I've realized just how much I love writing in a point of view. I have the opportunity to live a life through someone else's eyes and give away tons more details and little things that click or fall apart in their minds. It's fantastic. It feels...right. I can write so much faster this way. I also currently want to shred my personal copy of The Fault in Our Stars. Reading it was a terrible idea that I love and hate at the same time. Don't worry though: no metaphorical cigarette smoking in this tragedy. The only fault's in this confused triangular dork.
Rising from the faded yellow chair and heading toward the door, I weave back through the gift shop, and make it outside. They follow behind curiously and stand at the door, thinking I can't notice. Standing in the middle of the parking lot, I realize I have absolutely no idea where I am. I normally have only a few highly memorized routes through the town, but there's so much undeveloped forest around here that I can't see any familiar landmarks. Great.
I feel their eyes weighing on me and I don't like the heavy feeling in my chest it's creating. Turning toward a couple different paths in the forest, I alternate between weakly pointing and feeling the slight stubble on my face. I'm only trying to remember which one I was dragged down. Of course I wasn't paying attention. Just my luck…I'm lost and I can't seem to wipe this look of utter dread off my face.
My better instinct tells me not to ask for help, probably a pride issue there, but the girl in the shooting star sweater cautiously tugs at my coat. That's it! Shooting Star! The name catches on something in my mind and sticks. I revel in the feeling of figuring out the astronomy connection and wistfully smile for a split second, before looking back to the paths…if only that was what clicked. A quick glance to the perpetually-worried boy and an angry Stanford puts me on edge. She pulls again and I fall from my thoughts, giving her a short 'hm?'
"You're not okay, are you?" She asks and my eyes dart like crazy. Of course I stand my ground.
I straighten confidently, hands behind my back and then just as quickly deflate onto a randomly-placed stump, "…No."
Way to stand your ground, William. I inwardly curse at myself and I think she can tell. I look out from under my messed hair and my theory's confirmed. She lilts her head to the side and clicks her tongue with an 'aww.' Great. Just what I need. Pity. Just the thought of someone feeling bad for me forces an involuntary cringe onto my features. I regain my composure, my hand automatically snakes its way behind my neck and I sigh. Guess it's time to ask.
I summon up the nerve, not meeting those pitiful eyes, my voice starting from a low mumble "D'ya know the way back ta town? Maybe near Main Street or something?"
That sickening expression on her face only increases in magnitude. Eugh. I really hate this feeling. I should know this. I really should. This place is familiar enough, but it's the location that's not. Her eyes search for a moment and she runs back to the two males on the porch, dragging them along, out to what could now be considered the community stump.
"I don't care who he is, Dipper. We are helping him. Just this once. He's lost."
Dipper? That can't be a real name. Sure he's got a birthmark like the constellation, but I don't get it. Who would name their kid—
"He can't be lost. He knows this town like the back of his hand. He told us himself! Isn't that right?" The oddly-named child points his finger to my chest, right under my tie, and adds in an unnecessary glare toward me for good measure. He's expecting a confirmation. Except I don't recall any of what he's described, so I blankly follow his arm to his face, shrink a little under his gaze and shrug.
"Can ya just help me get home?" It sounds way more pathetic than I intended and I curse myself again. In all reality, I'm reaching a breaking point here. This is embarrassing and cruel and I'm panicking a little and the sun's casting long shadows across the field, signalling the approaching darkness. Stanford glares at me, insists he won't fall for my games and carts the twins back inside. The girl looks back at my shocked expression, tries to move back, but is hurried along like I'm some serial killer and the old man locks the door behind him. I'm alone.
And suddenly everything catches up to me. The sun is setting. These people just left me here on who knows what grounds. I don't understand why they have a vendetta against me; I'm exhausted, cold, and I don't even know where I am. I wish I'd never come across the two kids and that I was back in my schedule where everything fits and clicks and I ensure I never have to worry about these sorts of situations. A tense feeling grows and warps through my chest and everything's surreal. I can't focus, my breath's hitched, my heart races, and I hold tight onto my sides, still sitting on that cold, unforgiving no-longer-a-community-stump.
This strange, all-consuming warm-cold numbness has me trembling and I give up hope they're ever going to return. So I stand, suddenly lightheaded from my episode, and blindly choose a path a la 'eeney, meeney, miney, you.' All the while, I'm keeping an iron grip on myself, because I'm honestly afraid for a moment that I'll fall apart if I let go. I start off down the worn, darkened trail and hope with everything I am that it's right. Even if it's not, well, it's better than staying where I was.
