The Bucket List

SOMETIMES

Who reads the poems we write?
Who cares to inspect the weavings
hand-made at three in the morning
born off too little sleep
and a yearning for more?
nobody, you would say,
but there you would be wrong.
The poets read their own poetry.
We inspect ourselves like stanzas
searching for a rhyme scheme
in our own heads.
We claw at buried meanings
and symbolism to make us feel
a little more alive.
All because no poet
is truly all right in the head.
So, to answer a question
asked by many and none
I read the poems I write
every time my thread comes undone.

    My mind was still overrun with horrendous, overbearing thoughts as I sat on the bench by the tree. I hadn't specified a time for Alexa, but I was hoping she would come early considering they woke her up at eight in the morning.
    After what felt like an eternity, Alexa found me, her gait displaying plain insecurity. She grappled with the hem of her dress, forcing it further down. Today, she was wearing a dark brown wig that reached her hips, and if I didn't think she was completely insane, I'd say I was in love.
    "I like your dress," I managed, standing. It really was pretty, so much so even a boy could identify that small fact. The dress was light red with straps and a tight waist lining into a skirt, her shoes the same shade of red.
    "Really? It isn't too much?" She asked, her fist still curled around the hem.
    "C'mon, this isn't the arrogant Alexa I met the other day," I told her, a small smile hitting the edge of my lips knowing she would tell me off.
    "That's a laugh coming from–"
    I grabbed her hand, not fingers interlaced, but cupping it, in a casual way. Completely casual. Completely normal to be holding hands with a gorgeous girl who was less of a friend than your science project partner.
    "Wait," she said, pulling her hand from mine and stopping. "You don't think people are going to judge me?"
    Tell her what she wants to hear, was what the little voice in my head told me, but I decided she wouldn't appreciate that.
    I cleared my throat, preparing my best show voice. "Judging a person does not define who they are," I lowered my gaze, staring directly at her as I prepared the final part of my act.
    "It defines who you are," she finished before I had the chance.
    That had absolutely no business being so attractive, but alas my body reacted without my permission. Intelligent women are where it is, folks. If manifestation is real, there was no way I wouldn't end up marrying this girl, because currently that was the only thought spinning through my brain.
    I cupped her hand in mine again and began walking down the sidewalk, mulling over the list. The easiest things to start with would be the ones done in one day.
    "Your hands are sweaty. Where are we going?" Brown-haired Alexa asked sharply from behind me.
    "Rude," I shot back, "First, we find a climbable roof."
    That, as we quickly found out, was not an easy task, but it was doable. This fact was proven by the sight of myself and Alexa standing atop a flat roof after riding the city bus for half an hour. We searched endlessly for a fence tall enough to give us roof access. Regardless, I had never rode a bus before, and I was more than happy to cross two things off the list in one day.
1. Ride a bus
         14. Watch the sunset on a roof
    Both checked off.
    "You seriously put this on the list?" Alexa asked me after thirty minutes of sitting on a scorching roof. Of course, like the gentleman I am, I gave her my jacket to sit on, but still it was uncomfortable.
    "You don't get the beauty of it... it's... it's the people on the ground seeing the sun from a different perspective. They lose sight of the sun slightly quicker than those on rooftops and, don't you think that's just so symbolic?"
    "Spoken like an author," Alexa noted, her arms curled around her legs.
    I couldn't help but pay more attention to her than the sunset I was here for. The warmth of her hand was absent from mine, and I tried to ignore the way it left me slightly empty.
Intrusively, my mind insisted on me checking to see if this height was enough to kill me. I scooted forward, leaning over the edge of the (a clinic, maybe?) building and looking down.
"James, if you traumatize me forever by jumping, I swear I'll re-kill you in the afterlife," Alexa warned from behind me, her voice wavering from fear.
I laughed, my smile reaching my eyes. "Don't worry darling, that date is months from now."
