TALKING TO MY SHADOW
The Gift of Insecurity
I dreamt that I lived in the sand, only my head popping out. I have no idea why I dreamt that but it was surprisingly relaxing. There wasn't a breeze, it was cool regardless. I sat in the warm, quite, sand and watched the tide breath in and out, slowly. Then, a crab waddled up to my face and pinched my cheek between its grubby claws.
"Go awaaaay!" I howled. It waited for a moment before stretching out and pinching me again. "GO AWAAAY!" This time, I opened my eyes and found my brother leaning over me, his thumb and index in ready position. My scowl became evident.
"Wake up." He ordered.
I sat up just enough to read the glowing, florescent, numbers on the night stand then grumbled and flopped back down. "What could you possibly need at one in the morning?"
"I can't get to sleep."
"Have you tried trying?"
"Yes! I was lying in my bed for like… an hour straight! I was just lying there and staring at the ceiling!"
"Maybe you're sick."
"Sick!? I don't want the doctors to unscrew my eyeballs and rearrange my intestines!"
"Cool it! Just a head cold! You're just stuffy and that's why you can't sleep."
"Let's deal some cards! Come ooonnn!"
"No! It's one in the morning! It's sleeping time!"
"I'll fall asleep right away if you just play a game with me! Just a game of Black Jack or Solitaire! Something small."
"Go to sleep , Feli."
"It's not like you've got anything better to do!"
"SLEEPING."
"Get uuup! Nooow!" He began pounding on me as if he were trying to restart my heart.
"Go away, Feli!"
"Get uuup!"
"Fine! Fine, dammit!" I rolled out of bed and opened my pajama drawer, where my worn away Coca-Cola playing cards were kept. They were held together by a rubber band. I never bothered to put them back in their rightful case because I'm woken up most every night, asked to deal cards with my younger sibling.
We sat with our legs crossed on his bed as I dealed out the leathery paper. I was tired as hell but I knew how to play like the back of my hand. It was almost a thoughtless process like reading or speaking. We played until the game was finally over and Feliciano had won. That's the only way that you can make him stop playing because if he loses, he'll ask for rematch after rematch. He let me go back to bed only to be woken up again at six, which is considered by him to be an appropriate time to start the day. I fuck'n hate early risers.
I let the Skitz, the cat, inside and made fried eggs for the two of us. Mother was home. She's always home. She doesn't go to work because she needs stay with me and my brother all day or I won't take my pills and he'll do something stupid. I spent all day playing Monster Ball Hunters until she made me get up and be active. Usually, we would walk down to group therapy on the weekends but I was kicked out a few weeks ago. They sent me home with a note that simply said: Dear Mr. and Mrs. Vargas, Your son regularly throws blunt objects and uses foul language to taunt the other patients. Because of this, we will no longer be inviting him to our sections. We cannot help those who will not let themselves be helped. Our sincerest regrets, The Psychiatric committee of Columbus, North Carolina. That was the day I threw that crumby folding-chair across the room.
Now, instead of organized therapy, we go to the park. Mom says that fresh air will do me good, even if I just sit in it. We go out every day for an hour or two; I've memorized when the old women in their tight track clothes will come jogging through, when the little kids will take turns pushing each other into the sand pit, and when Hobo Jacob will wheel his cart around the fountain. I know the park. I know how it will look when it's been rained on or lost all of its lush leaves. I know when it's grass will die, when it will grow, when the lights will turn on, when the colors will change. I know all aspects of its life because I sit on the same bench every day and watch it all happen.
Feliciano gets nervous at the park. He sits with me sometimes but all he ever does is fidget and tell me that he thinks someone is trying to shoot him. Sometimes, he's so convinced that it gives me the willies too and we have to go home. Feli is a real twitchy guy. I've learned to trust his instinct though, because when he says that something bad is going to happen, it most always does. "What do you think about me going over Antonio's today?" I asked as we sat crisscross in the park, pulling up dead grass.
"I don't think he's a bad guy but… I think he'd hurt you without ever knowing that he had."
"He's an idiot, I can tell that much."
He laughed. "You say that about everybody"
"Antonio especially."
