Until the Moss had Reached our Lips

“Do you know what depresses me?” she asked me suddenly.

“No.”

She smiled lightly. “Well, that’s a good sign considering we’ve only known each other for all of five minutes.

“I suppose.”

A sigh. “But even knowing that, my mind seems to still feel a need to bridge gaps in conversation with socially acceptable constructs. Do you get what I mean?”

I didn’t answer.

“Guess not, or maybe you’re just one of those reticent types who have problems with self confidence,” she grinned. “Kidding, kidding—wow, that word is rather... hmm, I don’t like it. I was joking, not kidding. Kids don’t do this sort of stuff.”

She crossed her legs and then uncrossed them again. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. I don’t even know what you’re doing here listening to me—are,” she stopped, and then laughed, “maybe you think I’m physically attractive, no?”

She stretched and I blushed slightly.

She laughed again, “Maybe, maybe, eh? Maybe you’re just interested in how weird I’m acting, just blabbing—no, don’t like that word either—talking so uncontrollably all over the airport. Maybe you’re one of those connoisseurs of personalities or something—are you a writer?”

“N—no.”

“Awww, you look so cute!” she laughed. “I know you probably hate that don’t you, we being adults. Young adults, maybe, but still adults. Don’t you have a flight to catch?”

“The three o’ clock.”

“No. The Pan-Am 1744 to Vegas?” she laughed at my nod. “Figures, the random stranger I choose happens to be on the same flight—what are you doing, going to Vegas?”

“I’m meeting my girlfriend.”

Eyebrows raised. “Your girlfriend. In Sin City.”

“Her idea, not mine.”

Laughter. “So of course, that makes everything okay. I see! That’s alright, I’m an irrational human being, too.”

“I’m guessing you’re not always this... effusive.”

She sobered. “No, no, I’m not. Effusive. Very nice word choice, by the way. Are you sure you’re not a writer? Maybe a poet?”

“I’m an engineer.”

“Really.”

“I majored in mechanical.”

“Oh.”

She was silent for a long time. The energy was gone, and now she sat back in her seat, frowning. She was still looking at me, but I had the feeling that her mind was not really processing visually at the moment. I checked the time: still around half an hour before boarding would even begin. But she surprised me again with her next words.

“I think I’m depressed, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“You didn’t seem depressed to me at first.”

She smiled weakly. “Yeah, I probably just seemed like a tramp or psycho or something. Something. Wow. I’m subconsciously categorizing certain less desirable members of society as objects.”

“Now that you mention it, I do that all the time.”

“I know,” she smiled bitterly. “It’s socially proliferate word choice now. I’m just trying to make myself feel bad for it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know! I’m depressed, maybe that’s why.”

“Have you seen a doctor?”

She laughed, closing her eyes, whole body rippling in bitterness. It was almost a minute before she opened her eyes again and regained control of herself. “Of course, you don’t know. I’m a PhD/M.D. Yeah, I know I look young—I graduated from high school at sixteen and finished undergrad at eighteen—that stuff doesn’t really matter though. I am a doctor, and I know myself best. I’ve done all the tests and everything, but I still don’t know how to fix it, because the source definitely isn’t physical.”

“See a psychologist.”

She shook her head. “I’ve gone back to school and I’m getting my second PhD in psychology right now. The Role of Self-Justifying Constructs—look for it in the Journal of Psychology.”

“So it’s not psychological.”

“Yes, and no,” she frowned. “You see, it’s more of a dilemma.”

“And you’re depressed because you don’t know what to do.”

“Because I can’t make a choice. Or, no, rather, I can’t find a choice I’m happy with. But then again, who am I to demand answers?”

“Mid-life crisis,” I smiled, hating myself for every second I held the position on my face.

But she laughed. “Yes, I suppose you can put it that way. My quarter-life crisis. You see—“ the excitement faded, “I don’t know why I keep acting the way I do.”

“Me neither.”

She half-smiled. “It really makes me wonder if there’s a God sometimes, things like this. Out of everyone in the whole goddamn—wow, the irony—airport, I pick just the one person who seems to understand at least a bit of what I’m talking about.”

“I’m sure there are others.”

She sighed. “Of course, of course. You... you don’t mind, do you? Be honest. I know you might feel bad to say no, but I’ll be perfectly fine if you don’t want to listen. I don’t want to push myself on you—wow, that was weird word choice there, too.”

