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Two Kinds of Mature

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At this point I’ve forgotten what a stair is and yet I find myself climbing many of them, chasing after you. I’m not sure what just happened nor I am sure of what is happening. The world is spinning. My thoughts whizz by so fast and I feel myself struggling to read them. My brain gets so frustrated that it opens the door and squirms its way out of my head. With a hand on the door, it shoots one angry glance back at me, before…
BAM. Reality. Sounds amplified. Words slurred. Sights blurred. The world still spins. At the top of the staircase is a bathroom. You had gone in and slammed the door. I push my ear up against it as well as my open hands. The door feels solid and yet it sounds hollow. My ear sinks farther into its cold white wood. Your sobs are broken and I can hear them bounce off each of the walls in the bathroom before they finally get to me. I whisper your name. No answer. I curl my fingers into fists and knock. No reaction.
Listen, I understand. You’re the one who’s competing. You chose to run the race with your entire life on your shoulders. You’re the one who’s forced to watch plays about sad people who hope and read books about the people who screwed us over. You’re the one who thoroughly inspects yourself each day for strong opinions, sincerity, and confidence. You’re the one that writes.
I’m the one who likes to dance. I’m the one who goes to parties every other weekend and spends hours contemplating my outfits. I’m the one who thinks that boys are cute and imagines what it would be like to be kissed. I’m the one who plays with my hair.
Listen, we both got problems. We both got ex-pay-tay-shins. But look at me: I’m not crying! Look at me: I’m doing okay!
Still no answer. I rest my head on my hand and groan; I’ve never been good at this comforting thing. Listen, I try to push the word through the door, Why don’t you come back to the party. Have a drink, dance, talk to that guy! Still nothing. I can hear your mind boggling and bobbing and baffling. I’m sorry you’re feeling this way. Really I think a drink will help.
Why do you do this to yourself? Why do you feel the need to debate? To understand what’s going on in the world, what went on in the world, and how can you still choose to immerse yourself in such a corrupted society? You don’t need to, right? All someone needs is somebody to love and a place to love them, right?
I turn the doorknob to find the door unlocked. I walk in to see you standing there, staring right back at me. Your eyes are blood shot; your lip is quivering. I don’t know what to do. You seem angry or frustrated. Are you frustrated with me? I put my hands up to my face and push hard against my eyelids only to realize, I’m crying. I pull my hands away and look at the mirror to see one pair of eyes staring back at me: I’m alone.
I fall to the ground; my legs submerge into the cold tile floor. I lean against the wall and pull my knees in tight. Around me, the echoes of my thoughts collide with each other, with the walls. They pierce my forehead and I scream. No one seems to hear me over the roar of the music below me and yet for a moment the world gets quiet. Slowly I untangle myself and fight against gravity until I’m standing. I look up and then I look in the mirror before reaching for a towel and turning the faucet on.



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Amcpherson13 said...
May 30, 2011 at 10:33 pm
Great job, Kat! Even though this was brief, it was jam-packed with emotion and written with great detail. The end was very interesting - why was the bathroom empty? Had the other girl really been there, or was it all in the narrator's mind? I'll ask you about it tomorrow :)
 
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