cool beans.

[cool-girlmonologue]

his first, clear memory is of his mother. her face, more specifically. like, a camera zoomed in on her features. fixated on the painful details of her smile. lips stretched back, effortlessly. a light shining through her eyes. the truest form of happiness he will ever see, even though he didn’t know it at the time. a bright, glowing ambiance shines off of her. it’s yellow. everything is yellow – just like her. if someone ever stopped and asked him how to describe the color yellow . . . he would say ‘mama’. without any hesitation. 

if he sees that particular hue now – he flinches away. tucks into himself, far far far away from ‘mama’. it’s the most painful sensation he’s ever experienced. the emptiness of her not being on earth. not seeing the glow he had always found so comforting. 

the last time he saw that yellow – perfect, vibrant – it was draining away. similar to the way paint washes away from skin. muted, running, then gone. circling then down the drain. 

as he walks down the street and looks at strange faces – he sees a rainbow. colors bleeding together. oranges, blues, greens, pinks. an assortment so vivid and bright. everything but yellow. not for a long time. not again until now. 

it takes his breath away. 

[cool-girlmonologue]

what do you think about in those moments when you are alone? like, truly and utterly alone? when the rest of the world is asleep and you lay silently in your own bed. not a single word passes your lips, but plenty is being said. practically screamed into oblivion (also known as the universe). 

no one can hear you. you know that, right? it’s all taking place in your mind. and though it is clear to you, it never will be to them. how could anyone possibly understand the pieces of your mind? the way you process is far too delicate, too rare for them. (at least that’s what you try to tell yourself).

again, you find yourself to be unknowable. in some ways, you choose this. to not let others in, to know what is swimming in that brain of yours. though you’ve tried before, yes. you’ve tried many times before. now, you keep it locked up. far, far away from the prying judgment of those who do not understand you. 

keep those thoughts that stir within you to yourself. store them away in those moments when you’re alone. that’s where they belong.

[cool-girlmonologue]

december 29, 1995.

it happened, like it often did, on a whim. it didn't matter who initiated the rendezvous at this point; just that it happened only moments before the current scene. to any passerby, there would appear to be two strangers, staring at each other with a kind of wildness in their eyes. wild with want, which they cannot and will not find here, on the sidewalk in front of an apartment building. if the person walking by looked a little closer, they would see the sparkle of tears within the eyes of both. there is no whimpering or chaotic overlapping of arguing voices. just a silence that lingers between the both of them and the entire city. at this point, the onlooker might think to themselves: 'why are they crying?' it's a fair question, but one that does not require an answer. because, after a moment, it becomes apparent that these two are not strangers. they are lovers... or they used to be. only a sorrow, so deep, can be shared between two souls that are entirely too familiar. there is no quarrel, nor unspoken promise broken. just a simple realization: it's almost over for them.

[cool-girlmonologue]

christmas, 1983.

sitting on the well-loved sofa of his childhood, he sighs and sinks into the heavenly bliss of christmas. eyes flutter closed and he almost laughs at the journey it had taken to get him here, to this exact moment. a miscommunication with reading train schedules, the blustery snowfall that always covers new jersey this time of year, and a phone call to a childhood friend later - he made it home. he’d shown, chilled to the bone, with lazily wrapped gifts under each arm and a grin. something about the yellow exterior of his family’s home made him instantly melt into a giant pool of gratitude. 

even now, sitting next to his mother, he feels a great sense of ease. in the background, his father and two brothers can be heard playing rounds of rock-paper-scissors for the last piece of christmas cake. his head rolls to the side, supported by the headrest of the sofa. his mother, already looking over at him, smiles lazily. there is a pang in his chest as he realizes that the bright yellow that has always surrounded her has become transparent, barely visible to the naked eye. it’s almost like she senses his panic, because her hand swiftly covers his and squeezes tightly. 

“this is all i wanted. all of my boys. together. just one last time.” the light in her eyes fights its way to the surface, something that has always happened effortlessly for her in the past. 

his throat feels thick and he tries to speak. nothing comes out except a strangled, “ma…” but, before he can go on, she shushes him and squeezes his hand again. “you’ve always felt so much, jude. you don’t have to carry it with you all the time, though. it’s okay to be sad, for now, but promise me… you won’t let it stick around too long.” 

he promised, just as she had asked. he would have done anything for her. even lie.