Wish

 With a name like Jewel, anyone would be forgiven for thinking she was a gem. That she had a heart of gold. It's an easy mistake to make, I guess, when you don't know her like I do. Anyone could easily fall into that trap. I should know. I did... 

I thought Jewel was amazing. I thought she may well have been the best thing since sliced bread. See, Jewel is the kind of person who oozes charisma. She radiates charm. She's the kind of person who could light up a room and have everyone in it eating out of the palm of her hand with a mere snap of her fingers. 

One such night, I watched on in awe as she spoke to a growing crowd of people. More and more of them gathered around her, all of them laughing heartily or with beaming grins that illuminated their whole face. And over in the corner stood I, her quiet, shy kid sister, wishing I knew how to talk with people the way she did. To connect as effortlessly as she had. 

Little did younger me realise that while I looked on with wistful wishing, she was also stealing glances back at me, secretly wishing the crowd that surrounded her would all just go away and leave her alone, just like they were with me. They did eventually. Because eventually, she figured out how to make them all go away. Every single person that tried to get close. Not straight away though. For a while, they all kept coming back. Kept trying. But eventually, they realised, and eventually, they gave up. Eventually, I did too. But I persisted longer than the others. I was the biggest sucker of them all. 

With a sigh, I concede to myself that she is my sister after all. Of course I didn't want to give up that easily. Of course I wanted to believe something else, something better. Of course my view of her was rosey coloured. Of course it's only now, that it's all been going on so long that I'm starting to really see. And of course it feels as painful as it does to me, because that's who I am. 

I am the bleeding heart who feels everything almost too deeply. I care, too much. Love too much. I peer at my sister across the way. She puts on a good face, pretending like a professional, as if her life depends on it. In a way, I suppose, it kind of does. Or at least, this facade she has going does. I squint, as if this will give me clearer vision. It does a bit, but not into what I really want to see.

I can't help wondering if Jewel's heart is encased in a thick layer of ice. Or had it long ago turned to stone? Either seems like a possibility, for how little she seems to care or feel for others. If she feels at all. But what does it matter? Knowing these facts won't change the way Jewel is. It won't change the mask she puts on in front of everyone, nor the fact that she never seems to take it off. None of that will change. I just wish it would. I wish that somehow, knowing could help me fix it. Stupidly, I just wish. 

If wishes were horses... Our father has said this to me so many times that the words are so ingrained in my brain and I can practically hear him saying it, even though he's nowhere near me. 

"Beggars would ride," I finish in a whisper to myself. "I know, Dad." I sigh. Even though Jewel and I might balance each other out with our levels of feeling and caring, this is our problem. Someone always ends up hurt. 

"Could enough blood melt ice?" I wonder aloud to myself. "Could it crack stone?" 

Across the way, Jewel steals a glance on my direction. Just for a moment, our eyes lock, and I know. We both wish.  

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this story follows on from How Do You Solve a Problem? which you can read here

How Do You Solve A Problem?

 When my parents named me Maria, I don’t think they realised just how fitting it would be. I was named for my great grandmother on my mother’s side, though I’ve grown up to have more in common with a certain classic musical heroine.

 

My family would sing the lyrics to that song of hers whenever my symptoms might show themselves.

My father shakes his head. “Maria,” he tuts. “You care too much.” As if I can help it.

“You feel far too deeply.” My mother says with a worried frown. As if I can make it stop.

 

My best friend Effie, on the other hand, calls it endearing. And sweet, like the way I always want to run around and take care of everyone else. How it seems to physically hurt when someone important to me is in pain and struggling. Like the time I cried a river when Effie’s grandmother died when I’d never even met the woman. Or maybe I’d been crying in response to Effie’s pain. Either way, that’s just me. It always has been, and I have no idea how to be any other way, which leaves me with a burning question.

 

Is it really a problem? How? Why? And who on Earth gets to decide? Yes, there are physical symptoms associated with it. Similar to with a panic attack, it can feel like my heart is being squeezed to within an inch of its life sometimes, other times it feels like it’s crying. But how and why does that make it a pathological problem? I don’t feel like there’s anything wrong with me. I don’t feel like I’m diseased. I’m a bleeding heart and damn well proud of it. It’s something about me, like my mousey brown hair and blue eyes. Why does there have to be something ‘wrong’ with it? It’s not affecting anyone. If it is, it’s for the good. Doing good makes me happy. There can’t possibly be a problem with that. Surely.  

 

Take it from me, Effie would say, having someone like you who cares so much… I’ve never had a friend quite like you. A friend who would hold me and cry with me about my Grandma.  A friend who would do anything for me.

 

I remember that day. It had been one of those heart squeezing occasions. Oh wait. I think I might get it now. It’s the physical sensations, isn’t it? That’s why it’s been pathologised and labelled a syndrome. And, I suppose they are annoying, but it feels relatively minor. Like a tiny price to pay for what I get in return. For the chance to share, live and laugh with some really amazing people. For the privilege of being loved and cared about by them.

