There's something haunting about sadness.
Out of all of the emotions, sadness is the only one that lingers on for what seems like an eternity, like a ghost with unfinished business. Anger can be vented, joy is fleeting, and love is only as solid as the person it's given to. Sadness has the tendency to leave one feeling hollow, empty, and broken. Still, it's part of a person's psyche; we're hardwired with it. Some omniscient being decided to program all of us with it, and so it must fulfill some purpose, shouldn't it?
She wasn't necessarily prone to sadness, but she recognized that it was everywhere. It was in the news and on the streets. It was written in the faces of the people she loved and was permanently branded into her very reflection. She didn't know why this was so, but she was long past the point of attempting to find a rhyme or reason. The rhymes never matched up and the reasons were wholly unsatisfying.
Despite his smiles, he often found that the world couldn't be described as anything but a living tragedy. Pollution destroyed what natural beauty remained in New York City. Technology ceased to be a novel and miraculous concept and began to be a means by which to justify the laziness of the human race. He risked his life every day to save a world that wouldn't be able to handle the very fact that he existed. He didn't know why he bothered, but he had ceased to attempt to find a method to his madness. The more he looked at it, he wondered if there really wasn't a madness behind his method.
And yet, life goes on.
The drive home from work was never one of Mel's favorite activities. Oh, she loved driving well enough, but it was the thought of being stuck in a daily commute that bothered her to no end. Routine had never been one of her best friends. Tonight, though, was different. Thinking over the day's events, she wondered if she wouldn't be happier if things just stayed the same every day, enabling her to build a life revolving around constants. As it stood, she realized that she would never be able to trust people, least of all men. Just when you thought everything was going well… a fuse would alight and a bomb would drop.
Stupid, she thought bitterly as she squinted through the rain. Stupid, stupid, stupid.The word kept slamming into her like a fist. It became so bad that tears actually started coming to her eyes. Between this and the rain, she was forced to pull over before she got into a serious accident. Stupid.
Despite her alleged "stupidity," Mel couldn't bring herself to be angry, not even at herself. Instead, she was only sad. Sad that she kept allowing herself to build up her hopes in this hostile world, and sad that she didn't have anyone to turn to right now. Suddenly feeling confined in her car, Mel killed the ignition and opened the door. The smell of the rain made her feel a little better, and so she grabbed her spare umbrella from the glove compartment and decided to take an impromptu walk until she felt clear-headed enough to drive again.
Slamming the door behind her, Mel fumbled with her umbrella. It took her a few tries, but she finally managed to get it opened and locked. However, it wasn't until after it was latched that she realized half of it was upturned and warped. The umbrella was large enough for it to not make much of a difference, but the very fact that yet another small thing in her life went wrong seemed horrifically ironic.
Choking back another chorus of "stupid," Mel started a slow amble down the empty street. She was walking by Forest Park, one of the safer areas in Queens. She knew enough to be on her guard, but wasn't excessively worried. Most of the people in this neighborhood were elderly and seldom traveled after nightfall. Anyone who got their kicks from harassing young women in the streets was most likely in Corona or Elmhurst.
"You know, you really ought to find a dashing genius to fix that for you."
Mel stopped at the surprising voice. Turning around, she saw that an old friend with suspiciously ninja-like tendencies had appeared out of nowhere and was currently standing behind her, wryly eyeing the broken umbrella. "Don!" Acting out of instinct, she blurted out, "You shouldn't be out in this weather; you'll get sick!" As she said this, she automatically moved her arm in an attempt to cover them both with the umbrella. This resulted in her being pelted by raindrops instead.
Donatello looked at her skeptically. They said nothing for a moment. Then, at the same time, they began to laugh. Her concern and her newly-dampened brown hair struck the both of them as being the funniest thing either had seen all day. Tossing the defunct umbrella into a nearby garbage can, Mel sheepishly commented, "I guess I could be a bit silly sometimes, huh?"
"There's nothing wrong with that," came the reply. "Just look at Mikey." Looking at the discarded umbrella, Donatello asked, "Beyond fixing, huh? Even for me?"
