The Pothead Flower Shop Boy

I Don't Want To Disappear

Everything is dark. It feels like I'm falling into oblivion. I can't comprehend anything that's happening. I hear voices and the beeps of machines, but only as echo's, as if they were far away. I hear my mom sobbing, begging me to come back. I hear Zoe yelling at me, telling me to grow a pair and wake up. I even hear Larry promising to be the dad I need if I just wake up. But I don't really want to wake up. This nice, black, endless oblivion is quite peaceful.

Peaceful. A word that hasn't been in my vocabulary for years now. What a nice word with nice sounds. I don't understand why it isn't used more often.

I hear the beeping increase, but I don't pay attention to it, because all I can see is that speck of light. Light? I've been here for so long and there's never been light. Why now? I approach it, curious as to what it is and what it'll do.

I stand next to it, staring at its beauty. It was like being close to star, but not as huge balls of gas, as little blips in the sky.

I reach out and touch it, expecting to find a little ball of light in my hand, but instead, that little bit of light turned into a hospital room with everything bright and clear. I heard everything properly, nothing was an echo. All the colors in the room were so bright, it almost hurt to look.

I frowned. I do not want to die in a hospital room, but what can I do? I get up off the bed and walk out through the door.

I'll be honest, I was expecting hell. Instead I got a memory from years ago when I was still in little league.

"So, the little boy thinks he can catch, huh?"

"I'm not little! I'm almost seven!"

"Being almost seven won't help you catch this curve ball!" Larry said as he threw the ball at such an angle, I don't think even Larry could've caught that.
I smile fondly. This is one of my best memories of Larry. One of the times I felt like I had a dad I could rely on.
I move on forward, not sure what I'll see next.

By some weird logic of my brain, leaving the backyard takes me into the kitchen. I breathe in the scents of strawberry pie, something Cynthia hadn't made in a long time. Not since my twelfth birthday. Not since I start smoking pot.

"Oh, Connor! You weren't supposed to come out yet. It was supposed to be a surprise!" Cynthia says, upset at the ruined surprise.

"Mom, you could lock me in my room and I'd still smell the pie." I feel twelve year old me run through not-really-supposed-to-be-here-me, and it feels quite strange. By that I mean I didn't feel anything at all. Its like I'm not actually here.

"If you go set the table, we can celebrate as soon as Zoe gets back," Mom said, her smile breathtakingly beautiful. She looked so young here. Was it really me that put all those years on her?

I shake my head. Even if I was the reason, I'm doing her a favor by disappearing. No more random bursts of anger, no one there that talks back at every word, no kid that smokes pot. No kid thats an absolute mess and failure.

This memory isn't one I leave smiling.
In the next memory, I'm in Zoe's room sitting on her desk chair while she was getting her makeup supplies out.
"So why do you need me when you have your own face?"

"I told you, I'm not putting makeup on my own face, so I have to see how well I can do it on others' faces," Zoe says it with such deep frustration, I feel bad for forgetting how many times I rejected her before agreeing.