 

So let me ask you now, do you see a problem? Am I really ill? Am I really a problem in need of solving? Or am I just a bleeding heart?

Everything's 'Fine'

The frame sits on one side of your desk, protecting your most prized possession. You remember the day the picture had been taken, on one of the family holidays when you were both kids. Oh, how you wish you could go back there. Back to that time when you were younger, free and unburdened by the worries that plague you now. Before any of the craziness that's unfolded recently had occurred. You wish you could go back to when you were blissfully oblivious and unaware of the demons that have been around all along. Looking back, you’re not quite sure how you could have missed them.

 

You gaze at the picture awhile, studying the features you share, noticing especially those you both inherited from your mother- dark hair and eyes, stark against milky skin. For you, that’s where the similarities stop. But your sibling inherited more than that. They also got to share in the monsters that mislead our mother's mind. The all-consuming demons that leave her so deeply troubled. The ones that haunt her every moment and turn her every dream into a nightmare.

 

Their demons have them convinced that the demons don’t exist at all. And yet, the demons taint their every thought, a constant threat hissing in their ears. The demons are always there, influencing all they do. They've always been there, for as long as you can remember, like constant companions. Back then, you were just too young to know about them, but you know better now. You were too innocent to notice the flashes that would pass by their eyes like lightning, present only for a brief second. Although, you've never had any idea what the demons do, only that it corrupts them. If you could get into their heads, hear what words the demons whispered, know what ran through their minds, maybe you might have half a chance of getting to the bottom of all this.

 

You wonder why you can see the demons so clearly when the rest of your family are so blind to their existence. How can they not see? How can they not understand that the demons are why everything feels so hard all the time? That the demons are the reason every step feels like trudging through quicksand? But then, it’s hard to see something clinging to your back without a mirror. You’ve offered to hold up a mirror so they can see for themselves, many times. But they always decline. “Thank you,” they say, “but I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong with me.” Their eyes pierce yours, searching. As if they’ll find the answer hidden somewhere there. As if the problem lies not with them, but with you.

 

"I've had enough of 'fine'!" You jolt from the chair with such force it flies away behind you. You whisk your hands through your hair, fingers catching with increasing frustration-fuelled friction. Then you stop. Your eyes narrow when they fall upon the picture frame sitting on your desk. You glare at the people in the picture, your younger selves, reaching to lash out at the image. "What is it anyway?" Your fingers freeze, curling around mid air, as if the mysterious 'fine' might be something you can grasp.

With a heavy sigh, your arm falls back to your side. Instead, you take a big breath before unleashing a scream that could easily shatter glass and knock the very roof from above your head. At times like these, the burden upon your shoulders seems far greater than the weight resting upon theirs.

 

A pang of guilt settles in your stomach at the thought. They’re the ones with demons tarnishing their wrecked, wounded and troubled souls, not you. You don't have their demons deluding you. They’re the ones in dire need of help. Except, they won’t let you. They don’t ‘need’ it. The looks they give you are seared into your memory; are you sure you’re not the one who needs help? 

 

You've tried arguing back, but they've never listened to reason. At this point, you’re verging on pulling tufts  from your head. That pain might be easier to handle than this… this utter agony. You drag the chair forward by the arm rest and fall back into it. Blinking away tears, you run your finger along the edge of the picture frame. With a sigh, you remove your hand. You struggle for breath, throat clogged with lumps too large to swallow. Your hands are bound by powerlessness and helplessness and there’s nothing you can do but shake your head in despair.

 

Share the love … At least, that’s how the saying's supposed to go. Except, not for you. For you, it's more like share the pain. You’d take it, too. If it helped them heal or get better, you’d take it all. But then, if your love were enough, their minds would be free from worry, their souls well and their hearts unburdened. If your love were enough, they’d be set free from all that imprisons them. Instead, your love for them rests a heavier burden upon you. A load you must carry alone. They are all you have, but they don’t need you. They’re 'fine'. Fine. The word drips with poison as it runs through your mind. You might break something if you hear it uttered just one more time. Because that's all they ever tell you. It's all you ever hear and you're sick of it. Because what even is it? What is ‘fine’? You have no idea, but one thing you do know is what it’s not- them.

 

They’re not 'fine', as much as they'd like to believe it. They're not 'fine', yet they don't even realise it and because of that, you're not really fine either. How can you be, when the people you love most aren’t? When they don’t even realise how not fine they are? When there's nothing you can do because they're the only ones who can change themselves? You can’t help but worry. It’s like you don’t have a choice. It’s like it all falls to you, and then the anxiety becomes three-fold, because you’re worrying not only for yourself, but on both of their behalves as well, because they can’t.

 

Or maybe they won't. Why is anyone's guess. Maybe because there was one time when a little bit of reality seeped in and it was too much for them to bear. They couldn't handle it, so they turned and ran the other way.

 

You shake your head, imagining them standing in front of you. "Yes, you can totally run away from all your problems. You can deny everything. Because that will make it all disappear, as if none of it ever happened at all." You sweep the air with one of your hands. "Because that's totally how it works." Now, your words are the ones filled with poison.

