"Such Polluted Thinking"
So, where do the dreams of children go once they're grown up completely? Honestly. I've taken to asking myself that question more often these days. Mostly because I've forgotten my own dreams and how to make them. It used to be so easy to simply think of the most impossible thing in the universe and believe that "possible" was a figure of speech, meant to be proven wrong. I used to believe in things like making the stars fall and catching one for myself, seeing places that most would consider boring or uneventful, closing my eyes in one spot and opening them in another. Sometimes I would pretend that if I played the piano just the right way, I could create anything at all. All sorts of bizarre things. They absolutely thrilled me.
However, as a current University student studying some Engineering I haven't quite figured out which yet, I have seemed to have "misplaced" my ideals and plans for the future somewhere. Perhaps, I put them in a box somewhere when I moved into my apartment? Or maybe I dropped them on the side of a Kaunas rode? Whatever I did with them, I certainly haven't seen them around here for plenty of time. Then again, I have not been the most chipper of people these days. So, maybe they were put off by my current more cynical attitude towards life.
It never really helped that everywhere I went on the campus; I was always greeted with the same three questions. Sometimes out of order, which was a nice change in pace for the day, I guess. They're usually also greeted with a skeptical look over and a nervous stare. Anyway, they were relatively phrased the same way more or less. Most of the time they just had to do with my origin. Honestly, I'm not all the spectacular.
Number one: "You're that Russian guy, right?" Lithuanian, actually. But it doesn't matter.
Number two: "Do you speak English? Or just Russian/Lithuanian?" Well, if I responded to you, then I suppose I do then. My accent isn't even that thick, honestly.
Number three: "What's it like there? Do you have…" fill in the blank. Most likely or something close to it. And the country itself is alright, not incredible, but alright. I liked it there, but a change in pace is always nice. I don't mean to sound so existentialist. It just happens. Trust me, that's too hard for me. I could never pull it off.
As wonderful as my daily interrogations are, I believe I've had better times. Most of them occur in the Music Center they own that I mentally thank a hundred times a day for. I love that stupid building. I love it because it's only there I can escape my thick-headed roommate and my patronizing classmates. It's stupid because I'm one of the few non-music majors, let alone Engineer, in the entire place. And they all get ticked off when I'm taking up space in one of the rooms that they could be using to do something productive rather than brain cleaning. To be honest, I'm not fantastic, but I'm not terrible either. I hope. Either way, I love the piano.
More often than not, I'd be sauntering over towards the building, hardly noticing when my nose would hit the glass of the door. My mind was in another place, torn to shreds and crushed by then. I think I tripped over the same trumpet player everyday too. He never said anything, just looked at me, maybe wondering if I was drunk. Usually, I would fall into the nearest empty practice room. I never had much preference for anything too complicated like that. I would throw my backpack across the room, letting it smack into the wall on the opposite side. Wide and spacious, soundproof, and housing a piano. I liked it. I still do. My body would fling itself onto the stool. My head would slam into the wood, eyes closed. As strange as this routine was, it helped. For the most part. Eventually, my eyes would open and I'd stare at the keys for a while. C, C#, D, D#...etcetera, etcetera…. Who cares? Oh, yeah. I do.
I didn't have a particular thing to play; I just sort of made it all up as I went. Like improve. Except we've already determined that I'm not fantastic, therefore, neither was the improvisation. Never the less, I rolled with it. I would let the daily troubles float away with the music. Just let them soar out of my head and into the air. One particular time was the beginning of something more real. I didn't want to notice that the room felt heavy and the air thick. I had no idea why, just that it was difficult to breathe. Little did I know it would stay that way for a long, long time. No matter where I would go, the weight would stay. Also, I was unaware of the girl sitting in a chair in the corner of the room.
I think I noticed her at first, but thought I was imagining things or maybe she wasn't there to begin with and simply appeared later. I don't really care how she got there. I just wanted to know why she was there. I looked over, still playing, slowing my pace down until it completely stopped. She was staring at me, legs crossed under a long, dark skirt. I bit the inside of my lip. Her hair was long, blonde, and, by the way she was pushing locks behind her ear every other second, seemed like it had a mind of its own. Her eyes were what froze me, however. They were a soft blue, or maybe purple. It doesn't really matter all too much, but either way, they were empty and glassy. It was like she took a class on how to stare at people without any emotion at all. If she did, she probably got the highest marks.
