I look out at my front yard, at the electric green grass, and the box of "free stuff" I had set on the lawn for passerby's to graze from. My chin is in my hands, elbows on my knees, a position once familiar to me when I was a gangly child, several years ago. I watch as a familiar friend, her hair obscuring her face, approaches my house. And then I spot her eyes, wide and red with tears. I stand, racing toward her.
"What's wrong? What happened, are you alright?"
She ignores me, shaking as she crouches to pick out a tattered copy of a former favorite book of mine. She bites her lip, another tear running down her face. I check the watch I wear, and find that it is not even two o'clock yet. School isn't even out, and she's here, right here, standing above my box of things I just threw out. And crying.
"What's going on, Darica?" I ask, putting a hand on her shoulder. She just closes her eyes again, to blink back more tears, before tucking the book in her already-stuffed backpack. For reasons that entirely escape me, she begins to run, toward her house at the end of our neighborhood. Her house.
I stand, stunned, for a moment, before racing after her.
"You won't catch her," I hear a voice from... in front of me?
Out steps a man wearing khakis and a green sweater, ridiculous clothing for the weather, with peppery brown hair and knowing eyes. My uncle. My dead uncle.
"Oh my God, I think... I'm crazy, aren't I? I'm hallucinating. Oh my... I... I should go call 911 or something," I begin to ramble on.
"No, Cy. You're very sane. It's why you're here right now."
"What do you mean?"
This would have been an utterly tragic and horrific moment, the sight of my dead uncle, had I not been so utterly swept away by the strange reaction of my friend. It wasn't so strange; we didn't always want comfort when we cried, but she just came and took my book, granted, out of a "free stuff" box, without an explanation, as I watched her. Now that I thought about it, I wasn't in school either.
"Let's just say, the two of us have more in common than you likely would have thought possible."
"What do you mean?"
This wasn't what I thought it meant. It couldn't be. I was only 16, after all. And I wasn't unhappy or a reckless driver or anything common and ridiculous like that. I didn't have some awful illness, I don't recall falling downstairs, or consuming anything poisonous or any sort of drug I hadn't tried before, but...
"It's exactly what you think. Sorry, Cy. It's an unpleasant thought, I will agree."
"No."
"Yes."
"What?!"
"I know you just want me to say it, Cy. It won't help much. I'm sure you've figured it out well enough."
"I don't want you to say... it. I... I don't... I don't wanna hear any of this, I'm gonna... I'm gonna go take a nap. Up in my room. I... Must be sleep deprivation or something," I muttered, as I turned from the man.
But he stood in front of me again.
"Try as you may, it's hard to sleep when you're here, Cy. You don't sleep much when you're d_"
"Don't."
"Alright, I'll say it, because you're clearly one of those who needs to hear it before you can snap out of this... this... utterly pointless denial. You're dead, Cy."
I sat back down on the grass. It didn't phase through me or anything. I was wearing shorts, because it was hot, and I... I felt the grass. This had to just be...
"It's not a dream, it's not a nightmare. It just is."
"What's wrong? What happened, are you alright?"
She ignores me, shaking as she crouches to pick out a tattered copy of a former favorite book of mine. She bites her lip, another tear running down her face. I check the watch I wear, and find that it is not even two o'clock yet. School isn't even out, and she's here, right here, standing above my box of things I just threw out. And crying.
"What's going on, Darica?" I ask, putting a hand on her shoulder. She just closes her eyes again, to blink back more tears, before tucking the book in her already-stuffed backpack. For reasons that entirely escape me, she begins to run, toward her house at the end of our neighborhood. Her house.
I stand, stunned, for a moment, before racing after her.
"You won't catch her," I hear a voice from... in front of me?
Out steps a man wearing khakis and a green sweater, ridiculous clothing for the weather, with peppery brown hair and knowing eyes. My uncle. My dead uncle.
"Oh my God, I think... I'm crazy, aren't I? I'm hallucinating. Oh my... I... I should go call 911 or something," I begin to ramble on.
"No, Cy. You're very sane. It's why you're here right now."
"What do you mean?"
This would have been an utterly tragic and horrific moment, the sight of my dead uncle, had I not been so utterly swept away by the strange reaction of my friend. It wasn't so strange; we didn't always want comfort when we cried, but she just came and took my book, granted, out of a "free stuff" box, without an explanation, as I watched her. Now that I thought about it, I wasn't in school either.
"Let's just say, the two of us have more in common than you likely would have thought possible."
"What do you mean?"
This wasn't what I thought it meant. It couldn't be. I was only 16, after all. And I wasn't unhappy or a reckless driver or anything common and ridiculous like that. I didn't have some awful illness, I don't recall falling downstairs, or consuming anything poisonous or any sort of drug I hadn't tried before, but...
"It's exactly what you think. Sorry, Cy. It's an unpleasant thought, I will agree."
"No."
"Yes."
"What?!"
"I know you just want me to say it, Cy. It won't help much. I'm sure you've figured it out well enough."
"I don't want you to say... it. I... I don't... I don't wanna hear any of this, I'm gonna... I'm gonna go take a nap. Up in my room. I... Must be sleep deprivation or something," I muttered, as I turned from the man.
But he stood in front of me again.
"Try as you may, it's hard to sleep when you're here, Cy. You don't sleep much when you're d_"
"Don't."
"Alright, I'll say it, because you're clearly one of those who needs to hear it before you can snap out of this... this... utterly pointless denial. You're dead, Cy."
I sat back down on the grass. It didn't phase through me or anything. I was wearing shorts, because it was hot, and I... I felt the grass. This had to just be...
"It's not a dream, it's not a nightmare. It just is."
No comments:
Post a Comment