Disclaimer: I do not own Degrassi. Seriously. Like, I want to, but I don't see that happening.
Our strides are different. She is graceful, in a way, just like all girls are. And he is just stomping through, trying to intimidate. And then there's me. I'm the tip of the triangle that connects them. I try not to be graceful like her, but sometimes my legs betray my mind.
We're together in the loosest of terms. We picked each other up with just a look, and we're all a bit lost in our own way. We've turned to stone and the world wants us soft, and with every passing second, the air beats on us, telling us to feel again. But for once, it feels okay to just walk and…be silent.
We reach the ride that barely anyone wants to go on, and we join the toddlers and the parents and everyone else who's dead and wants one more shot at life. We climb the metal floor to get to one of the chair that fit three. There's a wheel in front of us and we stare at it. It means nothing to us.
His bony fingers grip onto the cold, sticky metal that has rusted from years of use. Her hands are at her side, and she doesn't want to push. She's done with pushing. She's done with shoving and getting hurt. She wants silence, but the kids around her are too small and young to notice her tears. But he notices. He notices everything about her. And I'm along for the ride, just wanting to move and to see the world spin.
The ride starts, and the overplayed Christmas song plays again. The creak of old metal clash together and our stomachs churn with anguish from the motion. The children scream and with every scream, we cry. With every giggle, we fall a little bit more, and the more the kids spin their seats, the more we stay still. We're broken. With our light jackets and soft hats that fall off our heads with every passing moment. We are nothing but ghosts of our former selves. And with every passing second, we become invisible.
He's first to spin us. He's first to cause the havoc. He pushes everything he has into one push, and then it's easy. The simple thrust of his arms is therapeutic, and she's looking at him. I start pushing because he can't do it alone. And it's a simple relief when she joins in; her frail hands clenching hard onto the metal. And we push and we push and we can't stop, because to stop is to fall, and to fall is to disappoint.
Lights fly around us in a powerful haze, but we can't be distracted. Our stomachs are done in and our cheeks are frozen from drying tears. Our lungs are scratchy, because we're grunting and panting from the push of the small and simple wheel in front of us. The air has us trapped and our thoughts are red with blood. There's an invisible gun pointing to all of us, and we can't stop. We have to move. We have to push.
We can't let each other die.
Now, twenty-four hours ago, we hadn't even thought about each other. But, in a day, our lives shifted, and once again- we are dependent on each other. We are like Velcro. We are sharp and prickly, just looking for a soft surface to cling to.
Our vulnerability didn't just spring up in one day. It has traveled through months to reach us, to share the loneliness with us. The nondescript air of pain is on our chest and our ankles and it has our hair with vengeance. Everything is hazy, and nothing is sharp or detailed. Every face is the same as we spin. Everyone is just a color. No one cares, and no one listens, and we're just misunderstood teenagers fighting ourselves for a chance at life.
When the ride stops, we feel ourselves moving on with the unmoving ride. The silence that struck us shocked before, is now gone and everyone is happy. No one is sad at a carnival. No one wishes death in places that have cotton candy.
Maybe we just need time to breathe. Time to recollect themselves. Time to think about what made us like this. But the more we wonder and think, the more distant we become. We're teenagers that fell off the cliff of insanity. We have one finger latched onto the rocky edge, but it's time to let go. And we're blind to what will happen next. It's dark below, and it could mean death or a new beginning, and we aren't sure which one is scarier.
The ride finally feels over and we look at each other. We finally see each other. We're somehow alive.
"Nothing's going to be the same…is it?" She asks, and I want to tell her that maybe it's a good thing that the world is spinning and slamming against the door, but I don't want to tell her something false. So we fall in silence, and she understands. She understands how unsteady life can be.
The snow crunches underneath our feet and it keeps the silence without it being too scary. Kids run around us and they smile their gapped-tooth smile, and we smile back with difficulty. Because she's still crying and he is looking at the ground and my mouth isn't cooperating. And we're foreign people to these kids and we're scary and I'm scaring myself.
We stop at the man selling cotton candy, because it makes us feel as young as we should. They pay for their own and I wait for mine. And they talk and I listen. They talk and I count the stars. They talk and I can't breathe because I'm alone. But they talk.
"Do you think we could ever pick up where we left off?" He says, and I can see at least fifty stars and counting.
(translation: Shit, Clare…I know that we left off in a really really really bad way, but…I miss you)
I want to shake him. I want to scream at him to just kiss her; to just spit it out and to scream it. Because he has nothing left to lose.
"…I can't do that again, Eli. I can't…I can't possibly lose you again." She whispers, and I see that someone scratched their name into the cotton candy stand.
(translation: Yeah, I love you too, but you scared me. You. Scared. Me)
But she's scared of everything. She's scared of me, him, and even herself. She's scared of life. And I hear them whisper and I hear three letter words that have never been voiced to me. The name that is scratched into the stand is imprinted in my skin, and the scratch has a story, just like every single one of us.
When I am finally handed my cotton candy, they're holding hands and for once, they look content. They share a thin and peaceful smile, and I'm still in the dark. But I don't want to rain on their sunny parade, even though I still feel alone.
But, as we walk, her hand finds mine. They share themselves with me, and everything feels better. And her warmth turns into my warmth and his laugh turns into my happiness. And we're together. I don't know how this is happening. I don't know how everything feels okay, but it does. And I won't complain.
We're together in the loosest of terms. We picked each other up, and we fixed each other. We're not completely healed, but who is? We're together and that's all that matters. We're smiling and I can't imagine when I last laughed. What I'm trying to say is that it's okay. It might get hard, but we're together for it.
In the end, we're just a bunch of misfits.
I just...I don't even know what that was.
A review would be lovely!