A little piece of heaven

“Sometimes I feel like I’m not a real person. Sometimes I feel like I’m only interesting because I’m broken. Sometimes I feel like I have to try twice as hard to be liked. Those are all okay. I can deal with them. What I can’t deal with is the fact that I always feels like I am nothing more than my flaws. I feel like my flaws define me, that they are the very substance of who I am. I judge myself fundamentally as a person based solely on my flaws, so why wouldn’t everybody else?”

He stares at me like I’m crazy. And maybe I am. I have no idea who this man is. I just saw him for the first time five minutes ago, waiting for the bus and I somehow thought it would be a good idea to offload on him. I mutter sorry under my breath, hoping that he hears me. He nods at me, then he starts to laugh. It sounds strange to my ears. I don’t remember the last time I heard someone laugh. The sound of his laughter is like music to me. His eyes are lit up; there’s a fire in them. Suddenly, I want to get to know this man. I want to understand him. I want to know what makes him tick. I want to know what makes him happy. I want to know what makes him sad. I want to know what excites him, angers him, drives him. Oh, here I go again. One laugh and already I’m hooked. I want to say something, but nothing seems appropriate. I decide to just wait for him to say something. He’s still going with the laughter. It seems like it’s been an hour already but I know that it hasn’t. It’s barely been a minute.

“Look-”, he starts to say, a little catch in his throat. The bus pulls up. He looks first at the bus, then to me, then back to the bus. His gaze is intense, like he has to make the hardest choice of his life. He’s a stranger but I find myself hoping that he’d choose me. My heart drops when he doesn’t. He turns to walk unto the bus, and I’ve never been more disappointed. What did I expect? He probably had a good reason for leaving. I mean even if he didn’t he had no obligation to choose to talk to me. He probably did think that I was crazy. With all that I had just put on him, I didn’t blame him. I sit at the bus stop a little longer, trying to figure out what to do next. Lately I have been feeling so claustrophobic, being in my room doesn’t give me the comfort it once did. I don’t feel safe anymore. When I’m alone my demons come out, fiery red eyes, because they know I can’t fight them off. They know that I don’t even want to.

So listen. Let’s establish something. I try. Okay? I try. I try my hardest. At everything. I try to be liked. I try to fit in. I try to make friends. I try to like what everyone seems to like. I try to be normal. I don’t know what normal is. I am pretty sure though that it doesn’t include counting every step you take, and making sure that your last step is always in multiples of 2 or 5. Normal people don’t do that. Normal people walk because they have somewhere to go, they don’t feel an overwhelming need to take even steps. I could go on but you get the point. Right?

I decide to go by this little stream I’ve found. When I get there, I sit cross legged on the grass. The water looks pure. Peaceful. I don’t like it. So I get up and walked towards the end of the park. I pick up a few rocks and go back to the stream. I throw in the smallest rock. I like the tiny ripples. Yes, that’s what I’m talking about. Why does that stream get to have peace and I don’t? Let’s disturb the peace. 

I throw in a bigger rock this time, and it makes a bigger ripple. Oh, this is amazing. I feel like a horrible person, instigating when and where I shouldn’t. Oh, what am I doing. What happened to do unto others as you’d like them to do unto you. I mutter sorry under my breath, and I half expect to hear the stranger’s laughter again. But it’s eerily quiet, too quiet. This body of water with no sentience would never think that I’m crazy. Maybe this is what I should be talking to instead.

“You know what? Sency. I’ll call you Sency. You look like a Sency. I don’t know what’s worth fighting for. I don’t know why I say things that I don’t mean. I don’t know why I still care what everyone thinks of me. I should be over it but I’m not. I don’t know why I still put on a show. I’m not half as strong as I make everyone think I am. I feel everything so deeply, I get hurt by the littlest things but I don’t want to seem weak. I don’t want to seem like I’m not in control of my own feelings. Sometimes I want to be treated like a little kid, and have everyone fuss over me. I want them to ask me how I’m doing and have it not just be a formality but because they actually care how I’m doing. I want so many things and it scares me that I keep them hidden. It scares me and it makes me sad. Sad that I think I don’t deserve to have the things that I want. Sad that I feel like happiness is something to be earned and I haven’t earned it. You know what the worst part is? I actually want to live. I don’t just want to live live, I want to live with the greatest intensity. I want to go to concerts and make friends. I want to go on a road trip in a convertible with someone I love. We’d have the top up, the wind would blow in our faces, and we’d sing along to the playlist we just made for the trip. I want to skydive. I want to go out on a stage, in a theatre full of people, and sing. I want to feel that rush. I want to dance out in the streets, listening to my favorite song, no cares at all. I want to wear a flowery skirt and have flowers in my hair and make up on and feel feminine. I want to help an old lady cross the street. I want to hold the door open for someone and have them smile at me, gratitude in their eyes. I want to nurture flowers that I handpicked till they grow. I want more than just to be alive, I want to live.”

Sency doesn’t say anything because she can’t. She didn’t supernaturally gain sentience in the time that I was going on and on. I throw in the last of the rocks all at once. I like the splash sounds they make as the hit the surface of the water. And just as quickly they become as one with the water. Two strangers, almost inseparable. 

