coversation 891 by Luladay Yawand-Wossen
“Dude, can I have a fry?”
“Go for it.”
“Ah, I love you.” I reach across the feast we have lain across my bedroom floor to retrieve my gift. There is little room between my bed and desk, but we do not care. Neither of us can really extend our legs, but we do not mind. It is the first time we have been able to talk in weeks. Everything in my life feels like it has fallen back into place after endless days of stress and monotony. I sometimes take for granted how the presence of a specific friend can completely change my day.
“So, what is going on with you?” she asks me, happily.
I sigh. “Not much. I just hate a lot of things right now.”
“Like?”
“School, my family, people in general. You know the usual stuff.”
“Anybody in particular?” She flashes a wicked smile at me.
I groan. “You know who I am talking about.”
“No I don’t think I do,” she says, sarcastically. I ignore her and turn my attention back to the pizza before me. I frown a little and not because I am particularly vexed about her comment or the person it referred to. No, it is something else. A different cloud belonging to a much larger storm looms over us.
This time, she sighs. “Dude, what’s up?” She always knows when something else is going on. It is like my thoughts are a harmony she has already memorized and begun to sing before I can even write out the melody.
“Nah. It’s not important.”
“You clearly have something to say, so say it.”
She is right. I have something to say, but I cannot find the right words. They remain consistently at the forefront of my mind, but as soon as I try to express them, they fade like old memories. Sometimes, I think I will never be able to say what I mean.
“Dude, use your voice. Tell me what’s wrong.” I feel I should be able to tell her because there is not a person alive I feel more connected to.
“I-I-I can’t,” I stammer. I feel the anxiety build up in my stomach and press down, down, down…
Now, I am in my head. Or at least I think I am because I no longer reside on the carpet eating takeout with her. Instead, I find myself on the floor of a forest, barefoot. I stand and feel the cool, rough texture of the leaves beneath my feet. The trees are barren and the sky is gray. This forest reeks of solitude and despair.
Suddenly, I hear a twig snap. My head turns. I hear another one crackle, but this time coming from a different direction. My head turns, again. Then, I hear another and another and another…I start running and I do not stop. I keep going even when I start to feel the tightness in my chest, the burning of my lungs, and aching in my muscles. I do not know if anything is even chasing me. I just know I need to get out. So, I keep going until the pain I have pushed aside is so overwhelming, I have no choice but to fall to my knees. If I cannot run anymore, how will I escape? How will I survive?
Then, I hear her say, “Use your voice. Use your voice.” How can I when I lost it so long ago?
She repeats, “Use your voice. Use your voice.” I want it to stop. She knows I cannot.
Now, she chants it over and over and over again. The sound becomes too much and soon, I thrash on the ground in agony. I kick up leaves and twigs, meanwhile scratching my legs until they bleed.
Finally, she stops the chant. Rather, she says, “It is who you are. Stop denying it.”
I do not know what possesses me, but I raise myself off of the ground and I scream, yell, and wail until my throat is hoarse.
She looks at me now, but she is not angry or annoyed. She smiles at me and I can function again. “Do you feel better? Are you more yourself?”
We are back in my room on the floor with our endless supply of takeout. My panic from earlier has dissipated completely. The sun shines and I am smiling again, grateful to have a person like her in my life.
“Yeah,” I croak. “Sometimes I just need to scream.”