Only Almost

Start Near The End

It started with one note, then followed slowly by another. Before long, I had a melody ringing from my guitar. It was just a handful of chords that felt right. I played them over and over, then the  words began to spill out as I breathed.

So don't ask me darlin'

Why my hands are cold

It's you, it's you, it's you

And the way you hold.

And my mouth is weary

From pretending to smile

Every time you say goodnight

Wish you'd stay a while.

So don't ask me darlin'

Why I have to look away

It's you, it's you, it's you

And the things you don't say.

Tell me you don't notice

How I hold my breath

When you are this close

Don't move, just rest.

I can't promise anything

If you ask me why

It's you, it's you, it's you

I fell asleep soon after. I was a mess, with a solitary pillow cradling my head while my comforter was clinging haplessly onto the edge of the mattress. I imagine that it was quiet except for the gentle sound of my own breathing. I was oblivious. I was at peace.

It was a dreamless rest, and for those precious few hours, I did not feel the ache in my chest. There were no dreams nor nightmares. It was a small escape, too short perhaps, from the thoughts that would come flooding my mind again in the morning.

With daylight came a myriad of truths that tapped constantly against my train of thoughts. Even when I persisted in keeping myself busy and distracted. It cracked through me, the same way the sun peeked through the gaps of my room's window curtains. I could block them if I tried hard enough, but their scatter was far too wide for my humble reach. Slowly, slightly, I stirred back to consciousness.

Coffee was a habit I inherited from my mom. It was almost always the first thing she fixed for herself on any given day. I sat by the kitchen counter, still in my pajamas nursing a steaming mug between my palms. I was staring into it. But instead of seeing the aromatic brown liquid, my gaze was blank as my mind was recalling the past few weeks. There was nothing different about me or my friends. Life was not any more easy or any more hard than usual. But it felt like certain wires got crossed in my brain and everything was suddenly upside down, as if I was Alice in a mundane Wonderland.

The only consolation was that I would see him today. Ben was pure in a way. Untainted by years of practiced ignorance but somehow wiser despite us being the same age. His eyes saw the world for what it was, unflinching, daring to look back and expose his own flaws to its toxic glow. He listened to my rants and sat through my moments of silence. It was pure luck that I found him on that fateful first day of my junior year in high school. The one odd and unfamiliar soul among the sea of faces I had grown accustomed to since kindergarten. He welcomed my intrusion into his space. His eyes were a warm brown with flecks of green, smiling and genuine. I, on the other hand, was a blur of brown and black, in a hurry to reach a destination that I had not figured out yet.

Days, weeks and months have passed since. People began to assume that we were together, even my own friends. But that detail seemed so insignificant for the two of us to care to correct. We were comfortable and we trusted each other with our secrets. I could tell him things I would never mention to my "best" friends. He paid attention when I needed him to and played along if there was a subject I was not ready to talk about yet. His patience was almost uncanny.

Soon, he would be outside my doorstep and we would walk to school together. I let out a groan at that thought. I did not want to get ready and fall into the daily routine all over again. In the end, I let out the deepest of sighs and finished my coffee. It was time to function like a normal human being, even if it meant being a little less...me.

It was a good ten minutes between my driveway and the school grounds. The entire time, Ben talked about chord progressions and the beats in Tom Misch's songs. It was our thing. We would look for obscure artists whose work inspired us to write our own music. He must have noticed that something was bothering me because he asked if I was okay more than once. I could only offer him a weak smile and a nod. There was something comforting about not having to explain such a vague reply. I knew that he wanted to ask but decided to wait for me to open up. He was cool that way. There was absolutely no pressure to explain or conform and he never let me feel that he expected me to.

Like clockwork, we parted ways before first period. The only class we had in common was the last of the day, which made it bearable and miserable at the same time. Usually, I sat up front to avoid being distracted during class. Today however, I felt like I needed the distraction so I marched towards the back of the room.

No one really noticed. My classmates might have given the change a thought for a second or two but no more, before going back to their own bubbles. I was slipping into my new seat when the object of my complete and utter confusion entered the room – Rhiannon.

Long brown hair coupled with light gray eyes that never mean what they say and never say what they mean. She was a perfect specimen of a social butterfly that intended to wreak havoc upon all the nearby hormonal souls. Mine included. I immediately averted my gaze, but my movement was not as fast as I would have liked. In that moment, I wished I could go back in time...when my presence and my attention barely registered with anyone else's.

All I could do now was sit down, resist the urge to steal a glance and just stare straight ahead. I regretted not sitting up front like I always did. But there really was no point in mentally beating myself up about being caught looking. It could not be avoided given the fact that we were in the same year and in the same classes. I shook my head slightly, as if I could physically shake unwanted thoughts away, and fished my notebook out of my bag as the bell rung. Everyone else settled in their own seats as well. I forced myself not to look in Rhiannon's direction again, thankful that the girl was at least out of my line of sight.

Like many teens before me, I had perfected looking like I was paying attention even when my thoughts were everywhere else. I caught enough of what the teacher said so that I would not look like a total tool if I was suddenly thrown a question about the current topic. I resisted the urge to look at the clock because it seemed to slow down even more whenever I watched the hands tick forward. Albert Einstein was not just messing around when he came up with the Theory of Relativity.

Looking at the board, I let my thoughts drift further away from the lesson. I wondered what made the school decide to switch to whiteboards and markers instead of the traditional green paint and chalk. It could have been a complaint from a parent about the chalk dust triggering asthma attacks. It could have been a donation from a rich alumnus. It could have been some study about the long term cost of using chalk versus markers. I sighed, focusing back to the teacher who was explaining the difference between the seven layers of the OSI Model. I had enough time to write down the assignment: 5 examples per layer. Everyone rushed out quickly as soon as the bell rung.

I stuffed my notebook into my bag as I was heading out. When I looked up, I caught a pair of familiar gray orbs peering my way. I had to suck in a sharp breath and went with my first instinct. It screamed flight.