"I think you like him."
"What? No I don't!"
"Now I think you're lying."
"Shut up."
"Lovino, I know you. You're playing the dangerous game of possibilities."
"No I'm not! I don't want any friends. They're all fakers."
His hand was placed on top mine gently and he gave me his serious face. "You're not going to say it, I know you better than to expect that but I want you to remember than I'm not going to let you get hurt. You go be friends with him if you want but don't think anything more of it."
"Of course not." I dismissed. "I don't even like him."
The grip on my hand tightened and he waited for me to meet his eyes again before speaking. "You'll break your own heart long before he does-"
"Look, I don't even swing that way, Feli." I retrieved my hand and stood up. I was a pretty frustrated that he kept pressing the subject. I wished that he'd just let it go already.
He stood up as well and draped his arms around me. "You'll always have me, right? That's all we need." He whispered, disintegrating my anger.
"Yeah." Feliciano never leaves me. He never hurts me. Why would I ask for anything else? I can't possibly be that selfish. He's given me everything, he's given me life. It could just be the two of us, living in our own little world forever. I took his hand and we walked back home.
I left for Antonio's around three, when my dad got home. I had one backpack that carried my toothbrush, my clothes and a jacket while the other backpack was the one my mom had packed full of prescriptions.
"You think you'll be okay?" My dad asked.
"Yeah."
"The whole night by yourself?"
"I'll be fine, Dad."
"You've got your toothbrush?"
"Yup."
"And you're pills and all?"
"Yup."
"And you've got your phone, right?"
I pulled it out of my pocket and showed him. He continued to blabber on, reminding me that I should call him and mom if anything happens or if I feel uneasy. He told me over and over to call if I feel like I'm going to have a panic attack. I reassured him that I was fine.
Two million questions later, we arrived at Antonio's house. It was the curly-headed child himself who answered the door. "Hey, Lovi! I've been waiting for you! Welcome to my house-"
He was interrupted when his father pushed him aside and took up my dad's hand. Dr. Carriedo assured him that I would be fine but Dad went over all the precautions with him anyways. Before he left, he made me look in his eyes and assure him for the last time that I was going to call if I needed anything. I was allowed inside and was instantly trampled by the boy. "Are those your bags? You can put them in my room, it's upstairs. Come on, I'll show you." I swear, he could move his lips at the speed of light. Once the last syllable had left his mouth, he took my hand and began dragging me upstairs. His father stopped us, reminding Antonio to be gentle and to calm down.
He opened his door proudly. At first, I thought that I must be looking at some sort of shrine but then I noticed the bed and dresser. "Holy crap, Antonio! This is your room?" The place was perfect, like he had taken a level and made sure of it. The shelves and desk tops all laid at a perfect one-hundred-and-eighty degrees, dusted and cleaned meticulously. His sheets were plain tan, folded up so that each crease would be a straight line, the perfect distance from the crease above and below it. The books on his book shelf weren't arranged by alphabetic order but by height. His shoes were lined up so that no heel was an inch behind another. The pure order of his room was unsettling. It was the very definition of compulsive. Everything was in order. Everything was right. I didn't even want to step inside for fear of unbalancing its feng shui.
"Come in." He beckoned to me because I was still standing the door way like an idiot. I complied, feeling out of place and studying the strange surroundings. "You can leave your bags riiiiiiiight…here." He decided, pointing to the area under his desk.
"What's with your bed?" I asked and set down my bag.
"What? What's wrong with it?" His voice hinted at a contained panic.
"It's so…dull." Everything in his room was a varying shade of the rainbow except for his dirt-colored sheets.
"Oh, well, I used to have a red bed set but when ever I woke up, It would look like I was covered in blood and I'd freak out."
"That's a valid point, I suppose. Stupid, but valid."
"Thanks." He stared at the bed for a long time, eying it up and down to be sure that nothing was wrong. "Hey, you wanna know something!?" He cried, breaking out of his trance.
"Uh, sure. What?"
"Steph is gonna come visit me on Tuesday."
"Who's Steph?"
"Stephanie. My sister, the one who lives in Florida. She's bringing her new boyfriend." He turned around and grabbed a picture off his shelf. "This is her."
