The Potential of a Day

Chapter 19: Solitude

Solitude

          In the end, I kind of play up the odd reaction I was having earlier. I tell them, Abby and my parents, that I just want to be alone for a while. And so that’s what they give me; solitude. Perfect solitude. Eventually, the lights of the festival begin to bother me; give me a bit of a headache, and I move myself to the beach, finally more sparsely populated. For a while, I can hardly see; the bonfire, a ways down the beach anyway, has burned down to only a low glow; and aside from that, the only light is that of the stars. Soon enough though, my eyes adjust, growing accustomed to the low lighting. 

          It’s easier, here, all alone, in the dark. The truth is, I revel in my solitude. It’s just so…easy. It’s comfortable, just sitting here, in near perfect darkness. Like this, it’s easier to pretend that I am absolutely alone in the world. Because if I were alone, I could cry whenever I want, I could skip class when I didn’t want to go. And if I were all alone in the world, I could choose to end my life, without at all considering the wellbeing of the hearts of those around me.

          For the first time, in far, far too long, I just tuck myself up into a neat little ball, and sob. I’m happy with this solitude; because I can do that, just cry and cry. No one will bother me, asking again and again if I’m alright. And I won’t be forced to think about what the tears mean.

          Though the longer I sit there, the more my tears run out, the more this sense, at the back of my mind, seems to raise its head. A sense that maybe, just maybe, I do want someone to come after me. Just to prove they care; it would be great to see Leo just about now, and seeing Abby would be more than tolerable.

          But why? Why would I want them to care? The more dominant part of my mind, the logical one, tells me it would be better if they didn’t; if no one cared about me. Wanting people to care is pure selfishness, and I shouldn’t accept the part of me that wants to have someone by my side, holding my hand, the part that wants a shoulder to cry on. Why would I do that; why would I go so far as to want someone’s affections? I’m going to die. It’s that simple. Why would I want to burden someone with the pain of loving and losing? Why would I be so very pitifully cruel and self-serving?

          Maybe, just maybe, it’s because, despite what I might say, might pretend, I have regrets. Maybe, I want to be the most important person to someone, if only for a little while. Because maybe, I’ve just now realized, that I will never get that. My impending death will take me away from love, from motherhood. I will never get the chance to be at the top of somebody’s list. And maybe, that makes me just a little sad.

          I’m not allowed to think that way. Did Sephie ever get any of that? No. So I shouldn’t be complaining about losing it now. It’s unfair of me. I should die with dignity. Besides; it isn’t like I wasn’t planning on this, wasn’t expecting this.

          I wanted this.

          Still want this.

          It doesn’t matter that I will never get to be someone’s most important person. Because I was Sephie’s. If I’m perfectly honest with myself, Sephie is the one I want with me here. Sephie is the one whose hand I want to hold, whose shoulder I want to cry on. And I will be with Sephie again soon. For now, I’m alone, and I’m perfectly happy with that. At least that’s what I tell myself. That is what I have to believe.

          I am alone.

          And I’m not allowed to be upset about that.

          In fact, I’m pleased with solitude. I force a smile to my lips; to prove to the shadows of the night that I am pleased as punch to be sitting alone in the sand.