Crimson

Friends, Maybe?

        There was a knock at my door and the nurse came in.

        “Breakfast,” I looked at her and she gave me a disappointed look.

        “You weren’t supposed to take those off.”

        “I don’t care. I can see without them. It doesn’t hurt,” I refused to wear them.

        “Come with me. We’ll get you an eye patch.”

        I got out of bed and followed her down the long corridor of rooms out to the main room which branched down another corridor of rooms, a small library area, and a room the same size as the library with a big table and chairs called the group room. In the main room there was a lounging area with comfortable chairs and in the corner was a pay phone and a plastic chair to sit in while talking.

        Then there was a long table with enough chairs to seat all the staff and patients. In front of every chair was a tray of food and a piece of paper. I walked up to a window where she told me to wait and she opened it and looked at my eyes with a little flashlight before handing me a black eye patch and telling me to keep my eye covered.

        I put it on and went to find my food. I sat down quietly and ran my fingers through my hair. I watched as patients sat around the table with their food. I knew why they were here by looking at half of them. Though, there was one girl. I just couldn’t figure her out. I felt like everyone was staring at me. So, I didn’t eat.  It’s just too weird for me when people are looking at me. I feel like they’re judging me.

        “Will you start eating?” My nurse asked me.

        I shook my head.

        “Why won’t you eat?”

        “People are looking at me,” I said quietly.

        “You need to eat or they’ll file you for ED.”

        “I’m not ED. I just don’t like to eat in front of people.”

        “Would you like to eat in the group room?”

        I imagined eating in a small room with ten other chairs in an awkward silence with a nurse I barely know. I shook my head and forced myself to ignore everyone around me, but it was extremely hard to drown out the awkward conversations and the loud, obnoxious chewing.

        When I finished the nurse took my piece of paper and I put my tray away. I went over to the lounge area and sat there quietly with my eye closed.

        “Hey, you up?” I heard a familiar voice, but couldn’t place it.

        “No,” I said stubbornly.

        “Good. I can read your paperwork,” I heard the smirk in her voice as my folder was opened.

        “You know that’s illegal right?” I asked.

        “Yup.”

        “And?”

        “Don’t care.”

        I smiled, “You know, I think you might be legit.”

        “Guess you can’t judge a book by its cover,” she sighed.

        I opened my eye, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

        “Figure it out,” She smiled.

        She was way too similar to Sara. Her hair was pulled back with her bangs still hanging down. She had soft, round features as well. Her eyes were strong , but they looked old and sad. Like the world had beaten her down and that she was never good enough and everything has always gone wrong and she was just wasting away. They were showing me that she was a wise, old soul, but she was also a scared little girl who needed someone to hold her and stop the pain.

        They were a lifeless grey and blue swirl. It felt like I could stare into them forever and get lost. She was nothing like me on the outside. I’m not who you would expect by looking at me. Everyone thinks I’m just a pothead skater who couldn’t give a fuck less and has a reckless delinquent record.

        That’s not me. I’m just a shallow, senseless kid who can’t amount to anything so he tried to kill himself because even his best friend didn’t think he was good enough reason to keep breathing.

        I’m a worthless piece of shit. When did I turn into this bitter asshole? By the time I had snapped out of my thoughts, I realized that she’d left after she went through my folder.

        I opened my folder and frisked though my papers until I came across my background paper. I didn’t think I wrote anything in here, but when I was little and I had nightmares, I would write in my sleep. It was extremely detailed so that’s most likely what happened.

        On the bottom was something scrawled in a different hand writing.

        I find it kind of funny,

        I find it kind of sad,

        The dreams in which I’m dying,

        Are the best I’ve ever had.

        I couldn’t help but smile. Sara and I sang that song for the school talent show. We sang it together every day for nearly three months. She would play the piano and I would sing the main part until the chorus and she would join me.

        Then I was reminded. A tear escaped my grasp and my smile only shown more. It was one of those reminiscing, sad smiles followed by realizing that that time is passed and it’s just that; a memory. It exists, but it’s not a physical being to hold and care for. It’s not the person in the memory. It’s just useless pictures that play back repeatedly making you emotional and you can’t describe it.

        You know when it happened and you knew when it was happening, but it’s not happening anymore and you can’t change it. You didn’t know what was going to happen in that moment and you know that, but you know the ending as it dances in front of your eyes. You want to stop singing and hug her and never let her go. You want to tell her how much you love her and that you want to be with her. You want to show her that what you’re saying is true.

        But that won’t happen. That can’t  happen. That’s the painful part. It kills you inside because every image or vision you remember of that person is a moment that you wasted. One second, a thought that could change the world. One minute, a sentence that could change everything. One hour, a person that could hold you. One day, a new beginning. One week, full of laughter and fun to never forget. One year, a chapter that could be the best or worst part of the story.

        But one life, no that’s something different.

        That’s an adventure worth a thousand pages.