 

With a heavy exhalation, you turn your gaze upwards, as if you’ll find the answer you long for in the ceiling that covers your head, in the clouds in the sky or maybe even further up than that, in the heavens high above. How do you go on loving someone when loving them is so painful? How can you catch someone on the run from it all? How can you help someone when they can’t, or maybe won't, see the truth? 

Why Not?

 Not that anyone knew, cause she'd rather have stuck pins in her eyes than tell a single soul, but there were so many more reasons that Kelly was so hardcore into celebrating Shelly De Luca than anybody realised. Though now that she though of it, if she were being really honest, she wasn't just celebrating- understatement of the century. No, she was completely loving Shelly De Luca. 

Kelly balked at questions of how or why. "Nuh uh." She raised a single finger in the air. "No, no, no. The real question," she paused for dramatic effect. "The real question is why not? The question is how could you not." She scoffed at the attempted rebuttals. 

You don't really know her. You think you do, but...  

Kelly cut in before there was the chance to say any more. "That's what you think." 

She's a big star. You're an ordinary person. She doesn't even know you exist. 

"Wanna bet?" she challenged. "Cause I'll bet that one day, she will know who I am. Just wait. You'll see." 

She's half a world away. She's across the pond, love.

Kelly shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I'll find a way." 

Eventually though, Kelly started to get sick of all the doubters. Of all the reasons why not. She gazed at the homemade poster of Shelly that adorned her wall and sighed as she surrendered to the flood of warm, fuzzy feelings that washed over her. The flood that washed away everything bad and made it all feel ok again. "Why do they have to try and pull me down, Shell?" Kelly asked the poster. "I like being in my bubble. The clouds... I love the clouds. I like being among them. I don't want to be brought down. The earth is hard." 

Kelly's breath hitched in her throat. "I know it's a fantasy, Shell. I know that. But I don't care." She looked around her room, the poster seeming to stand out, as if it were bordered with some sort of glow, maybe a spotlight shining behind it with light creeping out around the edges. Kelly nodded. Shelly was definitely the brightest thing in a world that seemed pretty dull and grey otherwise. It was like.. no. It wasn't just like.. Shelly did make Kelly's world better and brighter than it ever used to be. "The fantasy isn't hurting anybody, so why does it matter?" A hint of a smile played at her lips. She was vaguely aware it was just a projection of her imagination, but it didn't matter. She didn't care. Shelly's poster seemed to whisper to her: it doesn't. 

Kelly's grin grew a little bigger. "Which brings me back to one of my original questions." Just because she was alone in her room didn't stop Kelly from pausing for dramatic effect. "Why not?" 

There is no reason, Shelly seemed to say through the poster. 

"Exactly." Kelly's eyes sparkled with delight. "And I promise you Shell, that I will love you the way I always have. I will stand by you and be there through thick and thin, just like you've done for me. Cause why not." Kelly shook her head. "Why not? I'm hearing that so much it's like a broken record. But why not, when there are so many reasons why." She let out a breath of hot air, somewhat exasperated. "Those are what I want to focus on, Shell. More than anything. Not why not, but all the reasons why."    

You

 The young man sat on the back steps with a heavy ‘hmph’. “Why is it that all the best ones have to get stolen away?” He asked the empty yard. “First, it was Jay, then Mia, Renee, Tommy and Arnie.” His head hung low. Though no one was around, he still felt a need to at least try to hide his tears. “I know,” he whispered, picturing the face of his lost love in a puddle on the ground. “I know, Beau. You didn’t want me to cry. But losing you... it was the worst. It is the worst. Because you... you were the best. The best of all of them.” Each word he spoke was harder to get out then the last as tears streamed down his face.

The young man took a breath, trying hard to steady himself. He wanted to keep going and push through, but he wanted... no needed, to do so without having his voice quiver or break. He figured he owed Beau at least that much. “You,” he started again, “are the greatest gift I’ve ever gotten. Just you.” A montage of images, many of them moving, flashed through his mind. Of Beau, of the both of them together, happy and in love. The small smile that stretched across his lips was tinged with sadness. But he was ok with that. “If this is the price I have to pay, then so be it. Because anything is worth the chance to love and be loved by you.”

He remembered one time when they were together, laying quietly as the sunlight streaming in through the window warmed them. “You want to know something?”
“Tell me.” The young man had whispered against his lover’s lips.
“You’re my forever love.”
Just the sound of the words, spoken in Beau’s voice, almost melted him. “You’re my forever love,” he’d argued playfully. “And my every day Valentine.”
Beau’s giggle was etched in his memory, along with the cheeky smile.
“It just fits that your name is literally Valentine.” The young man smiled, both back in that moment, and again then, as he remembered the moment and relived it in his mind.

“Beau Valentine.” The name tasted like sugary syrup on his tongue, the sound a sweet symphony to his ears. “My Beau Valentine.” Beau’s smile had melted him too.

“My Beau Valentine,” the young man told the imagined reflection of his love. “My everyday valentine, my forever love. Because I choose you. Every day and forever.”