I think I'm a strange version of broken. I don't think anything particularly dramatic or traumatizing happened in my life. I think I was just born this way. This oddly different way.
I couldn't tell you from where in my life I became the way I am. So terribly incapable of accepting affection. So tragically incapable of believing I can be loved as well. That even someone like me can look at another human and feel glad they exist in the same space.
I wondered at times, how my life would turn out if I hadn't chosen to attend your classes that day. Would I keep believing what I have been all my life? Would I never be able to see past the grim filter of my mind?
You are sculpting something in your studio right now. I'm sitting on your favorite pink couch, Aster is sleeping beside me. I don't really know what you're making, you won't tell me. Even when I offered to say 'yes' to everything you asked for for a day. Which, to be honest, wouldn't really be inconvenient on my part.
I can't help but look at you and feel my ribs bend into tight knots, my breath getting all caught up and broken with the idea of what I'm doing.
You will hate me. I know you will. You will worry and fret while you hate me, because you are kind.
I know that as well.
I also know you'll be happier.
That day on the elevator, you had this odd calmness about you. I wondered what I would do in a situation where I was stuck with a stranger in an elevator. In a situation where I couldn't see anything but fuzzy bright lights. I would have been terrified.
But you slowly slid down against the wall and settled down on the metal floor.
"We'll be stuck here for a while won't we?" you asked. The way you spoke struck me as different. You pronounce every word, slowly and carefully. Elegantly.
"Yeah." I settled down beside you, finding the entire situation ridiculous. I remember thinking the universe had tied you up in my bad luck. I silently apologised as I searched for your cane, swiping my hand against the cold floor for a few moments before I found it.
I tapped it against your knee and you fumbled a bit before taking it from me. "Thanks." your voice was quiet. "Which major are you from?" I awkwardly blurted out, half in an attempt to fill the silence and half to simply hear you talk again.
"Oh um, the arts major." you shifted to lean closer to me. "What about you?"
"Music. I heard there was a sculpture class today? I thought I'd check it out."
You straightened beside me, "Really? I happen to be heading to the same place."
I huffed out a chuckle at your excitement and another moment of silence passed.
"You probably are the first person I've met in a long time who hasn't asked me about it yet."
"I'm sorry?"
"My cane."
I hadn't thought about it at all. I wondered if you'd believe me if I told you that. I suppose by now you'd know I'm a little slow at noticing details like that. To be fair I was honestly terribly distracted by the way your hair glittered in the afternoon sun to notice much of anything else.
"I thought it would be rude." I decided to say instead, I would sound like a fool if I had told you I didnt care to notice it.
"Not really," you chuckled, "I think staring is ruder. I can usually feel people staring. I know that is hard to believe but a pitiful gaze carries weight, I don't like having it fall on me."
"So you are," I paused for a moment to make sure my next words would be offensive, "blind?"
"Partly yes." You hugged your knees to your chest. "I have albenism."
You paused, as if trying to decide if you should let me in on the secret. "It affects my eyes too. So I can't see much but the fuzzy borders of really bright lights."
"That's," another awkward pause because im an idiot that can't hold a conversation at delicate times, "very interesting."
You broke out into fits of laughter. Again. This time you pulled me along with you and I found myself grinning for no reason at all.
"That's a first." you calmed down enough to say, "I've never heard someone react like that to my condition."
Now a quite comfortable silence fell over us, where you were calming down from that high of laughter.
"So you sing?"
"A little. Do you paint?"
"Not much no, I sculpt."
I was so glad you had answered my question without a beat then, I was prepared to throw myself off a building for asking a blind girl if she paints. I was such a proper mess beside you it was comical, but you would always laugh along and pull me along anyway. You always were like that. Right from the moment we met.
"What else do you like to do, music girl?"
"Music girl?"
"I love nicknaming my friends. Do you not like the nickname?"
My friends. I'm her friend now. Just like that.
"I like to play music with my friends. I watch movies I think"
"You think?"
"What do you do then, angel?"
"Angel?"
"I thought you looked like one the moment I saw you. Why? Don't like your nickname?"
You laughed, "Because of my hair?"
"Not exactly no," I shifted to stretch my legs, or at least as much as I could, in front of me. "There was just something about you that made me think of that the moment I saw you."
"Is that so?"
"I fear it is."
I remember you letting out these short joy filled laughs so often on that day in the elevator.
You knew how to live, I had thought. You were a person that knew how to live and enjoy living.
That made that dull ache in my chest reappear for a second. Only for a second.
That was the magic you brought with you. I heard your voice again and suddenly there was nothing else I could think about but our conversation.
"I sculpt. A lot."
"What do you sculpt?"
You hummed, as if in deep thought, "Figures I see in dreams. I sculpt what I think the world looks like. My version of the world."
Your version of the world.
You lived such a different life. "Did you always like sculpting?" I found myself asking while that thought passed my mind.
"I dont think so," you shifted to turn toward me, we were close enough for it to seem like you were speaking directly into my ear. "I started out with pottery. I was terrible at it. My father's hometown had this pottery shop that my father worked at. An old man there used to sculpt. He saw the way I squeezed the clay, bending it into shapes that weren't meant to be on a pottery wheel."
You seemed to slip into the very memories you spoke of, "He basically taught me how to show people the world I see. I owe him my entire life."
"We ought to buy him some donuts then." You laughed at my terrible joke. Again.
"What made you get into music?" you said, still giggling a bit.
He did.
"A friend." my voice had felt foreign as I said it. It felt odd even then to let you see that side of me. I suppose putting it down on paper is a lot easier.
"Is he the friend that plays music with you?" you had innocently asked.
"Yeah," I had lied. "He plays lovely. Always had."
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I know I said I'd publish this on Sunday but I have exams every week and am actually properly swamped. (；一_一)
I feel like I'm the only idiotic med student in the world to choose to make herself busier by trying to write a novel, but oh well. I'm happy so whatever. (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ
Thanks for reading and I'll try my best to stick to schedule next month (づ˶•༝•˶)づ♡
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and then Add to home screen.