The Potential of a Day

Chapter 16: Believe it or Not

Believe it or Not

          “Explain,” Leo doesn’t sound amused. In fact, he sounds somewhat exasperated. More likely than anything, he is really just a little confused; scrutinising, you could say, of my previous statement. I would be too. No, scratch that, I am too.

          “You won’t believe me. Heck, I don’t believe me,” I say, and start walking once again. I’d prefer not to talk about that; he’ll think I’m crazy, and I don’t want that to be his final impression of me before I move on for good.

          “Try me,” he says, then he’s sitting on a street bench, “I have time.”

          “So do I,” I joke, “the rest of my life.”

          Leo rolls his eyes, waiting for me to take a seat next to him, “please just explain. I am honestly so confused right now, I won’t be able to move on with my life until I figure out what the heck you’re talking about.”

          “That wasn’t funny,” I say, glancing at him. He doesn’t seem to understand what I’m referencing, his eyebrows knit together in confusion; in all honesty, I think just about everything is confusing him right about now, “you said you won’t be able to move on with your life,” I explain, “that wasn’t funny.”

          “It wasn’t a joke,” he says, looking me in the eyes earnestly, and I can see that he meant it, quite honestly.

          “So you’re actually that hell-bent on knowing?” I clarify.

          “Yes.”

          “Fine, you mentally prepared for this? It’s some mind-boggling stuff I’m about to share,” I try to make my statement come off as light, perhaps even humorous, but Leo’s still just giving me that concentrated stare. “Yes,” he says once again.

          “I killed myself last night,” I announce, “slashed my wrist right open; there was blood absolutely everywhere. But then, this morning, I woke I up like nothing happened. There wasn’t any blood; nothing. Not even a mark.” I raise my wrist, showing him, and letting myself check it over yet again; as if I haven’t already been doing that periodically throughout the entire day.

          “And you came to the conclusion that you were dead because…?”

          “What other explanations are there?” I demand. I would put my fists on my hips stubbornly, but I realize, as I’m about to act on my compulsion, that that would look more silly than intimidating sitting here on a bench.

          “Lots of them,” Leo begins, “in fact, I think the idea that you’re actually dead is one of the least likely ones. You could be dreaming or hallucinating or something, or you could have dreamt or imagined the act of killing yourself. There are lots of explanations other than you are actually a ghost walking around that all us lively people don’t realize is dead.”

          “No…it was just…it was so real; I can’t believe that it was all just a dream.”

          For a moment, the two of us just sit, side by side, on the bench, considering what has been said. I look up at the sky; the stars are beautiful tonight, absolutely brilliant. Out here in a small town, there aren’t all those city lights to dampen the outstanding tapestry painted on the ceiling of the world. I could just stare at them forever…

          “Can I ask you a question?” Leo demands.

          “Go for it.”