Vanish

I tried to be gentle. I tried to come to you slowly, revealing myself in fragments under the growing dimness of dusk. I stepped ever so carefully into the downward cast of the yellow streetlamp’s sepia light, sending forth first a finger, then, a tentative but eager-to-caress hand. I moved so gently, so slowly that I felt the cloak of darkness removed from my face inch by inch, nose first, before there was no more hiding. I did this for you, as not to startle you, didn’t you see?

I even smiled, those sparks of kindness you all boast so easily, like the one you’d given me, and yet, you still screamed. Shrieked, even. A shrill shriek of survival, one of horror and fear, as if the very sight of me would be your upending. And how you ran, just took off as if the wind came and swept you away, leaving no blame for yourself.

I offered you my most sincere attempt at kindness – an approach akin to that of a person who wishes to greet a cute puppy – and, how was it that you repaid me? Screaming and running away.

Could you see how that would have made me angry?

Do you understand why I had to do what I’ve done?

All I’d ever wanted was to be with you. To be more like you. I just wanted to learn from you. If not for your outburst, things could have been different. I thought maybe you were different. I’d wanted you to be different.

I’d hoped that you would be the one to accept me, welcome me, and show me what it was like to be like you, a glowing firefly in the night, leading me out of my solemn and lonely abyss. I thought you would be unlike the others, who’d taken one look at me and condemned me to hell with a snarl, thrusting a spear of fear between us like a barrier. Me. And them. Water. And oil. Two things that could never mix.

I’d hoped you’d be different. I hoped it with all the blood pumping in my chest. I thought you would see how much I’d longed for us to mix, and how much I’d dreamt of the opening of your arms, wide, like I’d watched you do to so many others around you. Even that bowling ball of a man I saw you squishing faces with, his arms barely able to stretch around his own belly to wrap around you as you rocked slowly together behind your bedroom window. It was such a wonder to me how he was not greeted as I was, what with the cruel things I’d seen him doing. I’d wondered how the fear would gleam in your eyes once you’d finally learned the truth about the man you let stay in your bed, all those dirty and lustful glances he’d given the children at the park when you were not around. Telling you he had late meetings so he could take the long way and feed his devilish desires, window-shopping the younglings as they played.

Yet, you did not look at him as the foul and disgusting monster he was. Instead, it was I with whom you’d shown such disgust and foulness, a violent terror shooting through those eyes at my unveiling this evening.

You were certainly not how I’d hoped you would be. You were just like the others, who saw my burned and battered face, the scarred and charred mask of skin I’d been forced to present. I saw the judgment glinting between your lashes, just like the rest of them. Monster, they’d called me, without even giving me a chance. Without even a hello or a flicker of pity – even that I would have understood, maybe even welcomed. Perhaps, that was what I’d been missing: a sympathizing and tender outreach, a compassionate soul there to guide me towards the light. Afterall, darkness was all I had ever known. All I had ever seen, save for the blinding blaze of the flames my mother tossed me into, spouting about how I’d belonged in hell for devouring my twin brother before he’d had a chance.

I’d heard people say there is darkness in all of us. Perhaps, I’d consumed all of my brother’s when I took his life for my own. Perhaps, we would have been all right if he’d not vanished before his first breath… Though, perhaps not, what with the mother we had. He’d gotten the better end of the deal, I’d supposed. And what had Mother expected? She, the tree. I, the apple.

For years, I tried to be a good person. I tried to be anything but the sum of my scars. Tried to make friends, tried to reach out. But you tell me how much of it one can take before he breaks? One year? Five years? A decade? Try three decades. Thirty. Years.

Monster. You hear it enough, you start to believe it.

No one gave me a chance. No one gave me the time of day. Just gruesome looks and disdained scowls. No hello nods passing on the streets or returned waves. No pleases and thank yous at the shops, just flashes of fear and short silent submissions, anything to end our interactions quickly.

People saw me and saw a monster. So, I’d said, A monster? That’s what you want? That’s what you get. I’d decided I’d become the very thing deserving of those unpleasant greetings. I’d become the thing people always feared to be true, hiding away, seeking comfort in darkness, making nightmares a reality. What freedom, what relief to finally surrender to myself.

Mother would have been proud, I’d thought. Though, I never did lift the pillow to find out, as she wiggled and writhed beneath my arms. Just a couple of minutes, Mother. You’ll see your son soon. Even then, I wasn’t convinced I was “monstrous” enough for her. After all, I’d done her a favor. Her death, my first, was much gentler than the ones who’d followed. The kindness I’d shown my mother was perhaps the last bit that existed in my body. Or, so I’d thought.

The day that I met you enlivened a remaining ember I hadn’t realized was still burning. There was a weak and muted flicker of something other than darkness that remained somewhere deep inside me. Somewhere you were able to touch. Do you remember? That day at the coffee shop? Your purple polka dot headband, tied primly in a bow. Your hair pulled back into a high bun, with just a few curly strays dancing around the edges of your cheeks. How you’d actually smiled at me before asking for my order. And then how you’d thanked me once I’d paid, wishing me a good day. There was no grimace in your manner, no hesitation at my mutilated face.

You were so pretty, so kind. Not like my mother. Not like any of the others. How had I gone so many years without this perfect human?

That is the most profound thing about darkness. Even a flash of light is enough to change the entire atmosphere. You were that light. So, there was still goodness in the world. There was still hope for me, past be damned. You showed me that.

And, so I’d followed you home that day, and many of the days since then. I watched you. I protected you, like the rarity that you were. I tried to preserve your kindness, study it, waiting in the shadows for our next encounter. And when I’d discovered there was already a man in your life, I’d followed him, too. I had to make sure you were safe, that no one was threatening your goodness. As if your light was already spreading to me, the way fire always does, I cared for you by taking care of him. There was no room for a pedophile in your life. He was a threat to you, a rapid of white waters sure to extinguish you. I couldn’t let that happen.

But after he was gone, you disappeared. The next day when I went into the coffee house, hoping to see you, expecting to see you sparkling with relief and joy, for finally you were free! I did that. I’d envisioned it many times… me waltzing into your shop, you ready with open arms to thank me. Me, your savior. You, my savior.

But you were not there. Then, or the next day. Or the next. Where were you?

I watched outside your house, the lights going on in the morning, then off as the evening turned to night. But you did not leave. You'd disappeared in plain sight, left me alone, locked yourself up in your house as if freedom meant absolutely nothing to you!

Had it been one more day out there waiting, I’ll admit, I’m not sure I could have forgiven you for such ingratitude. So, you can imagine my delight when you stepped out for a walk this evening, the horizon still bleeding its last drops into the twilight, like a sign – you, my last dash of hope.

Monster, they’d called me. They, but not you.

So, why then, did you scream? Why such a vile and repulsive response at the sight of me, as I stepped out into the light to greet you? What had changed between our first meeting?

I did not take you for flighty, and yet, you’d made my breath go raspy and harsh in our chase, as if I were a wolf and you, a delectable lamb. I’d only wished to greet you, to reacquaint ourselves after our unbearable separation, to re-fortify the promise of our union.

That was the moment I’d realized it, those endless, suffocating seconds: you were just like the others. There was no light in you at all. You saw me as they did.

Monster.

Imagine the anger. Imagine the betrayal.

I’d only ever wanted to be with you, to be more like you. But, oh, how you fooled me.

You were much harder to carry to the car than I’d thought you’d be. And you certainly had a strong and fiery fight in you. I suppose, that was the light I thought I’d seen. Because looking at you now as you lay on my table, there is neither life, nor light behind those wide, unblinking eyes.