Whispers Might

Dreaded, unseen.

That’s what I am.

Drifting both aimlessly and purposefully through a crowd.

But most of the horde of people clogging up the streets is moving too fast for me to follow, all blurs of color and indistinct faces. Muffled beats of music waft through the hazy air, as well as the clangs and beeps of distant construction.

Even the constant roar of buses and cars on the road doesn’t quite drown out the murmurs of idle chatter. People sitting in front of shops, shopping at vendors, waiting for red lights, all cheerfully discussing their week with one another. The sounds of activity, and of companionship. But they don’t necessarily make my job harder.

The moment I think that, the noise seems to grow louder, pulling at me, and it’s as if I’m shrinking. Ebbing away again.

I need to Whisper. Just one small Whisper.

The soft whine of a school bus pulling up calms my fears. This is a perfect opportunity. A whole pack of high school kids jostle and shove each other on the way in, laughing boisterously. At the end of the line, a dark-haired boy scrolls through his phone and laughs at a joke his friend in front of him had made. And, behind his eyes and deep in his soul, I see it. The hesitance.

I follow behind the boy and his friends as they pile into the bus, flopping rather dramatically on their chosen seats. I sit behind the last boy.

They’re still joking as the bus begins to move. The obvious closeness of the entire group wears on me. So I Whisper. You have no friends.

New strength seeps into my being and I sigh with relief, even as the boy in front of me sags a little at the wisp of despair that’s entered his spirit. Enough for just me to notice.

The boy turns to his friend right beside him. “Hey, Pat, did you follow the soccer game yesterday?” he asks, and my strength is gone again.

I groan, wondering if I should just let myself dissolve into the earth and wind, if this is all really worth it. My life might be easier that way. I know theirs would be.

But I want to feel strong, meant to be.

Maybe entering this bus was a mistake.

I try again. No one actually likes you.

Once again the strength returns. I want it to stick around. Need it to.

Now the boy is texting on his phone. Texting the other boy beside him, Pat.

“Hey, you like me”

His answer comes almost instantly. “You’re just now realizing this? Dude come on, of COURSE I like you.”

And then the boy smiles, and I’m left again feeling weak. I scream, at that moment the desolation leaving his body entirely and entering me.

Go away, he says to me.

I’ve always been unwanted. Rejected.

And for good reason. I almost tell him that I’ll be back, but I don’t have it in me this time. So I just leave.

The bus roars off, and I stand among the traffic, breathing in the fumes. I’ve shrunk more. Even now I can feel the tiny threads unraveling that hold my being together, so old and fragile that one moment I’ll be here, the next turned to dust.

And I almost want to let it happen. How much longer can I hold onto this existence, whatever it is?

The flow of cars eventually comes to a stop, and the people pour in. Around me, through me, on top of me, either lost in thought or talking eagerly. So many to Whisper to, but so many to choose from.

You’re unbearable to be with, I Whisper, but the Whisper goes unheard this time.

My last try. They’ll all grow stronger as I grow weaker. I never wanted to burden them with my Whispers anyway. It’s just… who I am.

What I need to survive.

A wail tears out of me, and I feel part of myself fall away with it. And with what’s left of me, I cry and drift over to sit near one of the vendors to wait my demise. A girl in her upper teens is there, selling seafood, by the smell of it. She smiles and makes small talk with each customer who files by, of course paying me no attention.

I stare at her, at her confident gestures and carefree attitude. She tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear as she hands a rolled package to an older woman. “Have a nice day,” she says in a clear, pretty voice.

Even as more customers stop by to study the preserved remains of tuna and salmon, something flickers behind the girl’s hollow eyes. Something dark and empty.

I’m not worthy of love, the girl says.

This startles me. That was not my Whisper. As I watch, she packs up her supplies, still smiling as she calls out goodbyes.

And I can’t help it. I follow her, just a little of my strength back. She moves through crowds of bustling people, but inside, she is now elsewhere.

Worthless, worthless, her mind is screaming.

She stops at the edge of the road, and I stop too. We both watch numbly at all the traffic snaking by in slightly crooked lines, barely aware of the crowd pushing in, suffocating.

The girl’s mind is even louder now. We can hardly think, hardly breathe. And I want it to stop. If I can stop the torment of her soul…

All I have are my Whispers. And my Whispers don’t even work anymore. The feeble bit of strength I’d just felt is long gone by now, and I feel smaller than I ever have. I scream, my voice mixing with the girl’s mind, both of us shrinking, fading away until soon there will be nothing left.

A Whisper. A Whisper might destroy me, but a Whisper might save the girl. So I do. I fling all of myself into her thoughts, and her mind quiets.

A Whisper forms.

Instead of a voice and words, it’s an image of a crying girl. A lonely girl.

“Dev,” we mumble. Our strength returns, a little at a time, the more we see the Loneliness yet to come. The more we see me.

I feel a shout of glee. I feel alive for the first time.

No more tearing people apart. I will bring them together.

And as one, we turn to go home: the girl to her friends, and me… me to find the next person who needs to hear the Whispers. The boy on the bus. I’m able to show him how Lonely his friends, and everyone else he has yet to meet, would be without him.

The Whispers just might make a difference.