"Hi?" I tried to greet. She didn't respond. "Do you want me to leave?" Nothing. I ran a hand through my hair. I should probably get it cut soon. "Look I-."
"Am I bothering you?" she cut me off. Her voice sounded hallow. Pretty. But hallow.
"Uh…," I started without really thinking of what I was going to actually say. "No, it's fine, I guess." I swung a leg over the stool to face her. "And you're…?" She asked if it mattered. I was caught off guard with that one. After a few second of thought, I replied, "Yeah, what's your name?"
She touched the ends of her hair. "Natalia," she said. It was like the name meant nothing.
"It's nice," I tried to say without feeling awkward. It didn't work out so well. "So then, what brings you here?"
I think that was the first time she had blinked the entire time she was there. Regardless, she ignored my question and asked, "Do you usually wear your hair in a ponytail like that?" I'm fairly certain I smiled in disbelief. I might have nodded, uncertain, but I might have for her to continue on. "You're not from this country," she didn't really ask, more like stated. I nodded again. "And you're name?" Her head tilted to the side, her eyes showing a flicker of interest for the first time. It was like she was forcing information out of me.
"Toris," I managed.
"Boring name." She lost interest again. Thanks. What did she expect? "It's common and boring." Well, yeah. At home maybe, but not here. Here, that name is like a multi-colored butterfly. She froze and studied me for a fraction of a second. "We've already had introductions before?"
My expression must have been amazing. Dumbstruck and completely pathetic, that is. "No? I don't-"
She stood up then, coming to me at a speed that seemed a little too fast and a little too concerned for her. Her eyes were gawking into mine. The confusion was written on her face whether she wanted it there intentionally or not. Either way, it was almost scary. Eyelashes had not looked so dark until now. Funny thing is I don't think she was wearing any make-up at all. They were eerie, those eyes. Actually, her entire being was off. Sort of out of place like she just didn't belong here. She was pretty enough, but her very presence made me feel awkward.
"Yes," she eventually said, "yes, it's you. They're the same eyes."
"They're green?"
"They're the same." The fear began to seep out of me through uncontrollable fidgeting. "When you were a little boy, you gave a girl a flower."
I did a double take. "What?" I tried to think. Needless to say, it was a pointless effort." "A girl?" Something clicked. "I'm pretty sure it was a grown woman…? If I really did… You expect me to remember something like that?"
"Yes." She leaned closer. Anymore and I was probably going to throw something. "Yes, I do. It's important." Too close. She was way too close.
"Why?" my voice cracked.
She pulled away. If I was just a bit more idiotic, I would have thought she was hurt. Instead, she turned away and glared at the piano. "You remember though, right?"
"Yes?" I tried not to sound too uncertain. "Why, though? She was as old as you are now. There's no way-!"
"Whatever." She turned back to me, flattening down her skirts. "All that matters is that you see me, and you remember me."
"What's that even supposed to mean?"
"A lot. It means a lot of things."
She never answered that question. Ever. Not ever. However, from that day on, she appeared, sitting stoic on the bench next to me, listening to me play. I don't know why she showed up so often and I don't know why she cared to bother with me. She was always dressed up the same way: dresses, skirts, and hair bows or bands. She always wore something elegant, something traditional and yet vaguely modern looking. The way she always acted, I amused myself with believing our common goal was waiting for the world to crash and burn. When I pitched this at her, she didn't respond. I don't think she thought it was as funny as I did. Maybe. Only a little.
Each day, I would play piano. Each day she would stare me down, waiting for something to happen. There was something about her, though. I didn't want to admit it, but I began enjoying the company in spite of myself. It gets old being by yourself for too long, I suppose. She was like a nice friend from nowhere. Out of curiosity, I'd continuously ask her questions and she would answer in the strangest ways I'd ever heard. They never made much sense to me at all. But, you know, I'm just a dumb human boy. Did I just say "human" boy?