"You two don't look a lot alike."
"She's from my dad's other marriage. We have different moms."
"Where's your mom?"
"Canada, I think. Or maybe Wisconsin. She and Steph really didn't like each other so she left. Actually, a lot of things didn't work out for her." He returned the frame to its rightful place on the shelf.
"Oh… Sorry."
"Don't be. You didn't make her go. She left because she wanted to. I don't even remember her real well."
"People just say sorry when they hear something bad."
"Why?"
"I dunno. That's just what you're supposed to do."
"That's weird."
"I know but that's how it is."
"Well, let's make a pact to never say sorry about bad stuff because bad stuff just happens, it's not anybody's fault."
"Alright." I offered him my pinky, a ritual practiced by me and my brother when solidifying a promise. He accepted and we shook. "Hey, is that yours?" I gestured to the schedule on the wall, regulating when certain prescriptions and therapies would be admitted.
"Yeah. My dad put it there." He ran a finger down the list and smiled. "It bugs me when I forget things so this is pretty useful."
"I have one too." For some reason, it blew my mind how much Antonio was like me. He seemed so normal but he did all the same things I did. We even took some of the same prescriptions.
"My dad says that you're special too."
"I don't know if anybody really calls it special."
"My dad does and I do too. I'm compulsive, that means I like things a certain way and I get bent out of shape sometimes if things aren't that certain way."
"I'm just crazy. I've got the crazies in my head and doctors need to give me pills so I don't do nothing too dumb."
"That's why you came to see my dad?"
"Yeah. My antipsychotics aren't really working for me anymore. They did in the beginning but now they just make my legs twitch all the time. My mom said that we're moving doctors because we need therapy more than pills. You're dad was recommended."
"He's really good, I promise! I used to be compulsive real bad but he got me to settle down. It all works out okay."
I looked around his room. "This is settled down?"
"It is! I fall into a category of compulsion that Dad calls counters and arrangers. He has me do a lot of things like this." He pulled a list out of his desk drawer. On it was written things like: I ate too much cereal for breakfast. One of my shoe laces is shorter than the other. The amount of jackets I have isn't divisible by three. Mom left because she thinks I'm a psycho. There are four tomatoes in the bowl on the counter, there should be three. The book I got from the library is missing a page. "When I get a though that I can't stop thinking, I write it on here and I decide if it's a reasonable concern or if I'm just being obsessive. Then I cross it out and tell myself to stop thinking about it."
He was so calm about it, so in control. I wished I could be like him. He showed me his list of things that were torturing him day-to-day but he acted like he was reading off the groceries. I started to think about his cocoa hair and his copper skin. My eyes found his. They were so bright and inviting. I wanted to keep looking, they were so beautiful…I didn't catch myself until they lifted up and locked into mine. I quickly distracted myself.
"Were you looking at me?" He asked calmly.
"No, stupid! Why the hell would I want to look at your ugly eyes?"
"So you were looking at my eyes?"
"No!" My heart was pounding for some unfathomable reason and my face washed with pink.
"I think your eyes are very nice too. They remind me of honey."
"Shut up!"
"What? Don't you like honey?"
"Yeah but guys don't talk about other guys eyes! That's girly shit!"
" Alright. I won't talk about your eyes if you don't want me to."
"Good." My heart was beating so fast, I though I might pass out. Why the hell was this happening to me? I was getting so screwed up, I considered calling my dad right then and there but for some reason, I didn't want to. I wanted to stay and face the possibility that it might get worse. I knew I'd get more screwy the longer I was around this almost-stranger, but I still didn't want to leave. It's like having fun when you're doing something your not supposed to, a secret thrill. I should have left… but I just didn't want to.
"You want to play Monster Ball Hunters? I have the Play Station version." He offered, sensing that I was uncomfortable.
"Yes!" I practically jumped at the offer. I love that game and I wanted to play it with him. Something about his charisma enticed me from the very beginning. I was falling into him and I barely new it at the time.
We played that damn game for three hours and they were the most fun hours of my life. I kicked his puny ass most of the time and we joked around. I have to say, he has a sense of humor which is surprising, seeing as he's such an idiot. Time just blew away until we were called down for dinner.
