The only way to celebrate life is with a side of cardiac arrest, obviously.
“So, Thumbelina, what brought you to your death today?” he asks with a french fry halfway to his mouth. I got so caught up watching his big, full lips wrapping around the fry that I almost didn’t hear his question. He smiles, knowing I’m staring at him, and I actually have to fight off a blush. Blushing over his mouth while talking about my choice of suicide: super, great, fun.
“Don’t you think that’s a bit of a personal question for two strangers?” I remark.
“Hell no. I think it’s the perfect question for strangers. I don’t like people. I don’t open up to people. I don’t talk about personal shit. My friends don’t know jackshit about my emotions. Half the time, I don’t even think I have emotions. But today, I feel like being open with a stranger. A stranger who I feel more connected to than anyone in my life for some reason.” He pauses, considering his next words as he watches me. I feel both terrified and alive under his scrutiny.
“I think there’s a reason. There’s a reason we were both there at the same moment. There’s a reason whyyouof all people showed up at that moment, and there’s a reason we both feel this connection. We’re strangers but we’re not. You feel that too, don’t you? That’s why you’re sitting here, trusting me, on the worst day of your life.”
“What makes you think this is the worst day of my life?” I ask, probably a bit more sharply than I’d meant to, furrowing my eyebrows.
“Well, it would have to be, wouldn’t it? To consider doing what you went there to do?” he asks. I think he really wants to know. It must be the worst day of his life, if that’s how he feels. After taking a few moments to think about it, I decide he’s right. There’s a connection between us, and though we’re strangers, unloading might not be the worst thing in the world.
“No, today isn’t the worst day of my life,” I say on a heavy exhale as I toy with a fry. Clearing my throat, I continue. “In fact, my life has been a series of worst days. Every single one was the worst it could get, or so I thought, but it only got worse. Today was the culmination of that. Today was the day I decided to finally release it all. It wasn’t the firsttime, and I honestly don’t know if it’ll be the last,” I tell him, opening up the wounds I try so hard to keep cauterized.
He tilts his head and looks at me in that assessing way I’m starting to think is his signature. He almost looks angry at my admission, which catches me off guard. At least it’s not pity. He’s quiet for so long, I’m half worried he might leave. Finally, he speaks, and it sounds like the words are being cleaved from his soul.
“I’ve had some fucked-up days. Horrible shit has happened to me, but I’ve always pushed through. I’ve never wanted to quit. Never.” He shakes his head, maybe in disbelief?
“Today was my worst day. Not because something happened, but because of what’s going to happen. I have to join a world I don’t want to be in. I have to become someone I don’t want to become, and I don’t want to be here for that. I’m not sure I can survive what’s waiting for me. I don’t want to fail, let my family down, but I don’t think I can do it. This morning gave me clarity, though. While I was standing up there, I realized it’s the coward’s way out, to walk away from something, from a future, because you don’t think you can handle it.” He shrugs. “I was walking away from my future, and you want to walk away from your past.”
I ponder that. God, I have so many questions. I want to know what’s expected of him, what exactly he’s walking away from. I want to know what future could be so bad, you’d be willing to quit life altogether to avoid it. I’m just not sure I have the right to ask when I know damn well, stranger or not, I won’t be going into the specifics of my past.
“I suppose you’re right. It’s my past I’m trying to escape. No matter what I do or how hard I try, I can’t get rid of it. It’s the heaviest weight and I’m so tired of carrying it. I wish I was afraid of my future, but I’m not. I want so badly to have one, to dream and see happiness and joy ahead of me, but my past makes everything…. black, dark, unachievable,” I state quietly, feeling old wounds ripping open inside me.
He takes a long sip of his coffee, maintaining eye contact, probably thinking of how to appropriately respond to that clusterfuck I just unloaded onto him. I want to say something, to fill the silence, remove the heavy weight of the conversation, distract him from my ugly insides, but the waitress interrupts to refill our coffee cups.
“Hey ma’am, do you have some paper and a pen?” he asks, flashing a full-mouthed, beautiful smile. If I was her, I’d run to Kinko’s for paper if I didn’t have it, just to have him smile at me again.
“Yeah, sure doll, be right back,” she grins, shooting him a wink.
I look at him questioningly, but all he does is smile mischievously. Not the response I thought I’d get to my dark, ugly confession but sure, okay, we’re just rolling with the punches today. A few moments later, she’s back with a small yellow notepad and a pencil.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“We’re giving you a future,” he states with determination as he flips through the notepad, settling on a blank sheet.
“Umm, what does that mean?” I question as he starts to jot things down. I watch him write a few words, trying to read them upside down. He catches me and tilts it out of view, then looks up, full gorgeous grin on display.
“Give me a reason to live. Not just something simple; it can’t be for anyone else, either. Living because dying will make your mom sad isn’t a reason to really live. You can’t live to control other people’s feelings. Pick things solely for you, things that make you feel alive: a future that brings you joy and gets rid of the darkness. Unless it’s a kid -- do you have a kid to live for? If you say yes and you were about to jump off that bridge, I don’t think we can be friends anymore, Thumbelina,” he says flatly.
“No!” I quickly shake my head, heart racing. God, that would be so sad. “No,Redwood,I don’t have any kids.” Swallowing, I fight the urge to ask, but fail epically as my curiosity wins out. “Do you?”
Do you have kids? A wife? Girlfriend?
“No, Thumbelina, I don’t have kids,” he quirks a half-smile, and the butterflies flip around more in my belly. “I’m single and unattached. Now, stop postponing, give me a reason. What are things to live for, things you want to do to bring yourself joy?”
I think about his question for a few minutes. I like his intention and this game, even if itisa bit silly. I want to give him something real, something honest.
Things that bring me joy.
I close my eyes and think of all my reasons to stay. They’re reasons I’ve come up with before, ones that brought me happiness in the now but weren’t big enough reasons to keep going. They brought me smiles but not a future.Rainbows, foggy mornings, coffee….What do I want out of life? If I could have a future that wasn’t so dark, what would bring me joy?
“If I had a future that was bright and not—” I break off, almost choking on my words. “Not so dark, I’d want to go to college, get my degree.” It’s something I’ve always wanted to do. I wanted to be a successful business owner with a solid education behind me, but when it was time to apply to college, it just felt too big, too scary. There were too many ways I could fail, too many people to disappoint.
He starts the list without any question. “Okay, when you graduate, what are you going to do? What school are you going to go to?” I notice that he says everything like it’s a sure thing. A statement. A future.Myfuture.
“A degree in business, and San Francisco State.” He jots those down as well.