As the time passed, I became more and more intrigued by the mysterious girl who came every day to listen to my mediocre music skills. She confused me. Her words always hurt and her eyes always bore holes into my skin. She would insult me, glare at me, and mutter corrections into the wood. Yet, she still sat by me. It was more than I could ask for. She never cared for my well-being and she would shrug off any injury I would obtain out my pure klutziness. She would tell me I was just impaired. I would smile and shake my head.
"What do you do when you screw up?" I asked once. I braced myself for the worst.
Her eyes became more focused on me, like she was concentrating hard. It was like she was taking my question extremely carefully. Like it was something intricate. Pulling her hair behind her shoulders, she sighed before replying:
"Learn from your previous mistakes and move on to something else. History is important."
"History…. Life's too short. I'm trying to concentrate on now. How about you?"
"I don't care about 'now'." She said the last word as if it were poisonous.
"You don't care?" I repeated. I tripped over my own hand.
"Not really," she pushed a few strands of gold behind her ear that had wormed their way back into her face.
I let my fingers play a few unwanted flats. "Then what do you think of it? Now, that is."
She shrugged. "A pleasant obstacle of the past."
I took a glance at her; eyebrows crunched together making my forehead ache. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"In the end, it all comes down to what has already happened, not what's going on right now."
I changed the pitch and tempo. Something lower, a little slower. "Don't you have something you're… looking for? Or looking forward to? Something? Someone?"
She tilted her head, almost like she was going to rest it on my shoulder. I'm not that dull. I knew she would never. She took to watching my fingers silently. I don't know if she was thinking or simply trying to keep me waiting on an answer. She fiddled with the fabric of her skirt. It was a brilliant midnight blue today.
"I just let it happen. If I think too much on it, I'll end up killing myself with thinking. I don't really care if I vanish in the future. Sometimes, Toris, life is never simply 'too short'." She let her eyes fall over the walls. "Sometimes it's just too long."
"I see." Not for all of us, Natalia. For you maybe, but for some of us, moments like these become the highlight of one's entire lifespan.
"What are you looking for then? Or whom, I suppose." She wasn't watching me this time, just sort of looking blankly at the nonexistent music sheets.
I stopped playing, letting my fingers linger over the keys. My eyes fell. The words repeated through my thoughts. What was I looking for? I think what I said could have gone better. I turned my head, watching her hair.
"What if I'm looking for the girl with the beautiful hair and the cruel eyes?" She turned to me, not fazed, not caring. "What if I'm looking for the girl that I don't understand and makes everything unclear?" I meant it, Natalia. You knew I did. But you just never cared.
She leaned forward, her hair falling over shoulder as if it was simply cloth or silk. She let her face twist a bit into a soft but very dark smile. She whispered her words to me, letting the ice drip off of them and clatter to the floor, "I hope you never find her." I blinked. Letting a sigh fall out of my mouth, it too hit the floor heavy. She had long sat back into her usual posture and expression. I hadn't noticed, honestly. I was too busy thinking over her strange expressions and explanations for things. If I was so "smart", why did I feel so idiotic? She whispered again, "I hope you find something actually worth a darn, though."
I clutched the piano seat. My head flopped back; the ceiling was greyer today than it usually looked. "You know, I used to believe in all sorts of dreams. Like happy-go-lucky and happily-ever-after. It's all just… shit now."
"You believed in good things to come?"
"Yeah." My response was automatic. You were rubbing off on me, my dear.
"Good things. No matter what, good and happy things?"
"I guess."
She touched my shoulder, my eyes falling onto her. Her hands were so cold. But she had the decency to actually show physical contact. Now that I think about it, it seemed more like she was trying to break some bad news to me rather than her own personal thought on the matter.
"That's called polluted thinking."
I sighed and turned away. "I can't imagine what you've done in your life."
She almost laughed. "We can play pretend if you'd like." She pulled away. "We can pretend we're both the same."
"We are in the end." She stood up.
"What if I turned out to be the worst thing in your life?"
I swallowed. "What if I turned out to be the best damn thing in existence?"
She smirked at that one, almost impressed.
Hey guys! I know it's been a long while since I've posted... anything. But! This is what I've been working on and I know it's not the best, but human!Toris was sort of...difficult to stay in character and less country... Bah! I tried. More to come, I'm half-way through chapter 2 as I type this. Belarus is the same ice-queen we love, of course! :)