too many for me to handle. ‘Thinking too much will create problems that weren't there before,’ That’s what mother says, ‘And thinking too much will lead to negative emotions, Mae.’ 

But what were we all taught in school? Think before we act, yet people who think too much before they act don’t act much.  

School was always nerve racking for me, pray to not get called on and if you do get called on, speak quickly and short. The shorter the sentence, the more left to the imagination, more of a chance to be right and less of a chance to be humiliated. There are few I hang out with at school, a tight group of kids my age: Dylan, Jackie, and Alex. 

Dylan would always ask what we were up to over the weekend, I'd always shrug my shoulders and Alex would always give her ‘I have no life’ attitude. Jackie, however, would make plans right there and then, invite us all to a party or her house.  

One time, Jackie invited us to her brother’s birthday party and asking what she should get him as a gift, eyes glimmering excitedly as she asked. 

Her brother likes art, I thought, he doesn’t talk about it much because he doubts himself, but if you look closely, he scribbles and doodles over his homework pages or on little sheets of paper. 

 Dylan responded to Jackie with the stereotypical boyish “Get him a football so we can throw it around!”  

Her brother didn’t enjoy sports like Dylan though, even she knew that. 

“Mae, what about you? What do you think I should get him?” at that moment, my mind went completely blank and I forgot everything I could use as a response. 

“Uh, I don’t know.” What a crappy response Mae. Wow you really messed up there huh Mae? 

I got nervous again, and I'm not even sure why, Ive known Jackie since 3rd grade and I still can't talk to her like I do my dogs. 

“Oh, that’s fine, I'll probably just get him a slice of cheesecake or something,” her anxious laugh was unsettling, hinting so many things, but I tried my best to brush it off.  

Then all there was to do was contemplate. Why did she laugh like that? Is she worried about something, perhaps her brother? No. I need to stop overthinking everything. Not everything has a hidden meaning. Maybe I was just a little awkward like I always am. 

 In Math class I always sat in the back, praying not to be called on. I knew the answers, but the self-doubt and possibility of being wrong haunted me. As a younger child I was gifted and praised by adults for being smart and believed that being smart was just a trait that somebody did or didn’t have. Now, it causes me to overthink my answers and need to muster up courage to speak in class. And substitute days were the worst. Like the dayin May when Ms. Granger didn’t show up in class. 

Ms. Granger Was out sick and obviously, would need to be replaced by another teacher. Me and my fellow students walked into the class, getting the substitute teacher, and took our seats.  

“Okay students, I will take role call and if I mispronounce your name, I apologize,” the substitute announced to the children. 

Ah yes, the torment of having your name said wrong and needing to correct the teacher was always a struggle for me. With my Japanese last name, I thought, it wouldn’t be easy for her to pronounce. So, I memorized the person’s name that came before me and planned to just say here before she even said my name. 

“Alexandra Aguilera,” Her voice was gravely compared to Ms. Granger’s, making me flinch at the sudden call. 

“here,” came the sturdy response. 

“Chad baker... Clementine Davis... Fiona Hillenbrand,” it was soon my turn, start gathering your courage now, Mae. Breathe.  

“M- Mai... May Kuh-” I cut the substitute off by raising my hand. 

“Mae Kurosawa, and I'm here,” My voice came out broken at first, but I was heard, and Alex gave me a comforting glance from across the room. 

Letting out a sigh I noticed how high-pitched my voice got when I interrupted the teacher. Then, I started thinking to myself about the lesson she began teaching. 

 Should I correct her about putting a 5 instead of a 7 in the last problem? She got a totally different answer from me, and probably everybody else. Or maybe I miscalculated. Oh, shoot I'm running out of eraser, Should I ask Alex? No, she’s so far away. What about that kid next to me, He might have some. Or maybe I’d bother him too much, I’ll just ask the teacher. 

I started to get up, but the bell rang. Loud and blaring in my ears, I flinched at the sound. I was too late, when will being too late cost me more than just an eraser? Soon after recovering from my minor shock, I gathered my things and walked out of class. 

There are many other incidences, not just asking for help or correcting people, and not just saying too less to my friends. Like today, right now, I'm with my parents in the car, 80’s music playing and my mother singing along to whatever song is playing.  

Dad looks serious, like he is stressed about something. A slight wrinkle in the center of his brows and the slight twitching of his right eyebrow made me anxious.  

Should I ask? Would asking make it worse?  

“Akari,” with mother looking in his direction he continued, “The restaurant, got break in.” My father said with choppy English, unlike my mother’s. He owned a restaurant, working while Mother went worked at our town’s mall. Father now seemed exhausted, like it was draining him to keep the news silent for so long.  

“Oh, Dan, it’ll be okay, I’ll help clean up the damages later and work out the legal matters tomorrow. Mae, do you want to take the day off school to help him?” Mother asked, almost too cheerily. 

I stammered over my words, “Y-yes I would. Can, I mean yeah.” Mom chuckled at my stuttering as we took a turn on the road. Dad was a great driver, unlike the stereotypes and was always so relaxed while behind the wheel. 

I eased up a little bit and started humming along with mom, looking out the window occasionally. Mom’s singing and the radio faded into background noise and I zoned out. Coming back to the present, I looked behind us, seeing if I knew any of the people in the cars. Then there, clear and speeding towards us: A pickup truck with a driver distracted on their phone. 

Tick... Tick... Tick... Father’s hand watch counting each passing second. I can’t waste any more time, this truck could potentially ram into us, get us hurt, kill us... Quick, think, no don’t think, Speak.  

How many seconds have I wasted staring at this truck? I can’t waste any more. My eyes shot towards the rearview mirror; A frantic expression painted on my face. Finally, a second later he looked at me and saw what was coming, but it felt like centuries. 

“Truck!” I shouted; Mother whipped her head back towards me then towards the oncoming vehicle. Father swerved the car, but a little too late. I was a little too late. I should’ve stopped thinking and said something. I should’ve-  

Silence. My mind was silent and everything went blank.