I'm Scared of Heights | ONC 2023 ✔️

17) Suspends in Space

Winn

I breathe in.

The evening air brushes my skin, combing over my nonexistent hair and lifting the canopies of booths in fluttering waves. Red blossoms in random splotches throughout the gradient of yellows and oranges encompassing the sky.

My mind, like the wind, rushes over fragmented thoughts. Puzzling ideas crowd the space meant for clarity. I think that's one of the only things I haven't felt in the past few months. Clarity. I know the triumph and depression and everything in between. Clarity disappeared after my mind tumbled through the grounds of battling cancer again. I don't have clarity. What does that even mean? To feel like your mind is clear? It seems almost impossible, but I know the prospect exists. How could it not? I mean, Scramble brought me clarity after my first round of melanoma.

I knew who I was and what I wanted to do. I was the popular guy who worked for the nerdy senior who talked too much. I wanted to help people. Working for Scramble meant I could help people.

I knew I wasn't scared of death. Everyone dies. Why would I think about what happens after?

Live in the now.

Be positive.

Make an impact.

When wading through this weird fog, I feel like I'm missing something. Like I was missing something. I was. Clarity doesn't swarm my mind, but rather a realization.

Death does scare me.

Not what happens after, no. Who cares if we forget memories when we die? At least we left them. Who cares if there isn't anything? At least we had something first before nothing. Who cares where we go? At least we had our ground here and now.

Except, dying never has a silver lining for the people you leave.

That is scary.

Mom and Gran left me memories, but my chest burns with the thought of remembering without them. I'll never laugh about the countless microwave meals we've had after Mom's venture through the kitchen, smile about the infinite times Gran and I made park trips throughout the summer, or share a nervous smile when Mom and I would climb onto a Ferris wheel, both of us shaking in a jubilant kind of fear.

It's like I've been walking in a thick fog of the past. The fog has lifted.

I'm going to die.

Why am I stuck in a brick and motor building helping kids who don't care about school? Why am I playing gigs for a guy out of a series of long-forgotten guilt trips? Why do I bother? What do I have to prove?

It's real. I'm dying, and I've spent my time idling in a sea of people who don't know my name.

I breathe out.

My chest deflates, and my shoulders lose tension. The weight throbbing within my stomach sinks lower. Natalie asked me here. She wants to spend time with me. Natalie knows my name. I mean, she even remembered I was allergic to red dye. Honestly, she knows me better than the people I grew up with. The fact makes no sense. How can a girl who has lived in this county for four years know me better than kids I've known since preschool?

My eyes flicker to the setting sun and the swaying Red Maple trees lining the boardwalk and adjacent street. Stepping into the fairground, I muscle enough strength to lift my gaze to the Ferris wheel flashing lights in the distance. I lower my eyes, playing the foreground in my vision, making the background disappear.

"Winn," a voice calls. Natalie. The voice belongs to her. Of course, it does. The sound is level and crisp with a tinge of something light and maybe melodic about her tone.