Coins
We were sitting on the porch, almost sprawled underneath the stars. Or so we'd like to believe (Belief is such a fleeting thing). The night was only lit by a portion of the moon. Clouds blanketed the sky, and not one star was to be seen that night. My arms were stretched out behind me, both my hands supporting my weight. Beside me Kyla was puffing from her cig erratically, trying to make smoke rings. I couldn't tell her to stop, it's useless. I didn't mind it anyway.
"Who is it?" I ask her, breaking the silence of the night.
She takes out the cig from her mouth and puffs out smoke directly on my face. "I dunno. Whatya talkin' about?" She liked to talk in this ratty matter, liked to feel like she ruled the world. If you were someone else, you'd think that she didn't care about a lot of things. And she really didn't. But she cared about this.
"You know exactly." I looked at her, sideways. She was staring straight on, still occasionally taking a long drag from her cig then gently dangling it on her fingers. Her eyes were hard, fighting emotion. She blinked a few times before she turned to me.
"Cath," she never really calls me that. She knows not to call me that. But every time she does, I knew she was in her own deep thinking trail. She wanted to hide in the guise of being impersonal, like giving off an unbiased comment. I hated it — the name. "You're living in someone else's dream."
I was, but everyone knew that already. Tonight isn't about me. "Don't go changing the topic and quoting Death Cab. And I don't know what you're talking about."
"Ya know. Exactly." I knew.
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess. I know." I sigh, and we share a secret smile. A smile, that wasn't really a smile but just an optimistic gesture acknowledging something else. "But, it doesn't really help to be sad all the time."
"Mhmm. But it's nice to be sad sometimes," she let go of her ratty talking, she threw the remaining stub of her cig. The embers were slowly fading into the grass, falling piece by piece into the dirt. It was just us now and the cold, gentle night before us. "Ya know?"
"I guess." And I knew what she meant exactly. Sadness fuels a lot of things, and sometimes it was better than indifference. Sometimes it was just addicting. "So, who is it? This person that's got you so riled up and sad for no apparent reason?" I was probing her now because she had to tell. She never told anyone anything, not unless you forced it out of her.
"Remember that one time," she started. She stood up and went down the steps, standing a few feet in front of me. She took a deep breath and spun around a couple of times. "That time when we were so young and carefree, and all that mattered were the bugs that strayed out of our empty coke bottle?"
It was a vague time, but I nodded in agreement. "That was a nice time."
"It just feels like everything is so complicated now. Remember that guy, when we were neighbors and he lived in the house in front of ours? You were so mad at him for always telling on you." She was smiling now, recalling all those fond childhood memories. "He liked you, he really did!"
"Shut up Kyla! That was years ago." And we laugh, and laugh at some inside joke neither of us told but both of us felt. Our laughter continued on to the night, recalling the time when she lived in the house next to mine, recalling all those times we got into so much trouble. It didn't end all too good — we tried to poison each other. ("Hi, I made pastillas for you!" When, really, it was just powder and sugar and water.) She moved away. Now we were separated by cities.
"So who is it?" The laughter had died down into little gasps and sighs. We were both sitting on the grass now, facing each other.
"Nobody." Kyla looks up to the sky, probably saying a little prayer. She believed in the Universe. "I'm just tired is all. And like what I said, sad is nice."
"Yeah. Sad is nice. Sometimes. You're sad all the fucking time." I look at her with concern then look up to the sky. She really wasn't articulate with her feelings, but this was different. Please, please let everything be okay. I was pulling at the leaves around me, partly out of frustration and partly out of habit. "I'm here for you."
"I just don't get a lot of things, and I really can't explain it. I start out liking a lot of things, like the color blue for example, then not liking it at all in the end. And I don't know. How did I even come to like blue in the first place? It's so mediocre. Blue is everyone's favorite color. My attention span is too short, I guess."
I just listen because that's all she needed: to let it all out.
"And I hate it because, there's nothing in this world that would adjust for my attention span. Maybe, yes, maybe we do have instant noodles and all, but that's a different thing altogether. I hate it because I can't like anything as much anymore. I can't like what I'm doing like how others are. Like how others have being a doctor or an engineer, or playing the piano and violin. What is passion even? I don't know. I can't see... I can't see myself anywhere." She sighs and moves to reach for another cig from her pack. "I'm rambling and it's your fault!"
