Invisible
"I find it kind of funny…
I find it kind of sad…
The dreams, in which I'm dying, are the best I've ever had…
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take…
When people run in circles, it's a very, very….
Mad…world…"
Donnie Darko
Do you know that feeling? It's not very hard to have inside of you, thrashing and at the same time singing soft songs to you, whispering lullabies…. It's hard to explain, hard to teach, hard to express at all.
You could call it hopelessness.
Maybe you could call it the will inside of you quitting, the beats inside of your heart slowly toning down, slowly making themselves seem like they never existed at all. Like you were never a young girl, full of hope….
Hopelessness…
I should suppose that's what people call it when someone leaves you and for the longest time, you don't want to let go.
I should suppose, I have a two daughters, one son…
A granddaughter… Best friends… People.
I should be thankful. Instead, as I look out to myself into the mirror…I'm hopelessness.
I imagine myself as he saw me.
Young. Vibrant. Full of life…
Full of hope.
What am I now, but a shell? A shell that once held a love, once held hope, once held something that no one still has yet to explain.
I still find myself wanting to untie my hair, let it loose. I find myself wanting to run into the rain, I find myself wanting a kiss under the moon. But I can see their faces, old and graying like me, looking disapprovingly in my direction.
It's all about maturity.
It's all about letting go.
Letting go of the ones you loved.
Letting go of the hope.
Sometimes, when I'm just walking down the street, I can hear them through the rain. Young people. Young girls in love, in love with men who would never even think twice about leaving. Then again…
He was a living adventure.
And once he got bored, he depended on his travels to take him elsewhere. I, the foolish girl…
I can hear them talking about me.
About my hopelessness…
"Oh…her…she's pretty sick. So sick, that sometimes I hear she's delusional."
"No way …seriously?"
"Oh yeah. Ever since she was like us, y'know, young an' all that stuff and then she got sick, so she wasn't very young anymore. Ever since he went away to look for some kind of adventure…"
"That's sad…"
"I hear that she still waits by the mailbox every day, waiting to see if he sent her a letter… But all of us know better. He wasn't willing to wait around I suppose…"
"So…did he love her?"
"No. She was his plaything. And then…he got bored."
"Just like every other folk that comes down here from out of town eh?"
"Yeah, but you have to feel bad for her. I mean, she was convinced that he was in love with her… But still…how can someone be so stupid?"
"I don't really know… But it's still sad to think about…"
"Yeah. Tell me about it…"
"He was such a playboy…"
"I heard that she once tried to drown herself in the place where they had first met…"
"The beach, down by that rundown diner that went out of business years ago?"
"Yeah. Over by the cargo crates. The doctor said that after he had left, she just got worse. Some kind of mental disease…"
"At least it hasn't happened to us… right?"
"Right, we're not that stupid."
I'd call myself an idiot, because that's what everyone else does.
But then…
Would I be giving up on the only thing that mattered?
Somewhere, after our first child was born…
Something went wrong.
Our son, a beautiful strong tempered little boy, with thin hair and soft eyes—like his daddy—Milky white complexion—like his Mommy. Bright eyes, filled with adoration for his Father. I can see the hopelessness in him too, when I see him looking out towards the ocean, watching out for the one he had used to call Daddy.
He used to call him Daddy.
Before 'Daddy' left us here to rot.
I can hear them sometimes, when they think I'm not listening. I can hear the elders; hear the disappointment lolling off their tongues. As if they had nothing else to crone about.
"You have to feel for the poor dear…She was in love after all…"
"I don't feel for her. She knew what she was doing, I warned her, warned her that he was bad news. And still…she sacrificed everything for that adventurous rapscallion…"
"Still…the poor delusional girl. After their son, she just couldn't hold her façade any longer. We all knew that he was drifting away from them…"
"And all for the better that he was… He was a playboy, a user. And once he had his fill, he threw her away…"
"She never found anyone else did she…?"
"No. Someone found her. Someone who was willing to stay by her side. And…once he loved her, she took that love and ate it up."
"…It's a pity… she was such a beautiful girl…"
"Beautiful girls have no brains…"
"Oh…Don't say that…"
"She's proven it to me many times. Just look at her son…"
"…Fools rush in, I suppose is the term."
"Yes. And what a fool she was…"
They don't know I'm there, don't know I'm watching.
They don't know that I'm invisible.
Don't know that ghosts can get hurt too.
It's the words that hurt the most.
Ripping into you as you read the letter with wide eyes.
They hurt so much, so much that even as you feel your heart straining, feel your breath quickening, feel the hot moisture between your eyes, slipping down your cheek.
The blood in your chest rushing…
It hurts so much, that you can't stop reading.
Can't stop mouthing the letters, one hand over your mouth….
'It doesn't mean anything… It's not true… it's a lie… a prank…'
'A prank…. A prank… A prank…."
You say it like a mantra inside of your head.
Your own way of coping with the truth…
Telling yourself that it's a lie.
That's what they call hopelessness.
That's why they call me hopeless.
Because I lie to myself, and try to remain…
Invisible…
Dearest Lillia,
I'm gone now.
And even though you may think it's unlikely, I will never come back.
I loved you, and, most of all I loved our son.
But…
Love is a short lived thing, and even though you constantly denied it, you knew that it was true.
I meant every word I said fifteen years ago, when we first met, when you first told me you were in love with me, even though I was a vagabond.
"You're hopeless…"
And you were.
Being hopelessly in love is one thing.
Being hopeless with love in another.
You had always been sick, Lillia.
You had always been weak.
And, as much I regret to say it,
I couldn't wait around for you to get better.
This is the last letter to you I will ever send.
I've moved on.
I moved on the first moment I left you.
Now it's time for you to do the same.
You can decide that after you read this letter, it could be the cure to your sickness,
Hopelessness in its worst case…
I don't want you to remember me.
I don't want you to think about me day after day, hoping that I'll come to my senses.
I came to my senses.
Love was a beautiful thing.
But, I wasn't willing to get sick off of it.
Goodbye,
Rodney.
….
End
I'd like to say goodbye…
(Hello)
But then it would be true
…
I'd love to say hello
(Goodbye)
To the person I once knew
…
I'd like to find our love again
(Hate)
But you always get in the way
…
I'd love to hate you for all time
(Love)
But you've taken all the words I'd ever say
…
A/N
A gift for Kuruk.
Nobody gets in depth with Lillia's relationship with Rodney. I couldn't throw this plot away, it was too good. I've been writing a lot of short stories recently, I don't know what's become of me, really.
I'm leaving to Alaska in two days….
It's a depressing thought.
Maybe that's the cause for all this hopeless angst—no pun intended.
Tell me what you think,
TMoh