Chasing William (13 page)

I could argue with William, I guess, try to
bargain with his ghost. His ghost has been around about as often as
God, though. I could antagonize him little. William never was able
to resist an argument -- especially with me. It’d be so nice to be
able to talk to him. I know I keep thinking that over and over
again, but it’s so true. Things would be so different if I could
talk to William. Everything would be different. Amanda and I could
still be friends. I wouldn’t be so alone. I wouldn’t be so angry
all the time. It’d be easier to come to terms with things. He could
still be gone, if that helps to balance things out. We’d just still
be able to talk. Not even in person, just over the phone or through
the computer. Like having a ghostly pen pal. I’d love to hear his
voice again, but I’d settle for a text message. It doesn’t have to
be a long and ornately written letter, just a short “you’ll be
okay, I’m okay” message would be enough. I just want to know he’s
okay and he hasn’t forgotten about me. I guess I do also want him
to hear some of the things I didn’t get to say when he was alive,
but just knowing he’s okay would help. I guess that sounds a lot
like bargaining.

I’m not really sure who I think I can go to
with this request. The universe, I guess, whatever higher power out
there that’s listening and can help me. Those are two big things no
one out there seems to have in common. The people willing to listen
can do nothing to help, and the people (or things or powers) that
can help don’t seem willing to listen. No one can both help and
listen. It’s a brutal cycle. There’s nowhere to turn.

But if there were…?

I’d be willing to make a deal.

That’s all bargaining really is, when you
get down to it. Wishful thinking. All the things I’d be willing to
give up if I could just get one thing back. It’s a sad realization
to know there’s nothing I can do to change things. It’s a nice
escape from reality, imagining all the scenarios in which William
could still be alive, but there’s no point. It just makes my heart
sick, thinking about all the ways I won’t be able to see him or
talk to him again. I have to start living in the real world again.
It’s nice to pretend things can change, but they can’t.

I see the exit before the GPS chirps at me.
I guess that’s what happens when you start paying attention to the
rest of the world. The Chinese place I found off this exit is
called “Imperial China Garden” (not to be confused with the initial
China Gardens). It was one of the few places I found through guide
books instead of the Internet, so I’m hoping it’s got good food.
Now that I’m concentrating on my surroundings the smell of the egg
rolls is making me hungry. I could use a nice meal.

The building is bright yellow for no reason
I can see, but the “open” sign is flashing and it’s right off the
highway. I walk in and the whole place smells delicious. The floors
are a little sticky (although most restaurant floors are sticky… I
wonder why) but overall, the place looks clean (and even if it
didn’t, I’m starting to get too hungry to care).

“You order?”

“Um, yeah, I’d like a table. I’m sick of
sitting in my car. It’ll be nice to have something served
restaurant-style. They actually have menus here. This place looks
promising.

“Know what you want?”

“Sweet and sour chicken with fried rice and
an egg roll.”

“Alright.” The waitress nods and walks back
to the kitchen. There are only two other people there but they look
satisfied. The kitchen is quiet and they only seem to have three
people working, including the waitress. Probably more than they
need, if business is this quiet all the time. The food gets here
quickly and it is delicious. This probably tops the list of all the
places I‘ve been to so far (seems like they just keep getting
better). This is the first meal I’ve had on my trip where my mind
isn’t running in circles. It’s so nice to be relaxed. I almost
don’t want to leave. I don’t want to feel any more emotions or try
and come to terms with things. This is nice, just dealing with
things as they come.

I spend some time indulging in the luxury of
people-watching . The place hasn’t gotten much busier after about
an hour , but the people there when I came in are still enjoying
their meals. There’s a man in the corner reading a newspaper and
chewing on some kind of breaded meat (or possibly tofu), but he
does not once pick up the Blackberry by his hand, even though I’ve
heard it vibrate several times. There’s a couple in the back corner
enjoying their meal and talking to each other in whispers. Neither
of them seems too eager to leave.