"There just comes a point where you've got to get rid of something," Mel responded. "Besides," she added, looking down, "the rest of the day was beyond fixing, so I'm not at all surprised." Alarmed by her sullenness, Donatello asked what was wrong. At first, she attempted to simply shrug it off. It didn't take long for her to abruptly exclaim, "Guys can be really dumb sometimes, you know?"
Donatello could do little else but blink at her a few times. Finally, he remarked, "I'm hoping that the present company's excluded." Realizing how immature she sounded, Mel looked down again. "So," Donatello asked, "want to tell me about it?" Thinking about it for a moment, he gingerly reached over and brushed her now-soaked hair out of her face. "We might want to wander somewhere a bit drier, though."
"There's really nothing to tell," she said. Nevertheless, she found herself making her way back towards her car, Donatello in tow. "The guys at work are just jerks. They're incapable of holding a conversation that doesn't somehow become inappropriate, and the girls are all, 'Heeheehee, look at him; he's so funny and hot and who cares if he already has a girlfriend?'" With a sound that was half a sigh and half a groan, Mel muttered, "What I wouldn't give to be in your shoes sometimes."
"Sorry to break the news for you, but I don't really have any shoes."
Against her better judgment, a laugh escaped Mel's lips. Putting a comforting arm around her shoulders, Donatello told her, "Look, I know as well as the next guy that life's no walk in the park. But I told you, Mel… you can't ever wish you can be someone else. You've just got to take who you are and make the best of it."
Mel considered this for a moment before turning her head to look at him. "Hey… what are you doing out here by yourself? Especially on a night like this? I thought you'd be hanging around chat rooms or messing around with some trans-dimensional portal or something." She could feel him tense up a little, and so she worriedly asked, "What's wrong?"
Donatello seemed reluctant to answer for quite some time. When Mel stopped, finally did he realize that there was no real way he could let the topic drop. Shrugging his shoulders, he kept walking as he answered, "It's really nothing. I was just… April asked me to go over to fix her television, and when I got there, it turned out that Casey managed to get it done."
He shrugged again before adding, "And the guys have just been arguing non-stop, you know? Leo and Raph are constantly at each other's throats, mostly because Raph won't stop harassing Mikey. I can't stand having to be the neutral one all the time. And just when I thought I'd get to spend time with one of the few people I click with, she shoos me out because her boyfriend got there first." With a sigh, he concluded, "It's times like these when a guy starts feeling a little useless."
"Hey," Mel interjected, pulling him to a stop. "What, are you in some kind of funk or something, Don? You're the smart one; you should know better. Without you, your brothers would be lost and April wouldn't have anyone for company except for that short-fused boyfriend of hers." She paused for a moment before quietly stating, "You don't normally talk like this."
"Yeah, well," Donatello started, a little touchily, "it's not really something that people should talk about. Everyone feels like this once in a while. Especially when it's raining like this. Speaking of, there's your car. You really should get inside before your immune system decides to start hating you."
Mel turned and saw that her car was indeed nearby. She looked back to offer Donatello a ride somewhere, but saw that he had disappeared. With a groan, Mel muttered, "Oh, I hate ninjas!" The words were distracted, however. She was worried about Donatello. She had known him for a long time, and had always known him to have an even personality.
I guess, she thought to herself, despite all outward appearances, he really is "only human."The ironic realization brought a small smile to her face as she approached the car. It didn't take long, though, for the smile to disappear. As she got closer, she saw a familiar photo keychain hanging from the ignition. Sprinting towards the car, her hands fumbled through her pockets. No! No, no, no, no, no!
Pressing her hands against the driver's side window, Mel peered into the car. She had, indeed, left the keys in the ignition. And on the floor of the passenger side laid her bag, which contained her cell phone and wallet. She searched her pockets once more, hoping to find a spare quarter. Nothing. She had no way to call for help, not even from a payphone. Forlornly leaning against the car, Mel restarted an all-too familiar mantra. Stupid.Stupid, stupid, stupid.
"I guess it's a good thing I didn't just ditch you, huh?"
