An Odd Kind Of Wonderful

Chapter Fifteen

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"She is the root connection and she is connecting with me." (Patti Smith)

    "What's depression like?"

    I cough on nothing for a moment. Raisa and I are standing on the top floor of the ferry as it ships us from one side of the harbour to the next—where Joel swears there's a gorgeous cliff where we can sit and observe a bunch of chemical reactions create pollution and golden rain.

    "I don't understand the question." I say.

    Raisa blows her hair, strangled by the wind, from her face. "I want you to tell me what depression is like. I know it's about sadness, but that can't be all-encompassing as a definition, can it?"

    "Surely you do know what depression means."

    "Generally, yes, I do. But I've never heard a first hand account."

    "Oh, I'm depressed now?" I give her a look. "Do you want to stick another label on me? Dysmorphic, maybe? Manic? Are you qualified?"

    "Alright, don't get mad at me, I'm just curious." Raisa apologizes sheepishly. "I get you don't like talking about it."

    But Raisa's right; that is my diagnosis just as it has been for three years. We both listen to the rattling hum of the ferry's engine. Can I trust this girl? No. Coming from a different angle—does she trust me? She undoubtedly does. She kissed me. I'm entitled to letting her know, aren't I? What are the rules when it comes to this?

    Why is it that there's a rulebook for everything except Raisa?

    "I could be clichéd," I begin, and Raisa turns to face me with renewed interest, but I make sure my eyes are locked on the waves in front of us. "And say that it's like drowning while you watch everyone else breathe, and maybe depression's like that for some people, but not for me. I never saw anyone else breathing. I mean, I was—am—too busy drowning." I pause, waiting for a question but it doesn't come. "I couldn't see anyone else, and when I did, I just saw another human being, a stack of bones and skin and judgements and dreams and anxieties, exactly like myself, and I couldn't be mad at them for being happy. I was happy sometimes too. Really, my lows were lower than anyone else's. I had good days, sure, but my bad days were worse than normal, and that's why they called me depression. I wasn't always drowning, but when I was, I had a brick tied to my foot and I was alone."

    There's a very long pause. Raisa struggles for a while with her hair in her face, and I watch her, my heart swelling a little every time she makes a failed attempt at tucking it behind her ear. Eventually, I give up; I hold back her hair with both my hands and kiss her. Really kiss her. And there might be some hair in my mouth and it's too hot and there's sea-salt in my eye but if this isn't perfect then it's a pretty good try.

    "Are you still depressed?" Raisa mumbles.

    "I don't know." I answer honestly.

    "Do you still get...thoughts?"

    "Suicidal thoughts?"

    She bites her lip in concentration. "Yes."

    I recognize a song being played on the radio of the ferry, and we're nearly at the other dock, but I take Raisa's waist and spin her around to the orchestral music. A harmony of pop and ballad resonates in the air, and I attempt to step in time with it. I am no dancer, but this atmosphere feels so right for it I couldn't resist. Raisa laughs on my chest in response.

    Joel sits in the chairs a few rows from us, picking out some notes on his guitar that fit. I'd forgotten he was there.

    "I do." I whisper to her. "I see them everywhere."