Insomniac

Michael

☽m.10☾

unedited*

I had come to the incredibly sappy conclusion that Sam was like the perfect cup of coffee-- it was always the right time for her, she never seemed to disappoint, and she always made me feel better than I had before an encounter with her.

I hadn't gotten up the balls to go and see her that night after CVS (because lets be real what else was I going for really besides to see her. Maybe some pie?) or the night after that night or the night after. But I'm so glad I finally forced myself into my beat up car and went to see her, cause it's the best thing I'd done for myself in a while. I left the diner at approximately three twenty six am feeling refreshed, more refreshed than a full twelve hours of sleep could ever leave me. I felt like I never wanted to be anywhere else but here at an unholy hour drinking coffee. Here with her in Sugar's Diner delieriously tired enough to tell the truth, or at least an iota of the turth and delieriously tired enough to feel like she saw me. Not just the me I wanted her to see but also the me that was hiding in the innermost parts of my being. The me that I tried to conseal, tried to get rid of, the me that hung onto the edges of my mind too strong to slip and fall away, the me that was like a ghost of the past whispering over the present.

Part of me felt uneasy about her seeing that part of myself, the jaded screwed up piece, but then I remembered how that same jaded piece of me polluted every other part. So I decided that I liked it (cause could I really stop her perceptive eye from seeing these thing?). I liked for once not feeling so strongly like I had to hide myself. I decided that I liked the way she asked her questions softly, quietly, inquisitivly. She asked gently as if she cared enough to know, and to know the right way without ripping the answers out of me.

She made me feel like I wanted to turn myself inside out and show her all of my secrets and scars and let her piece together my puzzle.

I decided that I also liked the way she tried to help. The words she spoke so hesitantly like she wasn't sure were words that I really needed to hear. Words that I didn't know I was waiting for. "...while education is important... it doesn't measure your worth."

It was novel idea to me, one I found hard to embrace, but one that I really wanted to embrace. She made me feel like maybe if you stripped away my good grades (however much they were slipping) and my athletic achievements and skills (however much those were waning) there might still be someone worth knowing underneath. And when she said that-- and proceeded to tell me about her own experiences-- I can't remeber ever feeling more vulnerable. More seen, more known and realized, even though she didn't really know everything.

"Doughtery! Quit daydreaming for once and get your ass over here!" Coach yelled.

Lacrosse was a part of my other life. My life that didn't include the quiet nights at the record store or the content nights at the diner. Lacrosse, if you wanted to be deep and reflective, was something that symbolised my old life, or well, the life that I couldn't seem to shake. The life full of my father's abuse, my sleepless nights. The life where I had to protect and care for my mom, and keep up appearances-- a habbit that I guess I still can't seem to shake, considering I could've dropped this sport a long time ago. A few years ago despite my father's obssesion with me being the perfect athlete, I loved this game. I couldn't imagine quiting cause I just wanted to be the best, and make him proud but more than that, it made me feel alive. I made me feel in charge, and important and like one thing in my life hadn't gone to shit, like maybe I was good for something.

But I guess whoever that guy is was right when he said, "All that glitters isn't gold" or whatever.

I picked up the pace, and ran hard until I was at the front of the group of my fellow teammates. I needed to keep their respect for me, I needed to dig deep and push past my exhaustion. I needed to be the best.