Her nose scrunched at me using my southern hospitality to charm her. See, I wasn't actually from Vista. I'd only moved here two years ago from east Texas, so I still adorned a few southern traits. I scooted back beside her, her eyes tracing me the entire way.
"Darlin'?" she asked, mimicking my accent.
"Sorry-uh," I said, putting on my best California accent. "I won't do it again-uh."
"That's not funny, I don't sound like that-uh," she argued.
"You're so right, girl."
"You know I could go ahead and kill you right here." she said flippantly, her fingers twisting around the maroon bow in her hair.
"Ha ha," I laughed sarcastically, but then was completely thrown off by the sudden change in atmosphere.
"James?"
"Hm?"
"Why do you want to die?" she asked, not looking at me.
Never again didn't just mean drugs. I had let someone in before, and I adored them with everything in me, and I mean everything. After they committed suicide, my body ached so badly I thought I would die. She had known everything, every inch of my body and soul, and she left me. I would never again make the mistake of letting someone get so close to me, those days were gone.
"Why not?" I shrugged. "Living isn't all that great. I mean, good people like you die everyday— why? It doesn't even make sense."
Alexa turned away from me, her eyes glued to the sunset. The glow cast by the ever leaving sun made her absolutely breathtaking. "Living is beautiful because we die. Without death, everything we cherish would seem mundane and cliche."
There was a moment where Alexa turned to me, her eyes finding mine for only a few seconds more than normal. They seemed to linger on my own, which I found upsetting considering my eyes were plain brown. Then, her phone rang. The sound infiltrated all of my senses, and when she pulled out her phone, I saw Doctor Pinnochio was calling her.
"Hello?"
Inaudible mumbling.
"What do you mean?"
    More inaudible mumbling.
"I understand, thanks Doctor Helodi. Mhm, see you later," She muttered, but her words sounded far away, as if she were talking from somewhere else. She hung up, and almost immediately, tears started filling her eyes.
"Woah, woah, what's going on?"
"The treatment isn't working." Alexa was speaking, but her eyes were so far away that she didn't even seem human. Tears fell silently from her eyes, and my heart was ripped silently watching it.
Before I could even think, I reached out, my arms wrapping around her. I held her as she cried, heartbreaking sobs in my shoulder. Her body shook with effort, her tears soaking through my band tee.
"Why me? Why did I have to have cancer? I thought the treatments could help, but nothing helps and I only get worse," she rambled, each word its own insurmountable mountain of grief. Her arms fell in my lap, my hold never wavering. "I don't want to die, James. I really, really want to live."
"I know," was all I could say. What do you tell a girl who knows she's going to die of cancer?
She sniffled, her cries turning slightly quieter but the tears still flowing heavily. My heart started to split, and it took every ounce of strength for me to weave it back together. Tears threatened to spill from my own eyes at the feeling of her labored breathing, but I kept them at bay. How was it fair? I had spent the past four years trying to die, and there were people like Alexa. Strong, resilient people who never deserved the cards they were handed, but still fought to live.
"I'm so sorry, Alexa. I know that doesn't help but... I really am."
She said nothing in response, still sniffling. She sat up suddenly, wiping her tears and shaking her head. "I hate being vulnerable." She looked up at me with sad, dark green eyes for a moment before she pulled off her wig. She ran her fingers through it, twisting and braiding. I figured it was something she did while anxious, so I said nothing as the sun set below the horizon.
"Alexa?" I said after a while of her twirling her hair.
"Mhm?"
"Let's go break some stuff."

Twenty minutes and eighty dollars later, we were standing with sledgehammers in hand in a room full of breakables.
"Oh hell yeah," was all Alexa said before going ham. She swung her hammer at everything in her path, screaming in rage at each break. "You can't just take everything from me!" she screamed, smashing her hammer into a table and immediately breaking it in half. She beat the poor table to splinters, each swing more aggressive than the last. She yelled various things, each one more vulgar than the last.
I grabbed a plate, throwing it on the floor and staring at me.
"Eff cancer," she mumbled, her chest heaving.
