“So, what are you going to do now?” the boy asks. He looks real, somehow, wearing his usual jeans, polo shirt, and watch. He is leaning on a wall nearby, watching me contemplate the situation. The only constant in my life, the only element that stayed unchanged across the years I dragged myself around. Everyone else abandoned who they were for cheaper and less genuine versions of who they could have been. I did as well. He was the only one that stayed, frozen. Looking at his blurry face, I wonder if he was ever real. If he ever had a face.
I think I should take their advice. I tell him. He scoffs. “You’re too much of a coward, you know? I’d rather not hang around all day listening to your nonsense, so don’t talk if you won’t act. What’s it that guy said, ‘Toughest your age’ or something? Though, you feel repulsed even by that. Why do you even care? It’s not like it will matter, down the line.” We watch each other silently. I don’t know if he loves me. I would guess not. Though I suppose he must hold me to some regard. “Why is it about you anyway?” he asks. Bright as always, I realise he has found the problem. He is right, isn’t he? This isn’t about me at all. So, who is it about? “None of those boring worms, obviously. This isn’t about any of you, at all. This is about me. Well, everyone has a ‘me’ right? I am who you are. Just, not a complete loser. I told you everything you know, after all. I am you. More than you will ever be. ” So why am I the one that deals with everything I feel because of who he is? That doesn’t seem that fair. “I told you already, but you won’t listen. You can’t even ‘be’. You simply aren’t. You are like the monitor for a computer, just an extra, the way what I am manifests outwardly. So, you don’t get to complain, either. I will always be me, but you won’t ever be more than a worm.” Okay. I surrender. “Just give in. Let me take control, and you won’t have to feel anything anymore.”
I think about. It does make sense, if I let him take everything, I won’t ever have to suffer as I do. He is stronger than I am, smarter than I will ever be. Who even am I? Am I him, or whatever I seem to be? If he is me, then am I not him, too? But he doesn’t have any hope, I know as much. I ask him if he likes art. “I do, of course,” he says “that is the one thing I never critiqued you about, is it not?” If he likes art, then it should be fine to let him take the reign, I suppose. “Do you love me?” “No, I don’t. But I am responsible for you. You are like a little sibling, and I am to be held accountable for your actions. You would do us both good if you just let go.” “Will you ever love anything, if I do?” “Do you even know what that means?” I think about it, I don’t find the words. “Then, no.” Is that okay? I don’t know.