Behind Blue Eyes

3

March 3rd

I take a look at some recent casting posts to the multiple Facebook film groups I'm a part of. Sometimes, I spend days on end not being able to find anything. Sometimes, I'll end up inquiring about several shorts or the occasional features. I've met a lot of good people during this time, but wonder how long they'll stick around for. Some already know I'm crazy, but do they stick with me out of compassion, or because they don't wanna cut off the suicidal girl? I'd like to remain optimistic, but I always have those doubtful thoughts creeping in.

So far, I see nothing. Casting for music videos, one listing for a local play holding auditions, but there's nothing. I get a text from one of my film scener's. She whats to know how I'm doing. It's been a bit since I've had anyone outside of my family ask me that. I don't reply for a few minutes because my late morning scrolling still holds out hopes that I find something good to shoot for. I end up giving up and text her back.

I'm OK, been sleeping a lot lately.

She replies almost immediately. There's a show going on tomorrow. Lot's of local artists. Lot's of good people. You wanna come? I'll drive!

Sure, but I can drive, in case I get uncomfortable and wanna head out early.

She types back. Awesome! It's at The Winchester. It's a cool place. I can't wait to see you!

You too. I reply.

I end up focusing my gaze back onto my computer. I look at my phone again. My soon-to-be ex-boyfriend texts me. Like it even matters that it's been a few days since I've heard from him. All he says is a few words.

Hey, I think we should break up.

Well, shit, that actually took away some of the weight of having to do it, myself. I text him back three words: My thoughts exactly.

And after that, I don't hear from him. I kind of figured he had lost interest a long time ago, but some of my anxiety ramps up. I'm gonna be out in public, with a bunch of people I don't know. I need to calm down. David comes downstairs.

"Hey there. You're up." He looks at the clock on the stove. "And it's before noon. Holy shit."

That makes me laugh. "I know, what a shock."

He laughs. "What have you been up to?"

"Looking through stupid Facebook to see if there's any productions that are catching my interest. So far, nothing."

"You're determined. Just make sure there's no scams in there."

"There's scams everywhere, you just gotta be smart to pick them out."

"And you're smart" he says, "so, case closed."

He smiles at me. I really hope these next few weeks can clear my mind and hopefully turn around my decision to leave on the 31st. I have hope.

"I got invited to a show, tomorrow night" I tell him.

"What? That's great!" he exclaims. "For who?"

"My one friend invited me, it's for a couple local people."

"That's awesome! You want me to come with?"

"If you want to. You don't have to, though."

"Only to help you feel more comfortable. Lemme know, OK?"

"OK."

"I'm gonna head out and see some friends."

"You have friends?" I say sarcastically.

"Wow! That's a deep dig, coming from you."

"I have my moments."

He heads for the door. "Love you."

"Love you too" I say.

As he leaves, I realize that I have the house to myself. It's a normal house. We're not rich or anything, but we accustom well. I resume looking at my laptop and put on some YouTube. I usually put on some happy bullshit to keep the noise steady in the background. I rifle through my old documents on my computer. I used to write like a fiend in high school. I wrote a lot of stories, mostly short, but a few long ones. I also used to write my feelings and thoughts down whenever I felt the need to vomit them out. I tried killing myself three times before. Once when I was 17, another not shortly after that. I wrote those two down. I didn't get into the super graphic detail of it, but it's something that I'll always have on me to look back on, for better or worse. I never wrote down the most recent time I tried, not the one from a few nights ago; that was a mere thought and I have those all the time. It was a year ago, right after Jessica died.

As soon as my mind starts to drift onto those dark memories, I hear a soft scratching at the back door. At first, I think it's all just in my head, like a lot of the quick noises I hear, but it happens again. I stand up and go to the back door. It's glass, so I should be able to see where it's coming from, but I can't. At least, not at first.

As I hear it for a fourth, possibly fifth, time, I open the door to see what it is. Maybe it's a tree branch blowing against the door, but there's no wind.

I feel something on my leg. Looking down, I spy the culprit. It's a jet black cat. Kitten, really. It's pawing at my ankle, it's tiny claws latched onto my pant leg. I'm feeling a bevy of emotions. Overwhelming surprise is one of them. I bend down and pick the little one up. It, shockingly, runs right into my hands. So, it's not feral.

I slowly and gently pet it. I don't know what gender it is. It seems like it's a boy. I take a closer look.

Yup. Boy.

I take him into my lap and continue to pet him. It's still cold outside, so God only knows how long it was out there for. I stand and grab my blanket that's hanging over the couch. I take him and gently put him in the blanket. There's no collar on him, so it's a possible stray.

Whatever he is, he's gorgeous. His pretty blue eyes are brighter than mine and his face is so small, yet shows so many emotions. I know he's thankful someone took him in. I hold him close to my chest. I don't know why, but this makes me happy for the first time in a good long while. I just hope Mom and Dad are ok with me having a pet.