I drag myself to the shower and wash my hair with a deep conditioner for my hair. You wouldn't know it by looking at me, but I hate doing these tedious tasks. The only thing that's worse than my depression is for people to know about it. I've talked to therapists and they've helped me as best they could. Where they always get stumped at is that the cause of it doesn't stem from anything external or chemical, at least not fully.
I've had a pretty good life all things considered. My parents are amicably divorced, I haven't experienced any major losses, and I don't abuse substances. My severe depression comes from an existential crisis that emerged in the fourth grade before my powers of the written word were known to me, I saw the pointlessness of life and I no longer wanted to be part of it. It was easier to deal with when I had childish things to preoccupy my time, but with age comes obligation and when you can't turn your passion into profit the feelings of hopelessness can become overwhelming.
I dry my hair, get dressed in a short-sleeved polo, black joggers, and leave for the cafe. It's within walking distance from my spot and it gives me some time to think. I stuff my hands in my pockets, walking on the sidewalk. I genuinely like Austin, it's a vibrant city that feels alive with music and the sweet smell of food from food trucks once you get past the smell of fuel exhausts.
I watch as the cars pass me by. I'm a self-aware guy and I know how people see me; handsome, well-educated, and the guy that has everything, Here's a little secret, it's all an act. The worse I feel, the harder I try to make it seem like things aren't that bad. New haircuts, working out, buying the sharpest clothes, all to hide the fact that I feel miserable. Then, I have the audacity to resent that people aren't aware of how bad I feel when I make every effort to hide it. It's like I'd rather have them be oblivious than to pity me.
I turn the corner and walk up Congress Avenue to the Houndstooth Coffee where Michael is sitting outside. His back is to me and I walk around the table for him to see me.
"Eli!" Michael says, standing up. He towers above me and I'm not that short to begin with. He hugs me tightly and I can't help but smile. It feels like no time has passed.
"Hey, how are you?" I ask as he releases me and looks me up and down.
"Great. Fantastic. Are you hungry?" he asks.
"Yeah, actually." I am, eating wasn't part of my plan this morning.
We go inside and I order an apple cinnamon bagel and a mocha and Michael orders a turkey club and a cup of water and we return to our table outside.
"So, how ya been? What's new?" He asks and immediately takes a bite of his sandwich.
"Not much," I say, "just more of the same. I'm still doing my freelancing gigs for commercials. Living the dream."
"Do you still hang out with Caitlyn and Amber? I remember you were like best friends with José."
I shake my head. "No, we kinda went our separate ways. I needed to focus on some things and move forward." I took a sip from my mocha, mostly to cut myself off from saying what actually happened. When José and I stopped spending time together I had to leave all of my friends behind. I couldn't be around him in any capacity and I didn't want to give them an ultimatum so I bowed out. If I'm being honest, I don't miss them much. In group settings, I tend to be the voice of reason. I'm highly adept at navigating situations. The drawback is that no one can help me with mine so I'm still alone even around people.
"I totally get that." Michael nods and keeps eye contact. "I tend to think of times like seasons. People come and go and the settings changes and you just have to appreciate where you are for what it is."
"Exactly," I said, half-smiling. "It's like you take what was meant from a situation and grow from it. There's this internal clock we have within ourselves that tells us when it's time to leave." My half-smile turned into a full smile at this point. This is why I liked Michael the way I did. He's the kind of boy plucked from your favorite literature novel who's understanding and caring. José liked listening to me talk, but he could never really add to the conversation. "Is there anything new with you?
"Oh, me?" he asks smiling. "Changes and not the small kind my friend. I've moved behind the scenes, directing and even doing some producing. I still work on the craft that is acting, but there's so much more control when you're backstage. I think that's why I've always been so fascinated with your writing. It doesn't come naturally for me, but your perspective has always fascinated me. How you figure out a scene and involve the theme into the narrative. Your mind works in a way that mine just doesn't."
"I'm not sure I believe that," I say. "You're really talented and smart."
"Oh, I know. But I'm also aware of my flaws. That's my ulterior motive for meeting you here, actually."
"What's up?" I say, cream cheesing my bagel.
"An opportunity. I've got some connections in L.A. who need another writer for their experimental show they're developing. The last one dropped out and they're in dire straits. They wanting to get started as early as last week and I told them that I had complete faith in you. I know it's last minute, but would you be interested in the gig?"
My hands stop in mid-motion, holding the bagel and the knife, unsure if I fully registered what's been said. "Next week?" I ask. That was the only thing I could think to say as I waited for the information to download.
"Yeah, but don't worry, it's a too good not be true kind of offer. All expenses are paid for a studio apartment. The financier is loaded and isn't shy with his charity. The only downside is that you'll have to live with me. I don't expect you to answer now, but—"
"Yes," I answer, "I'll do it." It's a bold decision and yet it's not. It's what I've been waiting for for so long, an opportunity and I didn't want to wait another second. For once, I wanted to just dive in without checking the temperature of the water. I just want the dreams I have for myself to come true for once. Why should I feel guilty about that?
"Huzzah!" he says, lifting up his long arms in celebration. "I can send you the details later today. What the show's about, location, the show bible, all that jazz, and you can let me know if you have any questions."
"Sounds great," I say, shaking his hand.
"I've got a good feeling about this. Truly I do."
"Me too. And thank you for this opportunity. Thanks for thinking of me."
"Eli," he says my name as if I should already know what he's going to say. "I never forgot about you. You're not the kind of person someone just forgets about."
I flash him a grin, then sip from my mocha and look away. Despite myself, all of my old feelings for him come back as if they never left. They're like the sea, going from wave to stillness; they're both different forms of the same thing.
YOU ARE READING
This Boy's Journey
General FictionEli has dreams of becoming a writer and the talent that's out of this world, but battling mental illness isn't the easiest thing to overcome. At his lowest point, an old friend reaches out to and offers him an opportunity that could change his life.
