Sometimes it really frustrates me to see you.
Since I was a child, I’ve loved collecting stories. The thought of glimpsing into a person’s entire universe through something as simple as the shake of a hand or a nod of the head has always fascinated me. Throughout my life, I’ve seen stories of grief, stories of strife, stories of adventure, stories of laughter – each and every one of them unique sparkling gems condensed from their life blood and hammered to reflect the pinnacle of their existence. I took pride in my ability to dig through the murky depths of life in search of these treasures, but there was one story that was always just out of my reach: yours, the story of the acquaintance beyond the closet door.
It was never easy to see what you were thinking. Even on the first day of secondary school when Ms. Tsang told us to introduce ourselves, your silence spoke louder than your words. Maybe you were shy, or maybe you didn’t see a point in making friends, either way, you were the first person who didn’t make sense to me.
The way you acted has always perplexed me, sometimes I wish I could pin you down and dissect your brain to see what exactly goes on in there. One day you would be laughing, talking, and joking with anyone you came across and the next you would be moping in the corner, imposing your silent judgement on all who came to pass. In an attempt to understand you, I extended a hand, only to be met with a jest, a jeer, and a whole lot of ire from just about everyone who heard your rally. Following your outburst, came waves of abuse, both verbal and physical. I didn’t fight back, or rather, I couldn’t. For the first time in my life, I couldn’t make sense of anything that was happening.
Every now and then, I look back thinking of the first year I met you. I would think and conjure up different scenarios of what I could have done differently to have gained access to that weird and wonderful world inside your head. It’s been 8 years since then and I still haven’t come up with an answer. The only day I truly caught a glimpse of you would be the day I saw the world through the ventilation gaps of the storage closet door. Ironic how that was the clearest I’ve ever seen you.
We had our music classes that morning, yours just one hour after mine. No one could have guessed that so much would happen within an hour. I mean, it’s not every day you expect to get kicked in the ribs, beat up and stuffed into a storage closet with a bunch of sports equipment and some ever-spiralling thoughts.
I still return to that place in my nightmares sometimes. The musty smell of sweat and dirt, the light engulfed by the suffocating darkness, the eerie static silence that rang in my ears. Two hours alone with claustrophobia is all one needs to make memories lasting a lifetime.
I don't know if you remember the frantic screams for help or the desperate pounding on the door, but I do very clearly. And I remember it was your voice that first pierced through the low humming silence coming from the reactor room next door, the light from your phone seeped in and briefly dispelled the engulfing darkness. It was your eyes that looked back at mine through the vents, I couldn’t see the entirety, but it was your silhouette I saw crouching down in front of the doorway that separated your world from mine. You called out my name for the first time, not “alien”, not any of the derogatory nicknames people would call me, just my name. Loud and clear.
Your voice, unlike the other encounters I’ve had with you, were kind and laced with concern. Something I never thought I’d hear coming from the boy who had first led people into calling me names. I thought I was getting used to the way people were treating me, but once again, you’ve thrown me out of my natural orbit and sent me spiralling into the vast unknown. Yes, fear was bubbling beneath my very skin but what burst forth in that moment was an unending stream of questions, all of which I still have no answers to.
“Hey, are you alright?” you say as rap lightly on the barrier between you and me.
“Yeah…”, I reply weakly.
“Don’t be scared alright? You’ll be out soon.”
I kept silent and tried my best to keep my focus on the source of your voice.
You seemed to have sensed my unease and took a seat on the floor next to me.
“You know, I used to have a brother like you,” you said with a light chuckle, “both of you never knew how to shut up.”
I wanted to protest but despite myself, a feeble sigh was all I could manage.
“He was a great brother; he would always take me skateboarding in the park near our estate. He named his board Hermes because there were a pair of eagle wings at the bottom. He loved it because he loved the feeling of breaking the sound barrier when he shredded down the rails…”
Although I could not see your face nor judge your expression, I could recognize that unmistakable trace of sadness in your voice. Something I recognized as a long-lost longing. Without noticing, the panic in my heart had begun to ebb away, giving way to a newfound attentiveness.
“He loved to race with the girl with electric blue highlights and tattoos,” you continued, “He would always challenge her to race around the park, and they smack talked a lot. Mom would have killed him if she knew about how much he swore. I would always be sitting on the bench, cheering on him, and when he won, we would go get ice cream from McDonalds.”
Once again, an estranged sense of melancholy tingled through the air as you described the times you had with your brother. A strange force fills the surrounding atmosphere, stifling the judgement and voices in my brain.
However, one inkling of a question slips through the cracks in the surface, causing a ripple in your flow: "What happened to your brother?"
You stop mid-sentence, and I half expect to feel the cold of your gaze upon me. Hell, I even expected you to just get up and leave right there and then. Instead, nothing but a tired sigh escapes your lips, and I can hear the rustling of your jacket as you adjust your position.
"He left," is all you say.
Your lack of description truly amazes me, I wanted to scream at you to tell me more, to tell me more about this person you obviously loved the most. How could you have just let him leave without a word? Did you really not feel the weight of the void left behind by a loved one?
Once again, you had closed up what tiny crevice providing a glimpse into your world, leaving the silence to regain sovereign over the universe of our little moment.
We sit in solemn silence for bit, each absorbed by the weight of thoughts in our own heads. He eventually breaks the silence by reassuring me once again: "You will be okay."
As minutes turn into hours, the questions in my head also seem to turn rotten and even poisonous. My tongue is tied back in knots of untold truths and mysteries that almost seem to spike the air. If they were to break loose, I fear that I would lose the fleeting wisp of you.
At last footsteps could be heard from down the hall, the sound of jingling keys littered the air. Help had arrived, I was finally free. Yet, why did I wish that I could have stayed here a little longer?
The lock clicked and light and sound flooded into the dark and cramped space. There I caught the only glimpse of you, turning the corner and disappearing into the playgrounds. With that, went the only window into your thoughts.
Since the incident, I have tried to establish contact with you once again through various means, but to no avail. I started to see you less and less and gradually you only appeared in the corners of pictures as a misplaced hand or the back of a head here and there. One day, you just disappeared altogether.
Since that day, I had stopped trying to find a reason to explain you and at some point, I had stopped looking for the traces of you in everything. Eventually, I stopped looking for you altogether. In a way, you taught me that not everything has to make sense or have a reason. Sometimes, you just have to feel the world as it is to live.
It was just another weekday afternoon lunch break when I found a note attached to the inside of my locker. It was scribbled out in messy handwriting and was missing a signature. All it said: you will be okay.