We ate pasta, probably because Dr. Carriedo didn't know what to make and he knew we were an Italian family. Put the two together and pasta is the clear solution. Not that I'm complaining or anything. I fuck'n love pasta.
"So Lovino." The man set down his fork. "You go to Whiteville High school, correct?"
"Home of the wolf pack." I confirmed.
"Antonio's transferring there, did you know that?"
"Yeah, my mom had said something about it."
"That's right, I told her, didn't I? Do you like it there?"
"It's alright."
"Are the classes good?"
"Sure, I guess."
"They've got a soccer team? Antonio played soccer at his old school."
"Did you really?" I looked across the table at the boy. He nodded. "Ya any good?"
"Enough." He shrugged.
"Well, enough will work for us." I shoved a forkful of spaghetti into my mouth. "Our team sucks, we could use some Spanish blood out on the field."
"Aren't Italians the ones famous for soccer?" His father pointed out.
"You'd think." I chucked. "There's a very small community of Italians at that school and none of them are any good…well, except for Feliciano but he won't play on the team. Even he doesn't want that kind of embarrassment."
"Join with me then!" Antonio suggested.
"What? No way! I'm not any good at sports!"
"I'll teach you! We live close to each other anyways."
"I'm just not a sporty guy. No amount of practice would make me into Giuseppe Meazza."
"Are you afraid?"
"Shut up! Of course not!"
"You sound like you're afraid~" He teased.
"You wanna fight, Fruit loops!?"
"Boys, boys." cut in, forcing his giggling son to tighten his lips and me to return my ass to the chair. "Finish your dinners and talk about something else."
Antonio forced a fistful of pasta into his mouth. "I like your hair. How do you get it like that?"
"It's a cowlick, it just sticks out on its own."
"For real? No hair gel or anything?"
"For real."
"Have you ever tried sticking it down?"
"I try not to mess with it." Feliciano hates when I mess with it. He tells me that people are going to think that I'm trying too hard or that I'm being a faker. Once, I went against him and flattened it. That day was terrible. Everybody on the TV kept telling me how ugly I look and I heard people whispering about me, planning to tell the president that I'm a faker. It's best if I just let it be.
We blabbered on about the most ridiculous things. At one point, the conversation took a turn towards Monster Ball Hunters and never went back. forced us away from the table because he couldn't stand to hear the name Peekaboo once more. We moved to Antonio's room and he showed me his monster tracking book. It listed every monster in existence by alphabetical order, stats and all. We sat on his bed and laid it on our laps. "This one's super cool." I pushed my pointer finger against the picture of a high lever aguamon. "I had one of these on my old game, it was my key to kicking boss ass."
"But this one…" Two big, tan, hands took mine and slid it across the page until it pointed to a different monster. "Evolves way cooler." My heart picked up instantly, especially because his hands remained clamped around mine.
"You can let go of my hand." I reminded him.
"Oh! Yeah, sorry."
"Whatever." I flipped the page, hoping to draw attention away from my cheeks. "I had one of these things. All you can do with it is squirt people in the face, it's so lame."
He laughed. I almost choked on my breath, realizing for the first time how nice his laugh is. "That was my first monster."
"Mine was a Grassimon. It was the only thing I could manage to capture so I named it Ugly FuckFace."
This caused more laugher so in return, my face flushed harder. When he got his breath back and looked at me, he became concerned. "Holy Cow, are you okay? You're so red."
"I'm fine." I dismissed, not meeting his eyes.
"Do you…have to use the restroom?" He whispered, turning my face its deepest shade yet.
"No! Piss off, Antonio!"
"Then what's wrong? Are you sick?"
"I'm fuck'n fine!"
His smile softened and once again, my hand was cover by his. "Was it this?"
I quickly pulled my hand away. "Leave me alone!" I closed the book but didn't leave. It was my own tainted soul that was keeping me at his side. Deep down, there's an evil part of me that knows greed, wrong doing, and lust. That part of me is the part that makes me crazy.
