And So it Begins

 

There are times when life’s challenges drive us to the end of our rope. The depth and continuity of our character as well as the resolve of our inner strength are tested. Two of life’s most worthy adversaries are death and the dark permeating shadow that follows in its footsteps.

When Death steals a loved one from your tender embrace an insidious thing swoops down like a vulture to prey on the living. A silent demon with unfathomable power, Grief, invades in an instant. There is no single feeling more capable of devouring the soul.

Everything seems so far away, and isolation consumes you; in a crowded room struck by grief you stand-alone. The world around you, once vibrant and joyful, becomes listless and dull. Your body and soul become numb. Kind words may make you smile and provide much needed solace, but it’s almost impossible to avoid drowning in the sorrow lapping around you like a rabid dog.

Grief is a particularly sticky adversary. It’s capable of wearing so many masks. They range in color from elaborately self-imposed images of personal penance derived from some perceived wrong, to more exotic flurries stemming from hate. But grief’s favorite mask, the one it relishes most, is the one you’ll never see coming. The silent killer brought on by the trials and tribulations of life.

I cannot tell you how wicked and weary a villain grief truly is. It ebbs at your humanity etching a permanent scar upon your soul. It is a devout heartache that no kiss can heal. There’s a reason fairy tales have never called this villain by name. There is no romanticized cure for the damage this insidious evil leaves in its wake. The only cure is time. And even then, there are no guarantees. The only guarantee that comes with grief is that once it touches your soul, you will never be the same.

When did it all start? How did grief sink its monstrous fangs into me and begin seeping its lecherous poison into my mind? I’m not sure. I suppose I probably got my first dose of grief when my mother began to die. But the lingering punctures from her death slowly multiplied into an insufferable demon the longer I knew Him.

You know who I’m talking about. Every good story has one. The guy. The one who stands in stark contract to all the rest. He’s a vivid image that practically bleeds charisma. His striking features radiate an air of maturity, as seen in his rippling biceps. Other boys inevitably lose their luster when standing in his shadow. When he walks through the halls his confident strides demand respect. It’s not supposition, its fact. He is God’s gift to women. And as if on cue, women flock to him in droves ripe for the picking. No one would ever dare to mock the grandiosity of his ego. Nor would they call his self motivating actions conceited. Everyone wants to bask in his glow and they are willing to accept that warmth at any cost. In our small world he’s the closest thing to a God they’ll ever know.

If you look back far enough, we all come from humble beginnings. I noticed Adam for the first time long before he morphed into the God everyone deemed him to be. It was a beautiful May day. Classes had been dismissed for the weekend and the halls were full of disarray. I’d been chatting animatedly with my friend Tab about our assent to High School in the fall and was halfway to the bus before I realized I’d forgotten my copy of To Kill a Mockingbird on my desk. Glancing between the bus and school, knowing if I missed the bus I’d be walking all the way home, I mentally kicked myself for being such an idiot. Waving Tab ahead I turned back towards the school.

As soon as I entered the room I noticed that I wasn’t alone. A scrawny, pimply faced boy was hunched over his desk furiously scribbling. Unremarkable in every way, I had no doubt he was in detention. But as I grabbed my book and turned to leave he lifted his head. Golden brown locks clung to his sticky forehead, but underneath all the indignations of puberty his face held the most electric blue eyes I had ever seen. The color alone pieced right through my heart and into my very soul. As we starred at each other drinking in the silence I knew I’d been wrong. There was nothing unremarkable about Adam Bellefaunt.

And then there was me. As horrible as this is going to sound, it would be awesome if I could claim to be some tragic case from the wrong side of the tracks. A fictitious background like that would be astronomically more interesting than the one I have to offer. As the daughter of the towns only multi-millionaire the general assumption has always been that I lived a charmed life full of riches and splendor.

