The Impossibility of the Stars (Hiatus)

Fake You Out

"I'll never be, be what you see inside
You say I'm not alone, but I am petrified
You say that you are close, is close the closest star?
You just feel twice as far, you just feel twice as far"

-Fake You Out

By Twenty One Pilots

•*•*•*•

The day passes in a shapeless blur and soon I'm waiting in the parking lot for Mom to pick me up in a sort of catatonic state, meaning that I don't say anything and think about everything and nothing all at once, a common behavior for me. I glance at my phone and realize that it's 3:44 and Mom is a little late, which is unusual. She's a very together sort of woman in most ways, which I admire at times and despise at others. I stare blankly at the wallpaper of my phone for a second- an album cover for some band that I put there months ago and haven't bothered to change- and gradually I come to my senses. It dawns on me that someone is talking. I glance over my shoulder and see Wanda, my cousin a grade above me. She's chattering about something and I smile tighty and try to look like I'm listening.

"Anyways, Rae, how's it going? I never like, talk to you anymore. You're so quiet all the time lately. Is something wrong?" Wanda stops for a moment and then continues before I can respond, "Oh my god, tell me it's not a boy. Is little Rae in love with a BOY?" She squeals excitedly, and I try not to snort at how stupid she sounds.

"No, uh, there's no boy. I just sort of feel like being alone a lot lately," I mutter and stare at the ground, at my scruffy Chuck Taylors and at her stylish metallic ballet flats.

"Why would you want to be alone?" She scoffs at this idea, as though I am insane for even suggesting a notion as absurd as that.

I pause and consider what to say. So that I don't have to spend time with idiots like you who understand nothing about the world and what it's like to feel pain?

"I dunno. I like it," I finally get out, and peer up at her through my bangs. Wanda Sandevier is the picture of teenagerdom- her hair is long and dyed a honey blonde, her skin tan and luscious, a practically pimple-free face with features that aren't beautiful but are passably pretty, and a low-cut tank top and tight jeans with those sparkles on the butt that complete the look.

She sighs, and looks me up and down in the same fashion I did her. Her lips purse disapprovingly, but then she smiles brightly, the fakest smile I've ever seen. "Don't worry," she says in what I'm sure she believes is a comforting voice, "We'll fix that! I know just what we're going to do, Rae. We're going on a shopping spree! It'll fix everything!" Wanda claps her hands and looks at me expenctantly.

"Uh, yay..." I say weakly, and then get the feeling that I should say more if I want her to believe me. "Yay for... shopping. Which I... love." Pathetic. I wouldn't convince a two-year-old that I wanted to go shopping.

Wanda narrows her eyes and puts a hand on her hip. "C'mon, Deserae, this isn't about last year still? I mean, I thought you were over that!"

I don't respond, can't respond, can only stare at her and wonder how she can even say that. She really has no idea.

"Don't look at me like that!" She squeaks.

"Sorry, yeah, you're right. I'm totally over it. I'm fine. Thanks for caring," I say and flash her a smile before turning away.

She says something, but all I can hear is the pounding of my heart, too loud, and how I wish for all the world that I could be over what happened last year. Of course, Wanda's probably right. She's only trying to help, and anyway, I'm the one who is trying so hard to forget everything, so why am I hurt by what she just said?

Mom pulls up in the parking lot and we both get in, because it's carpool day, which I've just now remembered. In the car, Mom and Wanda make small talk for a bit and I take out my current book, which is a truly awful romance novel with a simply ridiculous plot that I haven't really followed but for some reason have decided I must finish. But right now I can't read because all I can think about is Wanda and how all the sudden I want to be just like her, despite the fact that I really hate her most of the time. I want thick, fair hair and full lips and a likeable personality and a steady boyfriend and seventeen best friends to paint my tonails and share their crushes with me. At the moment, all I want is to be stupid and beautiful and lead a happy, frivolous life.

•*•*•*•

After we drop Wanda off, I get in the front seat and look at Mom, who seems different. After a moment, I figure out what it is. "Did you get your hair done today?" I ask.

She glances over at me and gives me a huge smile. "Yeah, I did. And my nails. That's why I was a little late today. Do you like them?" Mom turns her hand on the steering wheel so I can see. They are painted a warm reddish color that matches her lipstick. Her eyes are bright and her smile is genuine. She looks beautiful and ten years younger than she did this morning.

"They're great," I reply honestly and smile the best I can at her. Sometimes I think that my entire life this past year has been comprised of forced smiles.

We pull into our driveway and Mom shuts off the engine. I'm about to get out when I feel her hand on my arm, the smooth laquered fingernails brushing against my skin. "Des, honey, can I talk to you for a second?"

Here it comes.

I nod and slide back into the passenger seat, not meeting her eyes. "What is it?"

"Deserae, look at me." I do. "This has been so incredibly hard for you, for me, for Amber, for everyone. It's been terrible, and I haven't been there for you at all. Amber helped me realize that. But that's going to change. I love you Deserae, and I want you to know that when you're ready to talk, I'm here for you. I'm always going to be here for you. Always." She's almost crying now.

"Okay," I whisper. Then, "I love you too." I look away from her so I don't start crying too,then grab my things and go up to my room, where I crawl into my bed and plug my earbuds in at full blast.

I can never talk to anybody about what really happened last year.

But the weight of everything is crushing me, and I don't know how much longer I can bear it.

•*•*•*•