"Bye, Lee!" chirps one of my friends. I muster a smile for her, put a little enthusiasm into my voice, "Bye!" and start walking down the side of the road, home. Or wherever. It's nighttime, and mist hangs in the air, so thick in spots that it's almost rain. I put my ipod on, smooth my hair back, look up at the few stars. It's cool but so humid that I can feel the air pressing on me.
"Elevator straight into my skull..."
No street lights. I like it that way. I like it better when the darkness isn't broken by pools of light. I can think better, then. Not that I really want to think. Hence the loud music. I know I should change the song, put on something less smooth and dreamy, less dark, less thoughtful. But my nature is to dwell on whatever mood I'm in. And tonight I'm in the mood to lose all my choices. I think about her. About her lips, red in the bright lights. About how she wouldn't really touch me. About what it would mean if she had. I think about giving up. I think about how empty my life would be if I did. I think about how hard it promises to be if I don't, and how slim my chances really are. I think about everyone else she could pick. I think about the time she picked me. I can't shut it off, there on my long road in the misty darkness. It just runs by itself, a never ending stream of thought. It hurts! God, it hurts to think that I may never really get to love her again. To kiss her. To hold her. It hurts to think of the very real possibility that she's just being nice, letting me near her. It hurts to think that maybe she wants what I want, but will refuse to let it happen. It all hurts. And I stop, hold my head a minute, scrape my hair back from my eyes and look up, trying to regain control. It hurts so that for a moment I can see myself curling up right there, a tight little ball, and crying until my tears run out. I can feel her arms around me, the ghost of what used to be. They are so comforting that I could cry myself to death, knowing they aren't real.
"On the edge of a dream that you had..."
It's not the fact that she's not here, not just that. It's that she could be, so easily, and she's not. And that drives it home into my heart. I am disinclined to lie to myself, about anything. But I know that I could lie to myself over her. I could do that, I am that vulnerable. What hurts is that I don't know if I'm lying to myself. That I could so easily see the signs that she doesn't want me, so easily, but that I ignore them. I don't know what I believe. I don't know what to think. When I look into her face, I can read nothing there. No joy to see me, no disgust, no love, no hatred. Somehow it's almost worse to think that perhaps she feels nothing at all. Indifference is more unendurable than hate.
"Has anybody ever told you it's not coming true?"
But no, no she can't feel nothing... Why would she choose me for anything ever if she didn't feel something? God, I can't hold it all. My head spins. I feel my arms wrapped around me, around my stomach so tight that I am forced to my knees. Get a grip, Lee. Get a ******* grip. Fists. I stab my nails into my palms, feel the half moons of blood rising as I force myself to stand. I'm too tired for this. Too tired to worry, too tired to hurt. I just want comfort. Her comfort. But she won't give it. She is far away. I can feel her distance when she is two inches from me. I can feel her pushing me away even when she hugs me. Especially then. It tears my heart up. I feel the tears run down my cheeks, and I am ashamed, defeated. And all of a sudden, in my desolation, I hit the plateau that never used to be there. I level out and suddenly a heavy apathy weighs my limbs like lead.
"You can hold on but I wouldn't waste your time..."
Suddenly I stand completely still, a realization slowly dawning in me, raising my eyes, relaxing my stance of anguish. I can feel my body loosening. My mind empties, and there is the center line of the road in my head. It's white and broken. The pavement is smooth and dark, not yet marred by cracks or crumbles.
"Farewell my..."
And abruptly there I am, standing on the line. I missed a whole moment. My eyes feel glazed. My breaths come like in sleep. To think of anything elicits no response, no reaction, no recognition. All I am is one moment.
"Black balloon."
I lay down, carefully, so that I fit perfectly on the line, and stare up at the black sky above me. Repeat, repeat, repeat, the song plays over and over, too many times to count, deepening the darkness around me until I feel as if I have never been anything or anywhere or anyone other than this. I am only darkness, and there are no edges to me. It hits me like a wave, the truth. That she's not coming back. That I am wasting my time. That I am alone. But where I expect tears, panic, anguish, I find only a sick calm. The kind of calm sureness that comes with finally finding the truth, and not caring one bit, because you know exactly what to do.
"Ahhh, ahhh. Ahhhh. Ahhh, ahh, ah, ah..."
Five minutes ago- was it five or fifty?-there was no way out of it. There was no solution but to move forward. Nothing I could do. Now, I cannot feel desperate. I can only feel this sort of sad, calm obsession.
"Farewell my..."
This drive, this compulsion, with a touch of melancholy but a peace almost like sleep. I sit up. Push myself to my feet. Stand in the very center of the road. Headlights are creeping around the corner. I stand there and stare at them. It's odd to see. Have you ever stood before a car, directly in front of it, and it was so dark you could only see the headlights, growing, growing...? I suppose you probably haven't. It is almost a spiritual experience, seeing them loom ahead of me. They pull me toward them like a magnet, and my body sways and leans forward. Here they come, right here, so close... My eyes are full of the glow of those headlights. They are the same as me. Empty and full of cold light.
"Black balloon. The weather had its way with you."
And now I am sprawled on the road. Below me I see blood. I see limbs askew. I am above myself, suspended within the mist, and before all the lights invade and pull us apart, I see the girl I used to be. She is so pale. So small. So fragile. For the first time in so long, her face does not show the lines of pain. She looks so...peaceful. And I feel no regret. I know I am unraveling, and I am so glad to feel myself slipping away. I feel my memories fading, my cares, my empathy, my hatred, my pain, and finally...my love. I am nothing. Finally. Finally I am nothing.
"Farewell my..."
Going...going....
"Black balloon."
Gone.
Half poem, half short story, inspired by the song Black Balloon by The Kills. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ruc1jTK2H_s
