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\"Waking Up Beside You\"

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I’ve spent yet another night staring out my window. I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated the dark as much as I did these past few weeks. As soon as I heard my parents walk themselves into their bedroom, and lie upon their beds so softly that I could barely hear the movement of the springs underneath them, I rolled right out of bed. My windowsill was cleared of the books and stuffed animals that usually rested upon it, so that I could easily crawl out onto my fire escape.

Every night, I stood holding the railing … Staring out into the sky. The stars have never looked so beautiful. They glistened as did the tears that crawled down my face. I felt like I had a large hole inside of me. A hole so enormous that it ate away the organs I needed to function. During days like that, I felt as though I was the only person alive … But that never did last long. I know it would be cliché to say he’d always been everywhere, but it had been true. If I’d heard someone tell me that, a month or two ago, I’d burst out laughing and mock the idiocy of today’s adolescence, but now that I could feel all of the quotations I’d heard, I could only laugh at myself.

As soon as the first car rode by the front of my building, I shivered. The air grew cold and damaging after the clock stroke midnight. I would sit myself on the escape and lean against the bricks of my abode. My arms automatically laced around my legs. My face cuddled itself into my knees, moistening them with the tears I didn’t even feel anymore. And there he was.

He was always right there.

There’s this stoplight right in front of where I’d lived. Every morning, before he came to pick me up for school, he’d stand there and wait for me. His arms would be crossed, his eyes closed, and his head would bob to whatever CD he’d been listening to. His hair was always spiked upwards, as it was in the hologram my eyes had produced to see across the street. His backpack stood against his legs, halfway opened so he could return his CD Player into it as soon as he saw me approach.

The image continues to haunt me.

I never understood why I tortured myself that way. It would only be a matter of minutes until I remembered he’d never wait for me like that, again. He’d never wake up an hour earlier and go out of his way just to be able to spend a few extra minutes with me. As soon as that realization hit me, I burst into tears. Quiet sobs that required only the thoughts in my head to break my heart into pieces. I was never a hysterical person. The worst I could do was let a few tears drop and slump myself into a ball. Reminiscence after reminiscence haunted me every night, starting out with the day I’d met him, to the first morning he wasn’t outside my window.

As soon as I thought it would be safe to return into my bed, and that I was emotionally drained to the point that I would fall fast asleep, I returned into my room. I had to take my time closing the window, since it always made a loud noise, that would surely wake the adults I’d been keeping my pain hidden from. No matter how cold I’d been, the tears always seamed to have the ability to force warmth into me. The tossing and turning I had to go through before I fell asleep surely did help the process of heating me up, but it would be hours until my eyes closed again. Hours of having to calm myself down.

The mornings were even harder to stand, than the nights. I would wake up and perform the daily routine; too tired to think, and too depressed to consider more than empty movements. I’d slowly chew my cereal while waiting for the weather report, and then change the channel to keep my mind on something else as I looked for the clothes I’d wear to school.

My CD Player became my best friend. Loud songs would make it harder for me to concentrate on the quick beating of my heart as I passed that corner. Walking was a terribly undesirable action, so I took the bus instead. I’d greet my friends with nothing but a few words, and then it’d be time to settle into the classrooms.

I walked with my head staring at the floor, hypnotized into the dirty tiles everyone’s shoes slapped against. Sooner or later I could find my way to any of my classes blindfolded, since I rarely paid attention to the hallway-passing minutes. My head would fall into my arms as soon as my body positioned itself into my chair. I’d take deep breaths. Sometimes I wondered if I’d run to class, or if it was the three-floor walk that wore me out so easily, but it didn’t matter enough to waste thinking on. Doodling shapes in my notebook sounded like such a better way to waste my time.

Whenever the door creaked open, my head would shoot upwards. I expected him to be there, since he’d skipped his class to see me almost all of the time. Once, he came to the classroom to take a make-up test, even though the room he’d come from was about two floors, and some hallways further from where I’d been. He’d weasel his way into sitting next to me and write me little notes on his test paper. I’d respond with a whisper. He’d draw a little happy-face. But, of course, it wasn’t him today, nor was it him the day or week before. It’s always that same little man who came to check the attendance in the classroom.

Sometimes I hated that little man so much that I could scream.

These past few days were harder than the last week. I would always forget to do my homework, and would growl to myself when I heard the teacher taking points off of our final grades. I promised myself to make everything up, but never kept my word. The afternoon would be the same each day. My friends would walk me home. I’d sleep for an hour or two. I’d wake up so damaged that Nesquik and television shows were my only escape.

Friends would call me and ask if I could come outside, but I always said the same thing.

“I’m not feeling well.”

They worried for a while, but of course, that never lasted too long, either. The calls would lessen and the only thing I’d hear from them would be questions about why I was being so quiet, or if I did anything the day before. I hadn’t. I’d withered away into little ashes and floated around my apartment. I’d sat curled in bed until the requests of my parents would drone to the point that I wanted to rip my hair out. Never left alone. Never understood. Couldn’t anyone see the tears that welled in my eyes? I recall something a friend of mine said to me, maybe a week or two before this day. It was something about how they weren’t able to listen to me, since I hadn’t been able to speak. Understandable, I presume. But what was there to say? The hole inside me took up space within my mind, as well.

