Between Two Eternities || Travis Hamonic

(12) Hold Me Down

"Never rearrange your life to go half way."

-Shannon L. Alder

Thankfully, Matt accepted the quick excuse of Travis offering to drive us to Matt's game.

The night was good; me and Travis sat together in the bleachers and talked about general things, mostly about how the Islanders are doing and hockey itself.

After that night, it was back to the real world.

We aren't making any progress.
We aren't getting anywhere.
Nothing is changing. And it's a struggle.

But it is changing.
I am changing. And only I can feel it.

Like the stars. They are constantly moving, living. Being stars.
But they're still stars. They're still in the sky. They're still white light that no one even notices anymore.

They are only noticed, wondered, when they fly across the sky and leave a trail of faded light behind them. Because that one is special, and leaves a trail so sought after. The others are just a memory, inconsequential. There are billions more, yet most never get the chance to be like that one, the one that flies.

I want to be special, not necessarily as special as that star, but I want to have a meaning bigger than this world to at least one person.

Today, negativity. Today, the stars burnt out. Gave up. No more light.
It's called a supernova: When a star ceases to exist, it collapses within itself, an intergalactic explosion of light and energy and then nothing. Just the universe. The universe still survives without that one star. It doesn't even realize it's disappearance. Even if it is special.

I don't know why exactly my mood is so bad.
I woke up on the right side of the bed but stepped off on my left foot. It happens every once in a while to a person overcoming depression and seclusion.

However, I had a very good night last night. Even after the game, Travis had called and we stayed on the line until well past midnight.

I fell asleep feeling like a bird.

Then morning hit and everything felt wrong. Me and Travis felt wrong for three reasons.
1) I'm not the old Arden.
2) Matt is involved.
3) And because Travis is so different than me.

It breaks my heart, and puts me in a sullen attitude, to know that getting involved with Travis will only end in my heart break, and at no one's fault but my own.

Jeremy was extra annoying tonight, which only worsens my day.

He chooses to speak to me first out of the group. He doesn't even ask his usual questions about our daily hardships. It is a little unsettling that he had opened his mouth the second I sat on one of the cold metal chairs arranged in a circle.

He always follows a routine. What is going on?

"Arden. For your own benefit, say something. You should set the example for your brother," he says after much coaxing to talk. It had gone on for twenty minutes: me and my half assed excuses, Jeremy's pleas, states from the peanut gallery.

I want to scoff. As if Jeremy would know anything about being a role model, what with his tattoos and all.

There's no way Matt would ever open up to Jeremy, even if I did. Even if hell had frozen over. My brother is sitting right next to me but probably hasn't heard a word said. He doesn't care about support group. That goes for the rest of the "support" group as well, who are chewing gum and picking at their already chewed off finger nails.

They're a nervous bunch, of all ages: thirteen, that's Matt, to an older gentleman with deep wrinkles. He has to be about seventy, or close to it. Most of them have knotty hair and sunken eyes. Some have tried killing themselves (they're very open about. Unlike myself, who has never uttered my secrets to a soul), some are dealing with loss (the primary reason for me and Matt, and the old man too), and a variety of other issues are represented quite well. It's like a morgue here, in this little room on the first floor of Manhattan Center of Therapy.