The Day Earth Died

32. Me, Myself and I

A soft fabric soothes my skin. A mellow gust of air shuffles my hair. A floral yet earthy scent delights my nose. A lone grasshopper chirrups in my ears. Content, I smile.

"Come on now. We don't have all day." My smile falters at the disturbance of my inner peace.

I squint my eyes open and peek in direction of the voice. Me. Again. 14 years old me.

"Why are you here?"

She shrugs, eyes wandering off somewhere.

"Same reason you're here."

"It's my own head."

"It's mine too," she fires back.

I sigh. She's right.

"Are you from after or before?" I dare.

"After."

My eyebrows twitch at the amount of pain the single word bears.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

We grow quiet. I enjoy the silence and observe our surroundings. We're on a red wool blanket, under the shadow of a tall apple tree, on top of a hill. The landscape unravels into a viridescent, flowery prairie. It's the first time I'm not in my neighbourhood, I remark. And also the first time I get to interact with myself.

"How do you feel?" The question suddenly escapes my mouth.

"What do you mean?"

"About mum and everything."

"You mean what she said?" young Malory asks insistently.

"Yes, for fuck's sake, I mean what she said." She laughs and it's sweet in my ears.

"I don't really know, actually. I don't think she's so wrong. I should have been there, you know?"

"It was an accident. You—no—we didn't mean it. It doesn't indebt us to life."

She tips down her jaw and, for the first time, meets my eyes.

"What about you? How do you feel?" she questions.

"Forgiving was easy, forgetting, not so much."

"I don't think you should forget. It's part of us now. I think you should just accept it."

I cringed, the word 'accept' irrationally bitter on my tongue.

"Yeah because that's so much easier," I quip.

"I didn't say it was."

"You didn't say it wasn't."

"Whatever." I laugh at her reply, shaking my head.

"Are you happy now?" young Malory questions.

"I don't know. Are you?"

"Don't ask questions if you know the answer," she whines.

"I want you to tell me."

She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

"No. I mean, you know well it's not possible, not with everything going on."

"It is possible, actually. I learned that. Other things don't matter. It's yourself. That's all that matters."

"Bullshit," she spits.

"It's true." I bite back a smile.

"Then why aren't you happy?"

"Well, you know, with everything going on..." I tease. She jabs my shoulder and rolls her eyes.

"You're not funny."

"I know, I know."

A silence falls upon us. I flop down, back flat on the blanket, hands tucked behind my head. With a buzz, a bee zooms in and out of my vision. I glance up in the direction it came from. Mostly hidden away by leaves, a beehive rests on a branch up on the tree. Bees pour out of it steadily. One of them settles around a corner of our blanket.

"So why aren't you?" young Malory speaks up.

"I guess I haven't figured out how to make only myself matter. I can be happy alone but I can't be okay on my own."

I spare her the details regarding how much I've hated myself for not being able to make myself happy.

"There's a difference?"

"Yeah, and it's a hard one to make out. I've been struggling a bit."

The bee on the blanket arises, buzzing. It flies in our direction and lands on young Malory's shoulder. She doesn't flinch. She doesn't react at all.

"Well, if it can make you feel any better, me too."

"I know. But you're strong, kid. Real strong."

Young Malory brings a hand to her shoulder and nudges the bee softly to incite it to hop on. Once it does, she carries it up to eye level and observes it.

"You too," she says.

"Yeah... Me too." My eyes slowly close, a weight lifted off my heart.

That night, I had my last dream.