"EFF CANCER!" I yelled, expelling every ounce of oxygen held in my body.
"YEAH!" she held her sledgehammer over her head, lifting it up and down before slamming it into a pile of coke bottles.
Finally depleted of energy but with five minutes remaining on our time, Alexa and I sat down, both of us breathing heavily.
"I'm glad we did this," she said, her hand on her chest as she struggled to breathe.
"So, we're going to do this, right? The whole list?" I asked, running my fingers through my hair absently.
"What's that on your wrist?" she asked, her gaze glued to the arm in my hair.
Instinctively, I pulled my sleeve down, embarrassment flooding into my face. "My cat."
Truthfully, I didn't even have a cat, but if someone were to ask me why I did it, I couldn't tell them. Release, I guess. That feeling of knowing you are your own worst enemy is nauseating, but you crave it. Once you start you can't stop– you chase that guilt, that nausea. It doesn't make sense to most people, but anyone who has done it understands. You can stop for a little while, but you always come back. Even if it isn't the same, once you hate yourself enough to sabotage your own skin, nothing is off limits. You'll start ruining your whole life and then ask yourself, "Why me?".
Alexa just stared at me as my thoughts rampaged, fear coursing through my veins. Then she lifted up her shirt.
My eyes hesitated, but they shut tight as soon as I realized. "Alexa, what–"
"Open your eyes," she said, her voice soft. She lifted her shirt just below her bra, showing a long scar stretching across her ribs. It was deep and purple, the kind of scar that makes people stare when you wear a short shirt. "I told you, I used to be you."
I tried not to stare at her scar, but I couldn't help it. Unlike mine, it wasn't sticking out of her skin, but there were dots running along the sides of it. "Stitches?" I asked.
"Mhm, I almost bled out," she admitted, dropping her shirt. "When people asked me "why'd you do it", or "what triggered it", I couldn't tell them. I didn't know what triggered it, I just knew I wanted to die."
I rolled up my sleeves, showing her the dozens of lines cascading up my arm. Some were purple, some keloid, some red. "I didn't do this because I wanted to die, I just wanted to stop. To make it all stop. I think, deep down, I just wanted my body to reflect the pain I felt on the inside."
Alexa turned as the door opened, a worker saying our time was up. We stood, exiting the room in single file. The stars were already starting to come out when we left, and I knew Alexa would get chewed out for being gone so late.
"Sorry we stayed out so long," I told her as we sat on the bench, neglecting her opportunity to return to the hospital.
"No, I thoroughly enjoyed myself. It's better than staying in there all day," she said, craning her neck to look up at the stars. "Look," she said, pointing up. "That's the constellation Lyra, the harp." She grabbed my chin lightly, twisting it to make my eyes follow her finger. "And right over here," she said, pointing my chin in a different direction. "That's Scorpio."
"Wow," was all I could say as my eyes traced invisible lines connecting every star. "I like Lyra."
She smiled, the grin reached her eyes. "Lyra is my second favorite constellation of all time."
"What's your favorite?"
"Canis Minor, one of Orion's dogs. Legend says the gods placed him at the bank of the milky way so Orion's faithful dog would never get thirsty," she said wistfully, staring up at the sky.
"I've never really paid attention to the stars, and I think I've just now realized how intricate and beautiful they are," I mumbled, my brain foggy. The refreshing summer breeze and the smell of bread only added to the moment, each sense being stimulated. The sound of cars driving and dogs barking wasn't entirely pleasant, but there wasn't a single sound that could make the stars less beautiful.
"I love stars because even though they are just balls of gas, they make the night sky so rich in beauty," she said before looking down at her phone. "I should probably head back, but I'll see you here tomorrow?"
"Yup, same time." She stood, her dress billowing softly in the wind. "Bye, Alexa."
She waved, and my heart did a tiny flutter as she gave me a small smile. I took a deep breath, reminding my body that my brain was the one in charge, and my brain said not to get too attached. After all, soon I would be gone, and she would too. We would be no more reachable than the stars.