The Illusion of Permanence

Chapter 10

I remember someone once saying that "The hours between 12 am and 6 am have a funny habit of making you feel like you're either on top of the world, or under it". Just a few days ago, these hours made me feel like I was on top of the world. Now, I'm definitely under it. It's 5:13 am and I haven't had a wink of sleep but the peeks of early morning sun bleeding through my curtains are casting a yellowish hue that makes me feel, in some way, warm and safe. It makes everything feel dreamlike and unreal. Maybe I'm the one who's died; maybe this is what heaven is: me, safe at home in my bed at an hour when nothing can harm me.

Maybe time will stop here, maybe the earth will stop rotating and the sun won't rise any farther and I can just stay here forever. I won't have to face my mother's service or any of the people offering empty condolences. I can already hear the dozens of people—many of whom I've barely spoken a few words to before this event—saying "I'm here if you need anything." I have two problems with this over-used statement. One: why weren't they here before this happened? Why weren't they here when my mother was still alive but in pain; why weren't they here when my father was able to get away with all the crap he put me through; Why weren't they here for me when there was still something they could have done? This brings me to number two: what could I possibly need from them now? What could they do for me that I haven't been doing for myself for weeks? Give me casseroles? I can cook for myself, thanks. Listen to me if I need to talk? I don't need a pitying ear. I don't need more "sorry"s as I weep about all the hardship I've been through that they could have prevented if they had paid attention and had been there for me before.

I just need to be alone.

I let myself soak in solitude for as long as possible. I burrow myself under my covers so I don't have to watch my room get brighter and brighter as the sun rises and brings this dreadful day with it. I try to fall asleep for a little while, but I still can't. After a while, I'm not sure I want to. If I sleep, a few hours will pass in the blink of an eye. I'm not ready for time to move at all, let alone that fast. So I stay awake. I stay awake until I've played every game on my phone and I'm bored out of my mind. Much later, I'm still not quite ready to get out of bed. I see Mom's copy of The Secret Garden poking out from my bag, which is still on the floor where I'd thrown it last night. I dart out of bed and grab it before I wrap myself up in my blanket cocoon again. I open to the page where we left off and start reading the beginning of the next chapter.

"One of the strange things about living in the world is that it is only now and then one is quite sure one is going to live forever and ever and ever. One knows it sometimes when one gets up at the tender solemn dawn-time and goes out and stands out and throws one's head far back and looks up and up and watches the pale sky slowly changing and flushing and marvelous unknown things happening until the East almost makes one cry out and one's heart stands still at the strange unchanging majesty of the rising of the sun--which has been happening every morning for thousands and thousands and thousands of years. One knows it then for a moment or so. And one knows it sometimes when one stands by oneself in a wood at sunset and the mysterious deep gold stillness slanting through and under the branches seems to be saying slowly again and again something one cannot quite hear, however much one tries. Then sometimes the immense quiet of the dark blue at night with the millions of stars waiting and watching makes one sure; and sometimes a sound of far-off music makes it true; and sometimes a look in someone's eyes."  

I quickly snap the cover shut, unable to read any further. It's hard to read something about living "forever and ever and ever" when it has recently become painfully obvious to me that such a thing is impossible.

It's about 9:30 am, so I figure it's now acceptable for me to get out of bed without worrying about waking up my father. Besides, if he's still asleep, I don't care.