Our eyes became connected. I couldn't have separated my gaze from his even if I wanted to. I felt myself being held by all my repressed desires for attention. My soul wanted to feel cared for and his wanted to give care, it was a connection bound by nature's will. We couldn't have stopped.
His hand cupped my cheek softly. He was so gentle, as if afraid to hurt me. My hair prickled with excitement. I was falling hard and fast, loosing more and more control each second. I felt my face slowly pulled toward his. My eye lids fell and then there was the sensation of lips rubbing against mine. He was careful at first, barely touching me, until he became sure that I wasn't going to fade away and the kiss became real.
I let him kiss me for a long time, the seconds slipping right on by, even when I begged them to wait. He held me around my waist and continued to show me quiet, calm, affection. I didn't know it was over until he pulled away and opened his eyes. I just stared at him as my brain struggled to catch up after its dormant sleep. Once it did, the trance shattered right down the middle.
My eyes turned from foggy calmness to terrified horror in an instant and I jumped off the bed. What had I done?! Yesterday, we were innocent strangers and now I find myself on his bed, letting his hands run up my sides. There must have been a time when it all went wrong. How did everything change? How did a doctor's visit become complete insanity? How did this boy work his way past my barriers so quickly? How was he so…so… uugh…
How did I get here?
"Lovi! Please, calm down." His face mirrored mine but his horror wasn't caused by the guilt of kissing another boy. He only became panicked when I showed resistance.
I violently rubbed the proof away from my lips, not knowing what else to do. His face was so scared, only because he knew he had hurt me. My head was spiraling into a psychotic episode. The voices came back, brutally harsh with their criticism.
"You're such an idiot." One said, practically spitting on me. They all followed in an avalanche. "You're so stupid, I can't believe you." "Filthy whore. Is that what you want people to think of you? That you sleep around with strangers?" "Oh my God, I didn't think he could possibly be so stupid." "I hate you, you're terrible." "I hope you're proud of yourself, you idiot." "Look what you've done now. You did this to yourself." "Just die. They're all going to know what you've done." "Everyone will know." "Feliciano will know. He's going to hate you. Why are you such an idiot." "Just go away, you make me sick!" "You're disgusting." "You did this to yourself!"
I tried blocking my ears but that only kept the voices in. They all called me an idiot and asked if I really thought that would stop them. They continued, bombarding me with hate. "Lovino! Stop!" He cried.
"SHUT UP! I HATE YOU!" I screamed at him. "I HATE YOU,LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!"
Hard footsteps thumped up the stairs and the door opened wide. walked in on a sight he had not expected. His son sat on the bed in panic while I stood in the middle of the room with my ears blocked, my eyes watering, and my lip bleeding badly. It took him a moment to gather himself then he took a blanket off Antonio's bed and draped it over my shoulders. He led me out of the room carefully, the voices screaming in my head all the while.
"Just die! What's wrong with you!?" "We don't want to anymore! You're better off dead!" "It'll save everyone a lot of trouble if you just disappeared." "We're so sick of you!" "You disgust me! I hate you! I hope you die!" "You're such an idiot! You did this to yourself!" "I hate you!" "We all hate you." "Just go away." "Good ridden." "We don't want such filthy trash around here." "Just die already."
I was taken down stairs and left in the living room, shivering and crying while made a call in the kitchen. Antonio came racing down the stairs behind us. He sent me an apologetic look on the way to his father, who had just hung up the phone. "What the hell happened?" His father demanded sternly.
"Just let me talk to him! He'll be alright!"
" Antonio, he won't just be alright! He's having a violent episode! You are, under no circumstance, permitted to go near him! Now tell me what the hell happened!"
"He liked it!"
"Antonio Fernandez Carriedo! What did you do to that boy!?"
"He's going to tell." The voices assured me. "Everyone is going to know. He's going to tell on you." "Everyone will finally see what a disgusting faggot you really are." "You're terrible." "Every one is going to know!" "You're a sex-crazed prostitute! They're going to put your cheap ass in jail!" "Watch out, the police are coming to get you!" "So stupid." "You're going to jail, idiot."
"I kissed him! He was looking at me with those eyes and I couldn't help it, Dad!"