"So who is it?" I giver her a cheeky smile.
"Myself."
"Who is it?" I ask her, breaking the silence of the night.
She takes out the cig from her mouth and puffs out smoke directly on my face. "I dunno. Whatya talkin' about?" She liked to talk in this ratty matter, liked to feel like she ruled the world. If you were someone else, you'd think that she didn't care about a lot of things. And she really didn't. But she cared about this.
"You know exactly." I looked at her, sideways. She was staring straight on, still occasionally taking a long drag from her cig then gently dangling it on her fingers. Her eyes were hard, fighting emotion. She blinked a few times before she turned to me.
"Cath," she never really calls me that. She knows not to call me that. But every time she does, I knew she was in her own deep thinking trail. She wanted to hide in the guise of being impersonal, like giving off an unbiased comment. I hated it — the name. "You're living in someone else's dream."
I was, but everyone knew that already. Tonight isn't about me. "Don't go changing the topic and quoting Death Cab. And I don't know what you're talking about."
"Ya know. Exactly." I knew.
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess. I know." I sigh, and we share a secret smile. A smile, that wasn't really a smile but just an optimistic gesture acknowledging something else. "But, it doesn't really help to be sad all the time."
"Mhmm. But it's nice to be sad sometimes," she let go of her ratty talking, she threw the remaining stub of her cig. The embers were slowly fading into the grass, falling piece by piece into the dirt. It was just us now and the cold, gentle night before us. "Ya know?"
"I guess." And I knew what she meant exactly. Sadness fuels a lot of things, and sometimes it was better than indifference. Sometimes it was just addicting. "So, who is it? This person that's got you so riled up and sad for no apparent reason?" I was probing her now because she had to tell. She never told anyone anything, not unless you forced it out of her.
"Remember that one time," she started. She stood up and went down the steps, standing a few feet in front of me. She took a deep breath and spun around a couple of times. "That time when we were so young and carefree, and all that mattered were the bugs that strayed out of our empty coke bottle?"
It was a vague time, but I nodded in agreement. "That was a nice time."
"It just feels like everything is so complicated now. Remember that guy, when we were neighbors and he lived in the house in front of ours? You were so mad at him for always telling on you." She was smiling now, recalling all those fond childhood memories. "He liked you, he really did!"
"Shut up Kyla! That was years ago." And we laugh, and laugh at some inside joke neither of us told but both of us felt. Our laughter continued on to the night, recalling the time when she lived in the house next to mine, recalling all those times we got into so much trouble. It didn't end all too good — we tried to poison each other. ("Hi, I made pastillas for you!" When, really, it was just powder and sugar and water.) She moved away. Now we were separated by cities.
"So who is it?" The laughter had died down into little gasps and sighs. We were both sitting on the grass now, facing each other.
"Nobody." Kyla looks up to the sky, probably saying a little prayer. She believed in the Universe. "I'm just tired is all. And like what I said, sad is nice."
"Yeah. Sad is nice. Sometimes. You're sad all the fucking time." I look at her with concern then look up to the sky. She really wasn't articulate with her feelings, but this was different. Please, please let everything be okay. I was pulling at the leaves around me, partly out of frustration and partly out of habit. "I'm here for you."
"I just don't get a lot of things, and I really can't explain it. I start out liking a lot of things, like the color blue for example, then not liking it at all in the end. And I don't know. How did I even come to like blue in the first place? It's so mediocre. Blue is everyone's favorite color. My attention span is too short, I guess."
I just listen because that's all she needed: to let it all out.
"And I hate it because, there's nothing in this world that would adjust for my attention span. Maybe, yes, maybe we do have instant noodles and all, but that's a different thing altogether. I hate it because I can't like anything as much anymore. I can't like what I'm doing like how others are. Like how others have being a doctor or an engineer, or playing the piano and violin. What is passion even? I don't know. I can't see... I can't see myself anywhere." She sighs and moves to reach for another cig from her pack. "I'm rambling and it's your fault!"
"So who is it?" I giver her a cheeky smile.
"Myself."
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