Overwritten

36 : Cowboy Hat

There's some moments in time that feel so fast that if you blink, you'll miss it. Hours feel they go by in seconds, as you desperately grasp to hold onto the world as it whizzes past like the buildings on a train. You feel like you're spinning around and around, unable to stop as you feel you may watched your entire life go past in a heartbeat.

But then there's also other times that go by so slowly, it's like you're frozen. Unable to move, each second dragged onto an hour. There's years between each breath, between each thought, a frozen moment of time like a picture taken on a camera. Sometimes these moments feel like entire lives in themselves, each breath worth a million seconds.

That's what it felt like now.

I was facing a dilemma, torn between two choices. I part of me wanted to run up and throw my arms around him, to have him just hold me, even for a moment. In this chaotic world, I could pretend that I was home safe again, just coming home from another day of school. That this was all a bad dream.

That, even for just a second, it would be like the day I came home after Marie disappeared. Mom would make me hot cocoa, and because the chocolate rations were low, she used her secret stash of chocolate. She had called it heartbreak chocolate, saying that sometimes chocolate fixes everything.

Dad had held me in his arms as I told him about Marie, and we'd watched TV all night. Cartoons, news, before various sets of documentaries on different species. He always loved documentaries, even though Mom was the historical one.

But it wasn't as simple as that.

Because after March 3rd, you have to forget about them. You have to ignore them, like a stranger in a street. Because it's unhealthy to grow attached to people. It'd practically guarantee a therapy appointment, given my panic attack and distressed dreaming, I couldn't. I couldn't be like a little girl who had lost her best friend.

But I didn't care.

And I didn't care about Evan anymore, nor the therapy, nor the note I had from Jake crumbled in my pocket. All I cared about was him. He looked as if he was going to object, but I didn't give him a chance. I threw my arms around him, collapsing into tears.

My watch vibrated. Therapy appointment scheduled for tomorrow at 8:45 am.

But I didn't care. Each moment important, valued, and I never wanted to let him go. He gently wrapped his arms around me, no longer caring about the people around me, the looks I'd get. I didn't care about ruining my career. I didn't care about my responsibilities, how I had to pretend.

Because I just wanted to be a little girl again.

On March 3rd, when the first name was called out, I had remembered a book called Peter Pan; one we'd studied growing up. Analyzing paragraphs, memorizing quotes from it. I always liked it, and even after reading it several times, I always found myself enjoying it.

When I was younger, I wished to be old enough to work, to be mature. I thought that I could handle the responsibilities of being an adult. I felt like Wendy, surrounded by immature children. That Peter was just a kid who didn't realize how stupid he was.

But now, I felt like a lost boy.

Because I didn't want to grow up anymore. I didn't want to face this world, these choices, these decisions that I'd been forced to make. I didn't want to see anybody and wonder if they were secretly going to hurt me. I didn't want to fear going back to my own house every night. I didn't want to watch those I care about die every night in my dreams.

I just wanted to hold my dad.

"Hey..." his words were soft, and he seemed like he was going to cry as well. Hearing his voice made my heartbreak, not knowing how much I had missed him, "You know you shouldn't-..."