Something about the atmosphere of this place
is so relaxed. No one wants to leave. Even the employees are
sitting behind the front counter, talking and flipping through T.V.
channels. Totally relaxed. No one’s come up to bother me about
paying my bill, or to ask if I need another refill of my water
glass yet. It’s nice to be left alone while still around people.
This place is perfect. If I could stay in this place, this state of
mind, for the rest of my life, I think I’d be okay (then again,
that’s what the lotus eaters thought). It’s just such a nice break.
There aren’t enough places like this in the world.

But I have to go. I want to be with William
again and going to Minnesota is the only way to do that. No amount
of bargaining can change the facts.

“
Do not sulk in your own
mind.”

Only three hours left to my destination, and
I don’t feel as nervous as I thought I would. I’m just going to my
aunt’s house tonight - that might have something to do with it. I’m
sure the nerves will finally kick in when I get to ‘‘That Place.” I
don’t even have a plan. But that’s not what this hour is about.

Depression is a dangerous thing. It’s not
exactly the state of mind anyone aspires to, and once it’s achieved
it’s almost impossible to get out of. I thought about leaving it
off my list, but it seems integral to losing a loved one. It’s not
like anyone celebrates becoming depressed, but if you’re going to
be, there’s nothing you can do to escape it. I think I thought that
if I forced myself to be depressed with a time limit, it would keep
me moving on. If it doesn’t, I’ll be stuck in a crippling mind
freeze with no way to get out. I don’t have covers to hide under
right now, so maybe it’ll all work out better than if I was at
home. I find I’m always braver outside of my house – but only
because it’s necessary. You can’t just quit in the middle of the
highway.

Now. Depression. That’s not exactly
something you can intentionally trigger. It’s more something that
just creeps up on you. Pity is something to try. Self-pity is
almost like the mother of depression. I have plenty to feel sorry
for myself about.

My best friend hates me and wishes I was
dead. She even wrote that on the Internet. My other friends are too
busy with their new “adult” lives to care (or they’re all cowards).
I have a handful of weeks to make a major life decision. I have no
idea what I want to do with my life. The love of my life (and real
best friend) is dead. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to love him or
hate him anymore. If I say (or even think) I’m angry at him for
what happened, I’m a horrible person – because he’s dead. I’m angry
with him because if he hadn’t been such a dumbass for so long he’d
be alive. This makes me a horrible person.

I can feel it starting to creep in around
me. If my life were a weird art film the world would be fading into
black and white. There would also be mist or smog or fog – probably
fog. I’m not sure why. It just seems like another appropriate
effect. Depression is a scary feeling, even more scary because it
clouds your vision to what’s real and distorts things (like fog).
Sure, there are the usual symptoms. I want to go to sleep. I don’t
want to be on this trip. I don’t want to do anything. Even
breathing feels like it takes a massive effort. Those aren’t
pleasant feelings on their own, but there’s something worse: the
questions. At first I think they’re coming from me, but really it’s
just the fog.

Did I do something to deserve this?

Am I a horrible person?

Will I die alone?

Will I never make a real friend?

Do I not deserve friends?

What did I do to deserve this?

How can I fix myself?

Why did William die?

Why did I let William die?

Why didn’t I try to do more?

Was Amanda right?

Should it have been me instead?

Did the universe make a mistake?

Was it supposed to be me?

I take a deep breath and try to force the
depression back. We’re heading into dangerous territory fast. I
blame Romeo and Juliet and all this “thus, with a kiss, I die”
crap. Talk about a powerful line (not one of my favorites though).
It’s like we’re taught that if our love dies, the only course of
action is immediate suicide. I don’t want to be dead. I miss
William. I want to be with him again. I don’t want to die. Not only
do I not want to die, but William wouldn’t want me to die
either.

He’d hate himself for eternity if he knew he
was the reason I cut my life short. I know William wouldn’t want me
to die. That’s real love. And I want to make sure William’s memory
lives on as long as possible. That’s real love too. Imagine how
things would have ended if Romeo and Juliet loved each other like
that? They would have set a better example for teenage romance,
that’s for sure.