As I walk away, I look up into the sky. The sun is at it’s zenith. It hurts my eyes just to look at it but I keep looking. This is the intensity I meant. I want to live with the intensity with which the sun shines. I want my words to mean something. I want there to be a piece of me left when I’m gone. I want my very presence to put a smile on someone’s face. I want to matter. I want I want I want. 

Where do I go now? I have so much time. I could go anywhere. I could do anything. Anything. Oh, the mall. So I start to walk towards the mall. I’ve always hated the mall. It wasn’t for me. But at this point I’d do anything. I want to get professional make up done. J want to feel pretty. Just this once.

When I actually do get to the make up store I almost change my mind. What am I doing here? Who am I trying to look pretty for. The strangers face comes up. His smile. The way his eyes lit up. That’s what I’m looking for. That’s what this day has been all about. I want to feel that kind of unrestrained glee. Even if it’s just this once, even if it’s for something as trivial as having make up on, I’ll take it. 

It doesn’t look like me. No, this is a different person. I don’t recognize myself. Wait, that person in the mirror, staring back at me with childlike wonder, that person is also me? I had never considered how people saw me. Did my face matter to them? Did my body? Did they look into my eyes and think, ‘ no this isn’t for me?’ Was there ever someone that saw me and wished they looked like me? Ok, now I’m getting ahead of myself. I can’t stop staring at myself in the mirror. I start to think of floating outside of myself. If I met me would I like what I saw? Would I want to have a conversation with this person? Get to know this person? Would I care? Or would I just see only the things that made them less than perfect? Those almighty flaws, is that all that I’d see?

For a few seconds I think of washing the make up off my face, I want me back. The me I’m used to, the one I’m comfortable with. But then that defeats the purpose of all I’ve done today, so I keep it on. It’s only weird if I make it weird right?

I used to think that sometimes the universe would do things just to spite me, because it could. Here I was, my last alive, and all I was worried about was how weird the make up on my face was making me look. Well worried is a strong word. No I’ll say it. There’s nothing vain about it. I’m just being self-aware. Ok, here it comes : I look good. I look amazing actually. I’ve never felt beautiful. I didn’t even think it was possible to feel this beautiful. I want to walk out into the street, my hair blowing behind me. I want to twirl around. I want people to see me. I want everybody in the world to see me. I want someone to walk up to me and tell me how beautiful I look. There I go with the wants again. Oh this feels good. If I knew feeling beautiful would make me feel this good I would have done it more often. No no, no thinking about what could have been. Sure I wasn’t going to have a long full life: get married, get a job, have kids. But I could have these little moments, even if they were just for today. That is enough. Sure, I want more but I’ve made my peace.

What would you do if you had one day left to live? The theory and reality of it are two very different things. When it is actually your last day, all those exotic things you thought you’d do just start to seem a bit too much. You realize that scaling that mountain, going bungee jumping, meeting your favorite celebrity, is only going to make you want more. More being the one thing you can’t have: staying alive. So you settle for the little things, the ones you’ve always taken for granted. The gentle sound if the stream, the rustle of leaves, the flapping of the birds as they take flight, the sound of a muffled conversation between two strangers. The full hearty laugh of a stranger at the bus stop. Oh, we’re back to this. I can’t get his laughter out of my head. The fire in his eyes, the slight tilt of his head, the ways his Adam’s apple rapidly pushes in and out. Oh right. I never got to fall in love. It’s overrated, I tell myself, just so I don’t have to dwell on it. It’s my last day. The very last one. And somehow this is the best I’ve felt in a very long time. Will I regret not spending more time at home? I don’t know. Mom’s inconsolable. She’s been crying this whole week. I’m the one about to die but she’s crying. I guess they’re right when they say death is only painful for the people left behind. There probably is no other side, I don’t have to feel pain and regret or happiness and excitement. I’ll be just gone. Floating on nothingness. It would be like I never existed. Mom has to feel all that, but I know being around her will just throw it all in my face and I don’t want to spend my last day crying. I won’t. 

It’s starting to get dark. Maybe I should just go home? As I walk back towards the bus stop, I realize that I’ve had my fingers crossed this whole time. I don’t know what I’m hoping for. I don’t know if I’m even still allowed to hope. What would be the point of that? When I get on the bus, I smile at the driver and he smiles back. A simple smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes but that’s ok. I keep my eyes on the ground as I walk down the aisle. Oh oh. I don’t get to take the bus again. I go sit by the window at the very back, just like I always do. I put in my earphones and look out the window. I don’t play any music. I don’t know what I want to be the last song I ever listen to. I don’t know how much time has passed when I feel a gentle tap on my shoulder. I look up and it’s him. From the bus stop earlier. He’s smiling down at me. I start to smile back, I can’t help it. He takes the seat next to me, the smile plastered firmly on his face. He starts to hum a tune under his breath. I don’t recognize it but it’s the most calming thing I have ever heard. I don’t want it to stop. 

As I fade, I hear it again. That full laugh I’ve been waiting to hear again all day. It’s a low rumble when it starts. It’s full, hearty, warm, exciting. It seems to encompass his whole body, all of his emotions, his feelings, his memories, the very basis of who he is, all he is. And as I fade into nothingness, it makes me feel like everything is going to be just fine.