"Forget about jail, you're going to Hell." "That's were all sinners go, including you." "Oh my god, you're so stupid." "Burn in Hell, I hate you."
"Antonio! I thought I could trust you! He's a very sensitive, scared, and sick boy, Antonio! Why on Earth would you think it was a god idea to do that to him!?"
"I'm sorry! I couldn't help it! I couldn't! He's just so-"
"His father will be here in just a minute and you're going to be the one who explains why his son is experiencing a living Hell right now." He let out a heavy sigh. "I thought you knew better."
"I'm sorry…"
"We'll talk about it later."
Pinches began to attack my body, causing pain to spring around like a pinball machine. It was the voices, they were punishing me. My screaming instantly attracted the attention of . "It's okay Lovino. Try to calm down. It's okay." He rubbed a hand up and down my back and ordered his son to fetch my bags. "What help do you need, Lovino? What can I do to make you feel comfortable?"
"He's trying to kill you." "He hates you." "You screwed around with his son, he's going to kill you." "Don't let him near you, Idiot!" "You're so stupid!" "He's a doctor! He's going to kill you and take out the crazy!" "You're a psycho! He knows!" "Get away from him!" "He wants to kill you!"
I slapped his hand away from me hard and gave him my most intimidating glare. He backed up. "It's okay. It's okay, Lovino. I'm not trying to hurt you."
"Get away from me!" I hissed. He obeyed and moved across the room. "You're going to take my brain and you're going to… my insides will get so messed up that I'll get a really bad head ache and my brother will be angry with me! You think that you can kill me because you have a piece of paper with your name on it! I don't want you to take out my crazies and out and in a sauce pan! Just get away from me! You're not the king!" When I looked up at the man , he was holding a butcher knife and I could see his brain thinking about cutting me open.
I began to scream again and the pinching started back up. The voices told me to shut up. I was being too much of a pain and it was bothering them. They all hated me and made sure to tell me that. There was pounding on the door. "Some one's here!" "It's the police! You're going to jail!" "Don't answer the door." "They know you're in here!" "The police have guns. They're going to kill you!" "Don't answer the door!" "You're so stupid." "The police are going to take you to hell. It's all your fault, Whore." "Good going." "Don't get the door!"
Antonio was the one who got the door in a quick dash. It wasn't the police, it was my parents. "They are police, you idiot!" "They're in on it!" "They know!" "Don't let them get to you! They're going to poison you!"
"Lovino!" My dad took the medicine bag and fumbled to open it. He pulled out a bag of needles.
"Don't let him do that! He's getting your Haloperidol! It's poison!" "He's in on it! He hates you for being such a disgusting whore." "He'd rather have no son than a filthy, worthless one." "Don't let him get to you, Stupid!"
I tried to fight, hoping that if I appeased the voices, they'd stop. They kept calling me stupid and telling me that he was trying to kill me. Finally, my father and managed to pin me down long enough for my mother to get the shot in. The voices died down quickly and the pinches softened until I couldn't feel them anymore. Actually, I couldn't feel much of anything. It's always so nice and quite after my shot.
Antonio was called over to give my parents the explanation they desired. "I'm so sorry." He started. "We were hanging out in my room talking about Monster Ball Hunters and he was saying that-"
"Come on, Antonio." His father urged, his arms crossed.
"I kissed him." The boy confessed. My parents shared a slight gasp. "We were looking at each other and it just… happened. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt him like this. I forgot he was special, he just seems so… perfect. It's my fault, I'm sorry."
My parents told him that it was okay and that this is just the way I am. They said they knew he didn't mean any harm but he has to be careful because I'm not a normal boy. Then, they gave him a good long scolding, telling him why he couldn't be romantic with me and how I would get sucked into simple signs of affection so easily.
They took me home, trying to ask me about the night's activities but I didn't give them anything. By the time I got in the door, I had been worn out by my episode so I tiredly stomped up to my room. I opened the door and there was a boy sitting on my bed with the same shaggy brown hair and golden eyes as me. He was angry as all hell and it showed. Fear coursed through my body. "I'm glad you're home. We need to talk."
Shit. I had a feeling this was going to be a terrible night.