eclipse

3/28/24

a bright white flashes and the hair on my arms stands up. when i open my eyes, i see her.

when she notices me, she startles hard. she clutches her blankets and stares at me, frozen.

in seconds, i adjust to the room. just how i left it before i left it. vines are strewn on the walls, photos stuck in between the frame and the glass of a full body mirror. the defunct hello kitty clock sits on the paint stained desk, clutter articulately lined up on the edge. the tv is on, ignored. a quick breath allows me the smell of sugar cookies–a decorated wallflower was plugged into the wall. some of the decorations and fractals of personality made it to our next life. some didn’t.

“hi,” i say, unsure what else there is to be said.

“you’re…me. but not.”

her voice, by tone and cadence, sounds exactly like mine, but there’s the subtlest and almost imperceptible undertone of urgency in hers, a desperation to be heard. she said four words, but i heard everything she’s ever wanted to say.

it’s when she speaks that i really look at her, and i see her looking at me, too. her skin is just a bit clearer than mine, and i fight the urge to comment. a baggy t-shirt drowns her figure, serving as protection against the objectification and weaponized shame waiting just outside of her bedroom door. she’s wearing the same bonnet i wear sometimes, but have switched in favor of a silk bandana. i think about how i told My [C] about this scenario, and how they said she’d think i was a dyke. the concept of My [C] and subsequently Her [C] effectively end that train of thought.

she pushes up her transparent pink glasses (i have the same pair) and her nails are 3 centimeters in length, a bright bubblegum pink. under her nose are perfectly shade-matched pink balls attached to her septum ring (i found that ring the other day–i thought i threw it away). her phone is covered by a massive hello kitty case, the character donned in pink as well. the corners of my mouth turn up. the energy in the air is saccharine–i can smell the mutual adoration and obsession with the sugar cookies. she looks as pink as i know she feels. she is glowing in a way she has yet to know fades. she is beautiful, like everyone when they are young and in love.

“and you’re me,” i say, because it’s something i would say, “but you are. i’m 21 year old you.”

my trance is broken when she moves, covering up a wide and incredulous smile. if i didn’t know better, i’d wish i could freeze her in this moment exactly. she’s staring at me in disbelief and her voice comes muffled behind her hands, “i got a lip piercing!”

“you did,” i affirm simply, and look at the bed. “can i sit down?”

she shuffles fast, like she should’ve thought of that already. i sit on the bed and bounce a few times. i think about how much i miss it, and the concave she and later Her [C] made right down the middle, and i miss how in hindsight, it felt like floating. all my memory foam mattress topper does is sink.

i blurt it out as i’m adjusting on the bed, without precedent, “can i see your hair?” because i want to get all of the niceties out of the way, and to my pleasure, she obliges. her locs are short and bright orange-red, and i immediately gush at the color. she asks me why i dyed it back to black if i loved the ginger so much. instead of telling her my heart spilled black ink when it was smashed open, i say, “sometimes you just need a little change.”

she bites her ringless lip. i tell her she’s pretty and she blushes and waves it off.

her eyes catch a picture on the wall of her and Her [C] that i’d been avoiding bringing attention to. i swallow silently and adjust my poker face. her cheeks get big before she turns back to me, smiling nervously. “i’m scared to even ask,” she says cautiously.

what feels like a movie plays out in my head in a split second. i look at the photo too. i think of the girl in front of me and the girl in the photos and all that they don’t know. i think of how soon this moment will be gone, and she will become me, and she will be a part of all that i don’t know. i think about how deeply i understand her, and how deeply i wish the best for her, and how i know that deep down, the question she is posing is the one that matters most to her. i think of how much rests on the answer, how her entire heart is nestled between my words in this very moment. i know her heart well–it was once mine.

she sighs and it’s like she breathes every feeling into my body. i feel it all–the whirlwind of romance and love and intimacy and connection and fear and anxiety. combined with what she has yet to feel, i’m breathless with emotion. i don’t let it show. “i mean, yeah. you know that. better than anybody, actually.”

i glance at the tarnished character necklace she’s anxiously toying with. Her [C]c has the matching second part. “then keep loving them. that’s all that matters, you know? is the love that you give out, and the love you receive. because trust me, it will be with you the rest of your life. the love you feel right now? it will be with you for the rest of your life. you will carry this love with you forever. no matter what i tell you, no matter what happens, you will always be scared of and wondering when it’s going to end. just love them.”

her expression softens. “i do. i really, really do.”

“i know,” i say, because i do and do too.

she gasps in the way that i gasp when i remember something and her voice drops to a whisper. “do we ever get out of here?”

i know exactly what she means. and i want to tell her to enjoy seeing her brother every day and to take advantage of the groceries in the fridge she didn’t have to buy and be extra nice (even nicer!) to shay from the smoke shop because no other smoke shop employees you’ve met have been as fun to talk to or as beautiful as her and to hang out with her coworkers more and most of all to stop and smell the sugar cookies because it’s all she has before everything changes. but i know she won’t because she knows that out means out but she doesn’t know that out means out and there’s no way to explain to her what’s coming.

so i sigh and i pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my eyes around them and i say, “yes. you were always going to get out of here.” and i see a fire light inside her eyes right before the theatrics that had become her self-imposed hallmark and left a piece of itself inside of me. i revel in her joy, her excitement, her wild relief and disbelief. i watch and shake my head as though looking at a silly child (one could say that’s exactly what i was looking at). she’s so giddy with happiness and excitement that she doesn’t notice that i answered this question directly and not the other one. about that, i stay quiet.

“i want you to know,” i start to speak when she’s calmed down, “that you are absolutely gorgeous. and smart, and strong. you are so strong and you have no idea. there is so much in you that you have yet to discover, so much about yourself that you have yet to explore. i want you to know that i love you so much and i am so proud of you and i can’t wait until you’re with me. the same way she–” i point at a photo of us as a toddler–”is always with you. i want you to know that. i need you to know that. whatever happens, i need you to know that.”

she melts into that shy smile i know so well. “aw, me, that’s so sweet,” she says with a giggle. “i’m a little scared, but i trust you. me. i think.”

again i want to tell her. i want to tell her that trusting herself will save her life in the face of everything crumbling and that the peace she so desperately craves is within herself. i want to tell her that life looks nothing like we expected, but that it’s everything we needed. i want to tell her that heartbreak is indeed the end of the world, but only the world as we know it. i want to tell her that she’ll be okay. that we’ll be okay. i want to tell her that for the first time in our life, i feel like i’m okay. i want to tell her everything i’ve been through, that we’ve been through, and our story of rising from the ashes like a phoenix. i want to tell her, to catch her up to speed, to brace her for the road ahead. i want to warn her about the growing pains and how it’ll be unlike anything she’s ever been through. i want to tell her what’s to come.

but i don’t.

i let the moment be sweet.