So you’re standing in front of the gates, hoping that the once you cross them it will all have made sense. You feel a kind of film, a sort of bubble, engulfing your body, gently telling you not to cross them. Because once you do, it will be real. Your mind is doing you a favor, but you choose to ignore it. Now, on the other side, you look back, and feel ever so slightly different. The bubble had been burst making the loudest silence.
Your friend, who decided to wait until the next day to cross the gates, tells you to hurry. He’s hungry, and wants to get a sandwich before the store closes. The place you once called a home, and that was once bustling with people of all ages walking on its pathways and singing under its arches is now deserted. You can barely hear the voices of the same people who were chanting their Alma Mater just a couple hours earlier. Instead, the sound of trunk doors being closed, people hugging and giving their last goodbyes echo through campus. You know you’re next, but you don’t want to be next. You want to stay.
You envy the ones that started all of it earlier. They’re probably home already, you think, and getting ready for what’s next. And you never felt ready for change. You think that maybe there was something wrong with you, yet you couldn’t pinpoint what was it, exactly. Once you tried to find the root of things you realize they extend much further than you originally thought. “I mean, there is a reason why the trunk is so stable.” You tell yourself, to console you.
You make your way to the store and you wait for your friend to order. You fill your mind with what you would call ‘last thoughts.’ For instance, last time eating from this pizza place, last time walked that pathway, last time you saw that friend. You’ve had those thoughts before, but only now you are conscious of them. This time you didn’t have a plan to account for this much change.
You start thinking about and questioning all the choices you had made to get to that point. And your mind is full of regret.
You get a message from your sister. The sister you decided to ignore, because you didn’t want to share your personal life out of fear. Now you have decided to not be afraid anymore. And, all of a sudden, she stopped being your sister and become another person in your mind. A person that woke up, and made a number of choices that day that led her to send you that message. So you reply with honesty, a rare occurrence since you decided to close off to everybody but yourself.
She asks you how you’re doing.
“Not too bad” you say. “I was just wondering what you did when you were 22 and didn’t know what to do?”
For the first time you go back to your family for answers. Last time you did that, the world felt so small. This time, the world felt so big it was crushing your bones.
“Well, you know I was raising my daughter, and I wash coming out of nursing school.” She said.
“But, you know, it was hard being the oldest child. It was a different time. I saw you grow and I kind of expected you to make better choices than me. You didn’t get pregnant at 14 like me, I mean, of course you didn’t. You couldn’t. But I was hoping you had appreciated the time with our parents more, you know. They’re not in the same state I remember they were when I left home. And I’m sure you noticed that too.”
And then you feel that pressure again. The pressure of doing better. The pressure that make your other sisters look like trial and error. And you didn’t want your parents to have another error. It was like a sort of “youngest child curse” that lingered in the back of your head every time you failed.
“You did not see them get older. You were busy away in college” she said. Even though her tone was not accusative, your mind repeated it as if it were. You knew, deep down, that you regretted that too.
So you apologize to her. And you ask her to apologize to your parents to. And you burst in tears of grief for the people you knew. Cause they were not the people you knew anymore. None of the joy you experienced justified the cruelty of time passing. And you knew the feeling. It always felt like time was running faster than you could catch up to it.
So it felt real. As real as crossing the gates. As real as hopping on that plane. As real as the last hug you gave to your family before you decided they were not worth your patience. As real as the last time you slept on your dorm, or your childhood room, or your crib, though you may not remember it, it was still real.
“I’m sorry” you said to your sister. Who’s still confused by this unusual openness of yours. “I’m sorry” you repeat to yourself. You knew it was too late, so you’re sorry for that too. Still, she receives you with open arms, in lieu of your parents, though 5,000 miles separated you. Because of all people, only your sister would know what it was like to be your parents’ child. And that made you feel less lonely.
“It’s okay” she says. “I just want you to be happy, but it pains me how you’ve treated me and your sisters. You never tell us anything.”
“I know, I’m sorry” you say. Only you knew how much you felt it was necessary. And only you know how stupid you feel upon knowing it was not necessary at all. You knew how much she tried to be there for you. And you felt awful, but also grateful for her patience.
So the day ends on a high note, and the next one feels hotter. And your clothes get dirtier. You’re still looking for direction, but don’t know where to look. You’ve never gotten that far before, but that’s a lie. Every second that passed felt further away from the time you decided you wanted to do more with your life. And in a couple of days, unbeknownst to you, you’d move to your dream city. So the days get hotter. And your clothes get dirtier. And your stay more unwelcome. You pack up your things, thought they never really left the suitcase, and move to the city. And in no time, you feel like a part of it.
And you tell yourself that maybe you’ll never feel lonely again.
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