I’m lucky William loved me the way he did.
It helps stop the depression. Even if I’m having trouble living for
myself, I know he’d want me to keep living. When it’s hard to keep
going for myself I can do it for him. He’s keeping me going even
now. That helps to beat back the depression. Not doing this for
myself makes me feel stronger.

I don’t think I’ll ever find a guy to love
me like that again. To lose the love of your life at almost
eighteen…It’s not fair. I’ve always wanted to get married –
eventually. Does this mean my one chance is gone? Why is it that
depression makes you ask all the right (or wrong) questions? The
questions that send you down even deeper. Down to the places you
don’t want to look.

It feels selfish to think like that when
William’s chances for everything are gone.

I’m a horrible person.

Here comes more of that fog.

I knew it wasn’t a good idea to mess with
depression. From the day William died it’s been hovering around the
edges, and all it needed was an open door. It came through a few
times, usually when Amanda had done something to pile on even more
pain and hit me when I was struggling to get up. I’d always had
people there to help me through it: my parents, work, and… well,
that was about it, but at least it was something. Being alone… I’ll
have to take care of everything on my own. I’m not sure I’m strong
enough to handle it, but I’m also not sure if that’s really what I
think, or if that’s the depression talking.

I let out a long sigh. Pretty stereotypical
depressed behavior, I know, but there’s no one else in the car, so
it’s not like I have anyone to show off for. I feel like crying
would make me feel better (like throwing up makes you feel better
when you’re sick) but I can’t manage it. That makes it worse
somehow. Everything stays bottled up and I can’t get it out, so it
builds up and makes me feel even worse. I think not being able to
cry is even worse than crying all the time.

This sucks.

Luckily, my GPS chirps. At least that means
my hour’s almost up. Hopefully I’ll be able to pull myself out of
the depression and into whatever other madness is in store for the
final two hours of the trip. I’m not hungry and I really don’t feel
like dealing with people, so I opt to use the drive-thru and order
soup. This drive-thru is a little strange, although I’ve seen it
several times at places that are small and unable to afford the
massive drive-throughs of places like McDonald’s or Burger King.
They have a small plaque with all the menu items (complete with
pictures) as you drive up, but there’s no speaker to scream into or
a computer monitor that displays your order. You actually have to
drive up and order at the window, talk to a real person. You can
even watch the kitchen while they cook your food. I wish all
drive-throughs were like this. It’s comforting to know my food is
actually being made by people, and not just pushed out of a machine
and packed in a bag. Not that I have anything against fast food.I
actually really like it. You can talk all you want about how
terrible it is for you, but you can’t deny it tastes good if you
don’t think too hard about where it comes from.

“Your order?” someone (Someone) leans
through the window for me to shout out my order.

“Just egg drop soup.” I like being able to
talk to the person I’m ordering from. I can tell whether or not
they’ve heard me correctly or not. It keeps me from having to walk
into the restaurant to complain about a bad order. which defeats
the whole purpose of just driving through.

He nods, takes my money, and goes into the
back. It doesn’t take long for him to come back with the bag. I’m
sure they just have a huge pot of soup ready to be ladled out.
That’s okay. It’s hard to mess up soup no matter how long it’s
sitting on a stove. I look through the bag and notice some crunchy
noodles to put in my soup (always a bonus), and, of course, the
fortune cookie.

I pull over into an empty spot and decide to
open my fortune cookie first.

It’s not the right way to do things. Fortune
cookies should always be opened after food but I really don’t care.
It’s going to be stupid, anyway. The universe has stopped talking
to me – if it ever did to begin with.

“
Don’t worry, be happy.”

Another lame “be happy” fortune. Those are
the worst. It’s not like you can just “be happy” all of a sudden. I
mean, plenty of people say you choose the way you act but that’s
not entirely true. Sometimes you just have to be sad about things
and you can’t just turn it off.