Surprised, Mel stood straight and peered over her shoulder. Donatello was standing behind her, his downcast eyes a bit warmer than they were less than a minute ago. "Keys locked in the car?" Donatello asked. Grateful that the rain made it impossible for him to tell that she had been shedding frustrated tears, Mel nodded. Removing a small black case from his belt, Donatello replied, "And that's why I never leave home without at least a minimal amount of tools."
She smiled uncertainly as Donatello reached out and moved her away from the car door. Kneeling, he opened the case and started working on the lock. "Sorry," he said after a moment. "I really didn't mean to snap at you back there. It's just been a pretty cruddy day."
Mel was about to tell him that it was okay, that she was something of an expert on cruddy days. Still, she noticed that Donatello hadn't looked her in the eye since she had asked him about his day. After a moment of silence, she took off her thin denim jacket and held it over his head as he worked. With a blink, Donatello looked up to see what had suddenly kept the rain from splattering against the car. Not knowing why her voice contained a tinge of meekness, Mel conceded, "I guess sometimes I can care a little too much about people. Maybe that's why it's so easy for people to get like that with me."
Donatello finally met her eyes as he slowly rose to his feet. "You care because you're a good person," he told her. "And if anyone tries to use that as an excuse to treat you badly, you let me know. I've got a lead pipe with his name written all over it." He opened the car door, gesturing her towards it. "Your chariot awaits."
Mel stood there for a moment, the jacket still held over Donatello's head. "Thanks," she said after a moment, "but I think you mean our chariot."
He looked like he was about to object, but he gave her a sideways glance. "All right," came the answer. "Ours." Satisfied that he wasn't going to disappear on her again, Mel got into the car. Donatello shut the door as she turned on the ignition. She unlocked the passenger door as he made his way to the other side of the vehicle. He got in and sat besides her. There was silence except for the sound of the windshield wipers.
"So," she finally began, "where do you want to go?"
He seemed to think about it for a moment before looking at her wryly. "Wherever you want to take me." She laughed as she began driving through the dark, rain-swept night.
"Be careful; I might just take you seriously," she joked. Instead of saying anything, Donatello reached over for her radio and turned it on, making a low comment about seeing the damage she was doing to her speakers with her loud music.
Both were surprised when a quiet song came on. Mel could have sworn she left the radio on the rock station, so had no idea where this ballad came from. "This is a song for the unloved. This is a music for one last cry. This is a prayer that tomorrow will help me leave the past behind."
"Uh," she said, not liking how the lyrics seemed to echo reality. "I can change the-" She moved to change the station, but Donatello stopped her, shushing her.
"This one's for the bridesmaid, never the bride. This one's for the dreamers who locked their faith inside. This is for the widows who think there's only one; the dying fathers that never told their sons: 'No one is glamorously lonely. Follow your hearts.'"
Mel snuck a glance at Donatello. She suddenly found herself choked up when she saw how personally he seemed to take the song. As she stopped at a red light, the DJ came on and announced that they were listening to "Song for the Unloved" right here on Z-100, New York's number one hit music station. At the title, Donatello couldn't keep back a laugh. "Hey look, they just played our song."
"Don't say that, Don," Mel whispered. "I mean, I love you." Her eyes widened when she realized what she said. She could feel his eyes on her and silently cursed herself for not resisting the harsh red blush that was sure to be staining her cheeks. "I mean… you know… you're my friend. And… you're the only guy who's actually there for me and… yeah…."
"Thanks," was Donatello's reply. "I love you, too." His words weren't strained, but a simple statement of fact. Mel turned to look at him, and saw that he was wearing a ghost of a smile. "I just figured we should have a song that could be, you know… 'ours.' But since we both love each other, we'll have to pick something else, huh?"
Mel didn't understand exactly what he was talking about. She claimed to love him as a friend, but his response made it sound as though he was talking about something not quite platonic. Yet, unlike most of the times when guys told her something that could be taken different ways, she found that she didn't mind so much with Donatello. "I guess that's half the fun," she responded.
They smiled at one another, and it was in that shared moment that they both realized why sadness was such a large part of people's lives. Without sadness, how does one know what happiness feels like? Without those periods of dejection and loneliness, how can one knows what it feels like to love… or to be loved?
Heh, Mel thought as the light turned green. Life's a funny thing.