Where Do Words Go?

You were there the moment I opened my eyes, the day I was born.  I could see you smiling down at me.  You gently pinched me and I started crying.  I remember thinking, "Who is this mischievous devil who dares pinch my buttocks?"

I grew older, one, two, three, four, and then, I'm already seven years old. I remember my mom scolding me for cutting my brother's hair.  Oh, how you laughed at the uneven haircut my brother sported for Christmas.  For a while you were ignored, not entirely forgotten, no.  You were always there.  Always smiling, that sinister smile of yours, always watching over me with kind, albeit malicious, eyes.  I wondered about you a lot, you know.  Don't you have any job?  Are you a fucking stalker?  Why are you always following me?  You can't really blame me, you know, I mean, you act as if you have all the time in the world.  Surely you noticed that I'm not entirely stupid.  Sooner or later, I was going to wonder about your job (or if you have one, for that matter.)  So, one of those lazy afternoons, I did ask you.  I asked you what you're doing, why you're always following me.  You chuckled and you told me that I'm too young to know.  I wondered then if you were one of the drug peddlers or kidnappers my parents warned me about.  You messed up my hair.  I asked you if you could at least, please, tell me your name.  You said, "Someday."

Years rolled by, then, bam! I'm already fifteen.  For a very long time, I've forgotten that you were there.  I think I got used to you just being there, I never even notice you at all.  One day I heard you whistle.  Did you know that I don't know how to whistle?  You tried teaching me how.  After an hour of failed attempts, I gave up.  I looked at you and I said, brightly, you don't age, do you know that?  You still have that black hair of yours - without any tinge of gray..  Imagine that!  Just recently, my mom started dyeing her hair.  She was complaining about the grays and the whites.  But, wow, look at you.  Your hair is still as black as coal.  Do you dye it?  You shook your head and you continued to grin.  I scoffed.  I asked you if it's okay to know your name now, since, well, I'm already fifteen.  I'm no longer a child.  You were going to say something but someone just yelled my name, I turned around to look at the caller.  It was my neighbor, Dan, I informed you.  You raised your eyebrows and looked at me curiously.  I don't know why but I blushed.  I told you that I'll see you soon, that I'm off with Dan.  To the movies.  You nodded as I left.

I was seventeen and I was crying my eyes out.  You sat beside me.  You didn't say anything.  It was oddly comforting.  Before I knew it, I was telling you about how Dan left me because I got fat.  You said that I didn't.  You said you prefer the term "soft around the edges", thank you, that made me laugh.  Talking to you is easy, you know?  So, Dan left me, that superficial bastard.  He left me because I got fat..  Just when I found out that my parents are going to separate.  Did you know that? No?   I went to Dan's house to talk to him about it because I was so upset.  I mean, obviously.  Before I could say anything, he told me that he wanted to end things.  At the risk of sounding shallow (which is a fucking understatement!), he said, he wants to break up with me.  I got too fat.  He's not attracted to me anymore.  I was outraged..  and murderous.  Why are you laughing, you prick?  Can I carry on with my story now?  Yes?  Thank you.  So, anyway, I stormed out of his house.  Not without scratching his car with a nail I found on the driveway first.  Pretty convenient, huh?  

We laughed together, you and I.  You said you admired my guts.  We were silent for, oh, I don't know, a long time, I guess?  I sighed.  Then I asked, why would my parents want to get their marriage annulled?  Why?  They've been married for twenty years!  Yes, the marriage wasn't picture perfect but at least they were happy!  Then you asked softly, "Are they?"  I got so mad at you, I hit your arm and, with all the poise I could muster, walked away.

I was nineteen and I was smoking and drinking heavily.  I stopped talking to you after that incident wherein you politely asked me if my parents were indeed happy in their marriage.  Oh, I could still see you looking at me and watching over me.  Sometimes, you would give me an encouraging nod.  Other times, I could see you shaking your head while I popped some of the pills my new friends give me.  This infuriates me.  You have no right to look at me like that, you're not my fucking parent.  I could do whatever I want!  One night, it was very late, you caught up with me while I was walking home.  Why are you doing this, you asked.  I told you to fuck off.  You told me that you care.  And then, on that sidewalk, under the dimming street light, I bawled.  My parents are no longer together, my mother's best friend is a bottle or a can of beer, my dad's happy with his new family, not once did he try contacting me or my brother.  He left us.  My brother is off somewhere doing god-knows-what with god-knows-who.  Everything's fucked up.  And you, you have no right to be condescending, you fucking prick.  I don't even know who you are.  You were bewildered with what I've said, you told me I'm your friend.  You let me cry on that sidewalk.  Afterwards, I remember asking you to just take me with you - wherever you're going.  I want to go away from this place.  No, sorry, I want to run away from this place.  You let out a small laugh and you sadly told me that this is not the right time.  You can't take me with you?  I asked, my voice hard as steel.  You shook your head.  You tried telling me that there's more to life, that I should and I could enjoy it.  I stood up and told you (frostily) that I don't need your fucking words of wisdom, if you can't help me get away, you better get the fuck away from me.

I'm twenty-two, I'm pregnant and unemployed.  Does it bother you that I don't know who the father of my unborn child is?  No?  I wonder where you are.

I'm twenty-eight. The social services woman just took John away from me.  I'm so numb, I don't feel anything.  Although, I did sigh with relief.  John would have a better life without me.  I don't even have a job.  Fuck it, who cares.  As long as I have a can of beer and a pack of smokes, life's good.  My life is good.  I have to believe that.  I have to.  Where are you?

I'm thirty-two and I found out that my brother died of an overdose.  Life's unfair.  He's too young.  We're too young.  I feel so alone.  I have no one.  I tried contacting my father.  I got brave and I went to see him at his house with his new family.  He told me to fuck off and never show my face again, he slammed the door.  I could see my half-sisters and half-brothers peeking out of the window.  I gaze at them.  This ought to be my life, I thought.  I'm in the bus on the way home (but where is home?  I have no home), I start to wonder where you are.

I'm forty-nine and I'm dying of cancer.  I haven't seen you for thirty years.  You could imagine my shock when I saw you walking, no, gliding in my hospital room.  You asked me how I was, I politely told you that I've never been better.  You smiled at my ill-humored joke.  I told you how I'm not afraid to die.  I told you how I want everything to just end because I was so tired.  I was tired of life.  You touched my stick-thin arms, I winced and said, "I bet Dan, my neighbor, wouldn't call me fat now, huh?"  You laughed.  You laughed hard.  You asked me if I wanted to go run away with you now.  It was my turn to smile at your ill-humored joke.  You told me you're not joking, and you looked at me reassuringly.  I just wanted to find peace.  No, I wanted to be at peace, I said.  You held out your hand and you whispered, "I never did tell you my name."  So, I asked, "What is it?"

"Death."

You smiled kindly, just before I grabbed your hand.

********

I think I could still polish this (if I get bored again, I guess.)  But, as of now, it's going to be that way.  I think it's okay 'cause it's simple and, well, direct to the point (almost.)  I guess it's not really unique (plot-wise) but.. whatever.

What say you?