“No, no, I’m fine.”

“Really.”

“Yes, really.”

She sat back. “Alright then. You’re probably wondering why I’m telling you my problems—you, some random guy I met in the middle of the airport while waiting for a flight to Las Vegas. You’re probably wondering why I don’t just, say, call up one of my close friends instead. That’s part of the problem now.

“The thing is, I don’t think most of them would, well, really understand what I want right now. I mean, they understand me too well, but by doing so, they won’t understand at all. Do you get what I mean?”

“Not really,” I admitted.

“Let me try again. If say, I told one of my friends, she would give me the most sensible, most understanding advice possible. The problem is, I already know what she’ll say and I know that it’ll be the move that makes the most sense—but, I don’t want to make sense. I don’t want to go down that path because I don’t like where I think it’ll end up. I suppose you still probably don’t get it.”

“No, not really.”

“Well, basically, I’m not talking to any of them because they know me. They have bias, but now that I think of it, I suppose all that doesn’t really matter. What’s really the problem now—it may seem so silly and childish and everything, but... well, I guess you’re a smart guy—not like that should make any difference. I’ll start from the beginning.

“I’ve had a friend since childhood—well, I’ve had more than one, but you know what I mean. We grew up together, he and I, and we basically stuck together all through grade school, and even college, though we went to different schools in the end. We were always there for each other in just about every way possible. We were definitely, as we would say it in high school, ‘bff’s’, best friends forever. When he would have a hard breakup with his girlfriend, I’d be the first person he would call. Same for me—with my boyfriend. I would talk to him now except... well, you’ll see.

“The two of us never dated. We were never involved romantically—never. When we were younger, we would make out and all that just for the novelty of it and everything, but that was just in our innocence and it never went anywhere. He would find a girlfriend, and I a boyfriend, and we would go off on our own separate ways.

“I can still remember many nights we spent together—so many hours and memories. I’ll try my hardest to describe one so you can understand.

“I remember this one night—I think it was in my last year of high school—we were lying out in a field somewhere out past Mr. Reisen’s property. It was just the two of us, sprawled out on the grass. He’s always loved stargazing, and we would often go out like that, just a blanket and each other and we’d go out and admire the cosmos together. Sometimes, I suppose, we’d invite others and turn it into a party and all that, but that night, it was just the two of us.

“It was sort of late out, but we didn’t care. We raced to point out stars—Rigel and Betelgeuse and Aldebaran—then the constellations, and when we’d found them all, we’d spend time making up a few of our own, drawing out the shapes with our fingers and coming up with some myth about how it got there and all that.

“I remember that one night, I had just finished telling him how Ariel the Mermaid managed to get from the sea to the land, and finally to the sky, and then maybe the wind picked up a little bit, or maybe I just didn’t notice before because I was so intent on making the story, but I suddenly realized that, even with the blanket, I was cold. But of course, he realized that and he just grabbed my hand we lay there cuddled together on the blanket—spooning, almost, I guess you could call it. I can still feel his warm body so close to mine, the feel of his warm breath on my earlobes.

“We were both dating. We both had our own significant others, but right there, lying on the blanket, I didn’t feel as if I were cheating or anything at all. I just felt warm and close and, well, loved, but it was a different sort of love, if you get what I mean.

“I remember cuddling there with him. I remember my exact words: ‘If you were any other person,’ I said, ‘I’d feel slightly nervous right now.’ He just hugged me tight and answered that—I still remember what he said—‘It makes me feel so much better about myself that I can be so close to an attractive girl, but yet not be attracted in that way at all—His exact words, I remember.

“It was a beautiful moment. We almost just slept there that night, he and I out on the field behind Mr. Reison’s property, but there was school the next day and eventually, we both just got up and walked back. He told me one more thing before we separated, though. We were at the sidewalk in front of my house—I was just about to turn up the driveway to sneak back into my room so my parents wouldn’t realize how late I was up and all that. I can still remember the scene: the lamp in the yard a pool of yellow shadow, the fireflies flashing their quaint mating calls, the sound of insects all calling for love, and the two of us just standing there, so close on the concrete walk. ‘If you were someone else,’ he said—I could barely see him in the darkness, but we were still holding hands, my cold fingers entwined in his warmth—‘If you were someone else’—his exact words—‘I’d be so madly in love I’d do anything to just go off together right this moment and live happily ever after, but this is even better. I think what we have here is one of the most beautiful things in the world—if I could compose a piece, I don’t think I could capture it fully. If I could paint, there’d still be some subtle layer that I’d miss. Words wouldn’t do justice to what we have. I’m so madly in love with you right now, I’m not in love at all, and I know you know exactly what I mean and that just makes it better. Good night, Phoebe.’ And I told him good night and we separated to go, but first he just leaned over and kissed me, real light, on the lips, leaving me almost wanting more, but at the moment, knowing that what had just transpired was already more than enough.