There were times I could barely think at all.

I would listen to a song and the hatred in myself would grow. I didn’t hate him for leaving me, since it had obviously been the fault of my own. There’d been many times before, that I’d been left to sleep alone. The silence on the other side of my phone had scared me. Usually it’d been someone’s voice I’d heard. Day after day it grew harder for me to remember what his voice sounded like. I’m not sure if I even wanted that memory in my mind. His laugh had been forgotten weeks before. The way I felt inside his arms turned into nothing but a fantasy. If it was so easy to forget those acts, then why couldn’t I forget him? Even saying his name grew so difficult that I’d thought of him in nicknames. “You-Know-Who” became very well-known throughout our group of friends.

Today was different, however. I’d woken up the same way and gone through the same avoidances of the corner of my street. I’d gone through the same hello’s and see-you-later’s with the people who called themselves my friends. The same little man picked up the attendance in the classroom and the same teachers took points off of my grade from not bringing in my homework. I’d expected myself to break down before the end of the day, but kept a strong shield over myself.

We watched a movie in my language class which gave me a chance to listen to the droning that would block out the tears that were haunting my lids.

And there he was.

A hologram, I thought at first, and ignored the thought of it’s existence. I lied my head back on my desk and felt my heart beat faster. The little broken sides of it, stung my lungs and made it hard for me to breathe. The hologram had powers? Was it another attempt to rid me of my sanity?

His hand crawled onto my shoulder, and the vibrations of the people around us only made this more difficult. The class had been over and everyone had left. The lights were off and we were alone in the room. My worst nightmare and myself. The paint that colored my heart gray, had stood before me. My stomach bounced as though I was about to spill a secret poison to rid my eyes of his body. His hair was spiked, but longer than I remembered. His backpack was closed, but his hand was on the zipper, as if he had just finished closing it.

I wondered if the hologram had come to kill me.

His hand felt warm against my ear as he took the headphones off of my head. I found it even harder to breathe. This simple figment had the ability to touch me? What kind of a warped dream had I been inside of? His eyes seamed so much more green that the last time they’d look into mine … I felt hypnotized. Was this reality occurring? Was it only my breakdown that forced me to deny the subsistence of that moment?

“How have you been?”

It felt as though a light surrounded his body. His voice echoed as if it were the sung prayer of an angel.

“Fine.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you. You haven’t even come down to lunch. Did you get your schedule changed?”

Why did this heavenly creature choose to destroy me in this way? His tone sounded so calm and sincere. Almost as if he’d practiced those lines for many days. Lying was something he’d been good at. Like how he told me he adored me. Like how he told me nothing would keep us apart. Unless he was nothing, those sentences were lies. Did he plan to feed me more?

I wasn’t hungry.

“No. I just don’t go anymore.”

“Is it because of me?”

I wasn’t ready for this talk. I admit I’d thought about us taking everything back, but it was never supposed to be like this. I’d pictured him standing at the stoplight, waiting for me one morning. I’d stared at the phone long enough to imagine myself jumping for it as he called. But did he? No. He never did. Was this his idea of a sick joke? Did he plan on making me even more miserable?

“No.”

“I’ve missed you.”

This was where I was going to break down. I didn’t want to, but the darkness fell on me like a boulder to my back. My lips trembled and I had to close my eyes so that the pain wouldn’t fade out through my lids. I’ve waited days to hear those words but it felt like such a lie. I waited for him to give me the “Let’s be friends” speech but it never came.

His embrace made everything worse. The smell of his cologne filled my nostrils and I felt like days of withdrawal were about to go down the drain. I inhaled deeply and threw myself on him. The pressing of our bodies triggered a more serious nerve. I didn’t feel the tears but I saw them as they blurred my vision. My body shook as his hands rubbed against my back. What was he doing? Was this what death felt like? Being taken away in the arms of the one who’d killed you in the first place?

“I’ve missed you so much.”

He went on about how these weeks have been the worst of his life. He described the feelings I’d endured and spoke of nights that reflected my own. I didn’t want to be the cause of his suffering, but it felt good not to be alone. He felt the same as I did. He yearned for our return.

My heart was mending so quickly that my head started to spin.

Hold me. Don’t tease me any longer. Don’t fade away as you have in all the dreams I’ve suffered through. Don’t tell me this isn’t real. Let it be real. Let us be back in each others minds without the aching that came along with us. I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t spend another night on that escape. Tell me we were back together. Tell me I wouldn’t have to fall asleep to the same silence on my telephone. Tell me I would no longer wake up to avoid the empty stoplight, and have to walk with a CD Player as my only friend.

“I missed you, too.”

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© Sylwia Wielgosz.