I N S I G N I F I C A N T

a boy who comes to terms with reality

I spaced out, staring through the window as cars passed by one by one. Today was insignificant, at least to the rest of the world. Today, however, I wouldn’t have cared if my parents drove off a cliff and killed me because it would hurt so much less. I look at my reflection, the freckles on my face pointing out each and every imperfection. I almost do not notice when tears begin sliding down the curves of my cheeks. 

The car stops as we arrive inside a gated neighborhood claiming to home the most perfect of families. As I stepped out of the vehicle, what stood before me was a handsome modern beach house standing in front of a path up towards mountainous terrain, and just inches away from the crashing waves of the sea. Sometimes I find myself just standing there, toes falling into the deep sand as the tides washes up against my ankles. It was my home away from home. 

I ran up the steps to the front door, looking back at the ocean as the winds swam through my curly hair. My parents managed to open the door without saying a word. Silence was such a rarity in our household; I almost smiled. I wanted to walk to my room, but in-between me and my destination, there stood a shrine. Finally I built up the courage as I slowly but surely sprint past it. Still, the faded images of pink baby cribs, dark ultrasounds, and the stench of lost hope bombard my mind with senseless memories I want to forget. My dad’s voice echoes throughout my head. I know it. I can feel it this time. I don’t know if those were just baseless lies or if there was some meaning behind his words. All I can say is that I felt something too, but I had never felt more wronged than I had today. 

Laying on my bed, I thrust the pillows against my face because the beating of my own heart was almost too unbearable. Combined with the voices in my head, I was a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. Eventually, I calmed myself down like I always do. Crying is exhausting; I learned not to turn to it unless in desperate situations. I leap out of bed and peek through my door as I discover my mother had resumed smoking and my father just poured his fourth drink. It seems as though they are just about as finished with their life as I am. It may not look like it, but I am hurting just as much as they are. It hurts to watch as the scumbags of this earth get what they want, and the one time I ask for assistance through divine intervention, I get a slap in the face and a punch in the stomach. 

I used to watch as my mother got on her knees, blindly worshipping some unknown god who lacks the ability to answer any of the prayers she asked of. I almost felt bad for her, but then I realized it was her belief that kept her from falling a part, and I was not going to take that away from her. My father on the other hand, sought refuge in the arms of other women. After every failed attempt, I met a new woman fulfilling my father’s selfish desires. They came one after the other. I even started tallying up the women in my notebook, naming each one by words I do not have permission to say aloud. My mother knows, but she does not do anything about it because in the end, she blames herself. 

I wander these halls like a ghost pondering about the endless possibilities my life could have been written, and how unfortunate I was to have been written this way. I wanted to take control of my story; take the pen and paper for once and write my own ending. I have lived more than many are lucky to have experienced, and I have lived less than most are accustomed too. I have an expiration date, and it is not too far into the future that I will be neglected just like all the other characters of my story.

From my balcony I watch as the sun sets to its bitter doom. I am no longer hopeful for a better tomorrow as I have been proved countless times that the past is the best that it will get. The future is a stupid place, full of ambition, expectation, anticipation. I go day by day, night by night, laying underneath my covers in an attempt to fall into a sleep so deep I would never wake up. But the inevitable sunrise burns streaks of light through the curtains of my window. You are lying if you tell yourself today is a new day. We are all just people with a set amount of time before we are gone. And all the things we cared about or known will be forgotten. So there is no new day. It is just now and it is terrifying.

I get lost in the moment, briefly reflecting on our lives before we realized we wanted more. I will admit, I was the first to want a sister. I was lonely. Maybe it was selfish of me to ignite a journey that would inevitably break a part the thing we were trying to create: a family. I wanted to be a big brother. I wanted to hold her in my arms and be proud. I wanted to grow up with someone who I could both laugh at and laugh with, love and hate " everything normal kids are blessed with the opportunity to do. I was never offerred that possibility. And for that, I will never forgive you.

As the morning plays out, I ready myself for my final prayer. I pack a water bottle, my mother’s old lighter, and walking into what would have been my sister’s room, I grab the only picture I have of her. I sneak out of the house, noticing my dad’s car is missing, and begin hiking up the path towards the edge of the mountain. Following the footsteps already settling in the ground below, I look at the sun, embracing it for what it is. It never lied to me. It never gave me hope I didn’t perpetuate. It never let me down. I was going to hike up to the top of the mountain, burn that picture with my lighter and just let go. I wanted nothing more than to be with my sister. Because dying this way and being with her would hurt so much less than living an empty life without her. But once I reach the top, I see my mother.

Instantly, I race towards her as she blows a puff of smoke and stares at the cigarette hole she burned into what looked like one of her ultrasounds. “Mom?” She turned her face back at me and all I saw was sorrow. She was planning to jump. I stare at my mother’s eyes, as if words could not express how I had felt for the past few years of my life. I realized that whether or not we jumped, today would still be insignificant, at least to the rest of the world and I would still feel that pain of emptiness eating me from the inside. And for that reason and that reason only, I decided to inch towards the ledge, overlooking the raging waters, and just jump. Instead of living a life of mediocrity and failed attempts at happiness, I took control and wrote the end of my story and decided to do something significant with it. I was not sure if there was going to be some gateway to heaven or hell at the end where my sister would be waiting for me, but by then I would be gone, and to the rest of the world, forgotten.

Author's Note

This was partially based on a true story, and will forever be held close to my heart. It was a story forever churning within my mind, and I'm glad that it's finally out there.