In the silence of my room, I sat still, thinking, pondering and considering. Shadows danced around my room and a part of my heart urged to dance with them as well, but it all felt too fake. I threw myself onto the bed and inhaled the dirty sheets, whispering of secrets and betrayals, something I was never part of. I groaned and rolled onto my back and images of my past swam in front of me.
Eight years old and the girl was crying. I think I pushed her down, but I told the teacher that she tripped and fell in front of me. The confused teacher comforted the girl and told me to be careful. As soon as she turned her back, I smiled. It felt good to be bad.
Twelve years old and staring down the bottle. My parents were on a weekend trip to my cousin’s wedding and I found my dad’s stash of beers. On TV, there were always movies of people laughing with their friends and I wondered if I could get the same effect. No one laughed with me, my stomach felt full and my head hurts.
Fifteen years old and I’m holding her hand. I think I liked her, but her hand was really soft. I wonder how soft her lips are. I wonder if she would mind. I think I can do it; I’ve seen people on TV do worse.
Nineteen years and I’m holding my child. Take-out boxes lay on the floor and my phone vibrates, it’s a different girl. “Hey hun, I have to go now.” I say to my girlfriend as I hand her my daughter. “I’ll be back in an hour.” She smiles at me, exhausted and relieved to have a healthy baby and lets me go.
Twenty-three and I’m meeting up with my lawyer to file for a divorce. I guess she found out, but it’s okay because I have the other girl with softer lips and a kinder soul.
Twenty-five and I lost my job. I’m back at McDonalds and my pants are getting tighter, but at least I get dinner and some spending money. There’s no need to rush anyways; I’m still young enough.
Twenty-eight and I finally moved out of my parent’s house and into an okay apartment. At least there’s hot water, but the view outside is just a brick wall — a true image of my life so far.
Thirty-years old and by myself, but I guess I’m okay. I guess I’ve lived and learned. What’s there to remember? My failures? My successes? Or the little steps that I’ve managed to take. I sit up in bed and realized that night had fallen. A cool breeze slips in between the cracks and brushes over my face. My indifference transformed into a simple gratitude and nod towards life.