“Oh, that moment was so beautiful, I... well, we just both stood there savoring for as long as possible, but then the lights came on and my mom and dad came out and I had to spend the next two hours or so trying to explain that, no, he wasn’t my boyfriend, that, yes, we were really just stargazing, and that, no, we didn’t try anything funny, and yes, I would go straight to bed, and no, I wouldn’t do anything like that ever again.”

She finished talking and her faced was all flushed in her passion. “Do you understand now?” she asked. “You probably know exactly what my problem is now. I know you do.”

“You love him, don’t you,” I said finally, not completely sure if saying that was the wisest choice. “Not in that way, but—there’s no need for me to elaborate.”

“Oh yes, I’ve always loved him, but this is a different love now. You see my dilemma?” She laughed. “Any of my friends would just tell me to go and tell him I love him, and then he would understand perfectly and love me back and then we would date and be married and have kids and live happily ever after.”

I waited.

“Except it wouldn’t be happily-ever-after. I know that already. If we ever had a happily-ever-after, it was that night on the blanket under the stars. There are things that just seem, well, more important, than happily-ever-after’s—or, no, maybe important isn’t the right word. More tangible, more real, more happy than happily-ever-after. Or maybe I’m just trying to deceive myself and—I just want to be irrational right now, you see? I’m going to Vegas to get drunk, maybe get rich, maybe lose my money, maybe sleep around and then come home and be so flushed that I won’t have any of the inhibitions I have right now and then live that happily-ever-after. I mean, there’s no happily-ever-after if there was never an unhappily-ever, right?”

She smiled again, and then, in a sudden movement, leaned over and hugged me. “There, now I’ve just bared my soul to a random stranger and am awaiting judgment. If it gives you any comfort, I don’t want to put pressure on you in any way. I think, at the moment, no matter what you tell me, I’ll still go and be wild and be a little disappointing to a lot of people who think a lot of me and love me dearly—but not in that way, of course—and then I’ll come back and realize that it was all for nothing because I still have the same problem and nothing I’ve done or will do will really affect it in the slightest—except I probably won’t be too wild either knowing what some of that stuff can do to me—doctor, you see. In fact—” she shook her head, “you probably don’t even need to say anything at all right now. If anything, you can just forget me now and go have a great time with your girlfriend in Vegas, or maybe, if you really want to after you mull things over, you can tell me what you think as we’re getting off the flight, but I don’t think that’ll change anything either. I think I’m done now. Thanks for listening to me.”

And she sat back and bit her lip absentmindedly. “Oh,” she turned one last time. “And in case you were wondering, I was asking whether you were a writer or not because they seem to know about this sort of stuff. Alright. I’m done for real now—not like anything is unreal. Thank you, and goodbye.”

---

Sarah and I were waiting for our flight back when I heard about the suicide. “I talked to her, you know,” I told her out of some random urge to talk with someone.

“Oh, you did, did you?” Sarah smiled lazily, half-asleep.

“I used to be a romantic, too.”

She yawned. “Used to?” and then seemed to decide that she didn’t want to know. “That’s nice. Is it time to board yet?”

“Thirty minutes.”

“Wake me up when it’s time.”

“Alright.”

For the longest time, I could not take my eyes off of her, admiring her—she looked so pretty sleeping there. I couldn’t help thinking about that girl—no, her name had been Phoebe, I would try not to forget that. Others might forget, but I would try to hang on as long as possible, but—I guess I’m glad I chose mechanical engineering in the end.

I was glad I had Sarah, too, and—“I’m not afraid to say I love you,” I told her, stroking her hair.

She swiped away at an imaginary dream-shape in front of my face, as if something were creeping slowly to separate the two of us. “Don’t... hmmm... be silly...”

(Written: 2/3/09, 2/11/09, 2/16/09, 2/27/09)