By the time peak social years came calling, I’d already climbed the social ladder clawing tooth and nail to secure my spot as the It girl. Girls I’d known my whole life aspired to be like me. I dressed snappy, usually setting the trends. And I smiled pretty. People ate out of the palm of my hands, almost as easily as they did Adams, believing I was as delightful as peaches and cream.

God, if they had only known I was the biggest poser of them all. While the outside was always a perfectly manicured display, on the inside I was screaming, tortured at best. I did live a fantasy all throughout my grammar school years, but unlike most popular girls I was under no illusions. I knew that I was only in that position because of money.

At that point grief already had its cold hold on me and I knew the world was harsh. With that in mind I had many friends but very few confidants. When misfortune flipped her veil, my only chance of survival in the Serengeti better know as High School, was to keep living a lie. I vowed the day my father declared bankruptcy that I would never let anyone see me cry.

That’s where our paths forever intertwined. After outgrowing his awkward phase, Adam was no longer just another boy hiding in detention, he was the boy all other boys wanted to be. If appearances were the currency of the day then we were the next inevitable pairing as the two most popular kids in school.

Rather than fall from my pedastool I saw my opening and took it. In many ways I became his sidekick; a modern day Bonnie and Clyde out to terrorize the world. I held on to my hard earned social status, sans money, by being his girl.

My plan was flawless, so long as my confidence never faltered. In his shadow I had everything I wanted. I had the most highly sought after boyfriend in our high school. I held on to my adoring friends. I maintained perfect grades and garnered my pick of colleges. The list went on and on. They were all badges of honor placed proudly upon an iron mask.

No one would ever know the turmoil I went through underneath it all. During the day I played the part of the perfect princess. And yes, I played it well. At night, I became a stranger in my own home. Homework, there was an odd choice of words. Homework was always done at school, because I couldn’t concentrate at home. Grief had injected too much venom into my life. I cooked. I cleaned. I ran the household. Because if I didn’t, no one would. My Dad had become oblivious, trying to drown his grief in all the Bourbon he could find. I could have gotten away with murder, literally. Every day I kept thinking that if I was good enough, if I acted like the perfect daughter, then maybe he’d love me more than the Bourbon. All the fantasies ever served were endless nights of crying myself to sleep; spilling tears for a sense of normalcy that I would never know. Pain became my constant companion. The friend that tucked me into bed each night.

In the beginning Adam was fun. We were so innocent. I’ve often wondered looking back, if teenagers know what love really is. Emotions run so high and infatuation is so easily confused with love, especially when your heart lunges with lust at the sight of your desires. Truth is, Adam used me, just as much as I used him. What it always came down to was the mutual gut wrenching belief that without each other we’d be nothing. High School is so ridiculously frivolous. Even still…

Along the twisted path to our glory days a small part of me lost sight of our ploy and started to believe that we were in love. He would do the most amazing things. He’d leave these letters in my locker, professing his love. I always blushed at the intensity of the emotions he poured out with his pen. They seemed too deep, too much for high school love. Who was I to judge though? He loved me. At least that’s what he said. He would bring me flowers before every volleyball game, every track meet. It drove the guys and girls around me nuts; the girls with envy, the guys with disgust. I guess it was the ultimate rub in their face, that they didn’t stand a chance. But what no one seemed to understand was that even without the flowers they never had a chance. My heart had always belonged to Adam. From the first time I saw the pimple faced boy in detention. I loved the way he saw me. And now, I loved the way he touched me. It never failed to send shivers down my spin. When he pulled me in for a kiss it was as if the world stopped spinning and time was ours to own.

 

Author's Note

Thanks for reading :) Sorry for any formatting errors. Cut and paste late at night is a pain. Feedback on content is appreciated.

Reviews

[Cloudless]

"If you look back far enough, we all come from humble beginnings..." I love these lines and how you proceed from here. Particularly what highschool is like and how people as beautiful or as great as they are now were once so ordinary that no one other than their own friend noticed them or during awkward recognitions from the teacher where the whole class just looks at you.