The Anomalous Existence of Percy Wallace

one : of rebellious starts and pencils of art

- - -

MY THERAPIST IS DEAD was what started everything. It was where everything fell apart; where life started wearing newer, clashing colors. It was where I found myself arguing with a nun - yet again - and where I abandoned my old life for the next.

It was where my life began.

"My therapist is dead!"

She knew that there was only one therapist who was financially-efficient and excellent as well. She folded her arms and glared at me, but secretly, she was at loss for words.

"You're eighteen. You should be out of this place by now. Plus, you're pretty okay to go on without a therapist," she cracked a bit of a smug smile - we never saw eye to eye; if I left, it would be more than paradise for her.

"So you have a brain?"

Her eyes narrowed and shrieked at me - if that was even possible. "I'll ask Eloise. You've got a friend who's turning eighteen, right? We can kick you two out of here. You're both a nuisance. Stop ruining our little girls' lives."

With that, she sauntered away. If time lapses existed, the further day-by-day arguments and pouring of emotions would have flown by like a breeze. Then I would find myself staring at MISS ELOISE'S ORPHANAGE FOR LITTLE ANGELS engraved on chipped marble, wishing I could take a selfie with it. I didn't have a phone.

Emmy burst out of the wooden doors with tear tracks sprinting down her cheeks. She looked at me, then turned to the sign I was looking at and laughed.

"This is so funny. Seriously. ' MISS ELOISE'S ORPHANAGE FOR LITTLE ANGELS'. We're nowhere near angels. We aren't even little," she said, wiping her face of its clear stains.

"Noted. Where now, Em?"

She twirled with the strap of her backpack. "I don't know. For once in my life I don't know what to do. We don't have the nuns to guide us."

I rolled my eyes. "Those nuns are three meters away from us."

"I know, but-" she paused to sniffle and pull a pristine tissue from her pocket. "It's different, you know?"

I tapped her on the back, trying my best to encourage her when I really couldn't. I wasn't the supportive type. "Don't worry. It'll be kinda hard, but we'll enjoy the freedom. Okay?"

"Okay."

I snickered silently. I just made her quote a book I borrowed last Friday. Without any dramatic hug or sentimental line, Emmy and I embarked on our journey far more complicated than a J. R. R. Tolkien book.

- - - 

If I had a camera, I would document everything - from my wanderlust to the keys to a provided apartment to Emmy's crying fits. Surprisingly, the nuns had given us some money and a paid-off apartment to live in. I guessed that they actually cared about us. Maybe two percent of their hearts consisted of Emmy and Irene, the rebellious orphans who had left the orphanage for good.

I felt so free admiring the items displayed before shop windows, reading unpaid bookstore novels; and tinting my lips with Emmy's lipstick to make myself look less helpless. Emmy often said, "Carefree is bliss" and I totally agreed with that - being carefree was a key to enjoying oneself, which was something she hadn't ever encountered.

I stumbled back into my apartment, which was the dingiest, quaintest, and most affordable apartment (that used to belong to one of the nuns) ever. Emmy was drawing again, and that was a great skill she had mastered. Her pencil, though, was snapped in half; and was probably due to another fit she had while I wasn't present.

I cleared my throat and flung my bag on my bed. Emmy looked at me and offered an anodyne smile that didn't quite tell me if she was in high or low spirits, but I knew. I knew she was sad. Not depressed, but just sad. She often reflected on her life and still cried about her parents and regretted all the mistakes she committed. Emmy was just Emmy that way.

I pulled out a set of color pencils I bought at a dollar store. At first, she just looked at me, as if she was a blank whiteboard waiting to be written on. Then, she grinned. It was strange seeing Emmy grin - it was very rare, but it felt good pleasing a friend.

She shuffled over to me in the tiny room. "Where'd you get this?"

I smirked and pressed her pencils to my chest, "You often forget - freedom's the true gift here."

I laid the set of pencils on the bed and Emmy snatched it instantly.

"OMG, thank you! You actually remembered me?"

"Best friend token, right?"

"Emmy was in tears, but I had grown used to it. She would cry in sadness, happiness, excitement - everything. But this time, I barely rolled my eyes. My eyes were fixed on the crying girl who was already beginning to use her extensive supply of pencils.

"Carefree is bliss."

With that, I understood that at that exact moment, carefree was bliss for Emma because she forgot about her inhibitions, her insecurities, and her tears. She was finally carefree, and it was bliss.