shined.
That’s not strictly true. Today, for the first time in a long time, I remembered that joy and laughter exist in the world. The sun’s rays shone down on me twice, warming the block of ice that has encased me for years. Matilda Evans is the sun. Like a personal heater, she radiates warmth and goodness. I came alive during the briefest of moments in her presence .
I’d forgotten how good that felt. Two steps away from her, I experienced the return of the familiar chill creeping up on me and covering the bits she had begun to thaw while I was busy basking in her glow. If I had a choice, I’d be her shadow, following her everywhere in the desperate hope she’d share a bit of her light.
Maybe one day I will be. But I know that day is not today. I’m too busy chasing and running from my own shadows to be someone else’s.
Besides, her light doesn’t need darkness. She needs someone to help her shine even brighter, someone to stand beside her, not behind her. And right now, that person isn’t me. It won’t be for the foreseeable future.
Not that I even allow myself to indulge in the future. I used make diligent plans for the months and years yet to come, but I find myself just taking it one second at a time. I need to live in the now. My grandfather needs me to be present, physically and mentally, even if he isn’t. Especially because he isn’t.
Speaking of my grandfather, I let my eyes wander around the kitchen, confused when I don’t see or hear him.
“He’s just gone for a little nap,” Freya answers my unspoken question.
Guilt underpins my secret relief that I have a bit more time to try to become the person he needs me to be. “How has he been today?”
Her expression tells me everything I need to know. Hesitancy. Sympathy. And pity.
Of all of the emotions ending in y, pity is the worst. Before his brain betrayed him, my grandfather was a strong and stoic man. He wouldn’t want anyone’s pity and I don’t want it for him. The only comfort I can take is that it isn’t him she pities, but the stranger occupying my grandfather’s body.
Or maybe I’m wrong and she pities me .
I can’t allow that to be true, so I dismiss the thought as soon as it comes and look away from her sorrowful eyes.
“Not good, huh?”
“No, today isn’t one of his best, but he might have improved once he wakes up.”
This time she’s the one who can’t look me in the eyes.
We both know no truth or hope lives in her words.
“Maybe.”
“So how was the funeral?”
I pause for a moment and think about how to describe today. I expected it to be sad, and it was; but it was also funny, and happy, and one of the best days I’ve had in a very long time. I don’t think Freya would quite understand or approve if I told her I had a great time at the funeral today.
She’d love to hear about Matilda, but I’m not sure I want to tell her. It was special and sacred, as if what we shared today should stay a secret between us. I’m not sure Matilda felt that way, but I do. Somehow, telling Freya would be a betrayal.
Plus, even if I wanted to tell someone about Matilda, it wouldn’t be Freya. Meeting an extraordinary girl, who makes you feel like you’re standing in the sun, is the sort of thing I imagine you tell your guy friends about, but the problem is that I don’t have any. I left all of my childhood friends behind in Michigan at the age of eight when my parents died, and I moved to California to live with my grandfather, who home-schooled me until he couldn’t, and then I taught myself.
We live in a cabin in the woods off the beaten track. There are no neighbors near, and no other young people. My best and only friend used to be my grandfather, and now he’s technically no longer around. I guess it would be his married thirty-five year old nurse, or my fifty-year-old art mentor, Pierre.
Talking to Matilda today made me feel closer to someone than I have in a long time. You know things are bad when
That’s not strictly true. Today, for the first time in a long time, I remembered that joy and laughter exist in the world. The sun’s rays shone down on me twice, warming the block of ice that has encased me for years. Matilda Evans is the sun. Like a personal heater, she radiates warmth and goodness. I came alive during the briefest of moments in her presence .
I’d forgotten how good that felt. Two steps away from her, I experienced the return of the familiar chill creeping up on me and covering the bits she had begun to thaw while I was busy basking in her glow. If I had a choice, I’d be her shadow, following her everywhere in the desperate hope she’d share a bit of her light.
Maybe one day I will be. But I know that day is not today. I’m too busy chasing and running from my own shadows to be someone else’s.
Besides, her light doesn’t need darkness. She needs someone to help her shine even brighter, someone to stand beside her, not behind her. And right now, that person isn’t me. It won’t be for the foreseeable future.
Not that I even allow myself to indulge in the future. I used make diligent plans for the months and years yet to come, but I find myself just taking it one second at a time. I need to live in the now. My grandfather needs me to be present, physically and mentally, even if he isn’t. Especially because he isn’t.
Speaking of my grandfather, I let my eyes wander around the kitchen, confused when I don’t see or hear him.
“He’s just gone for a little nap,” Freya answers my unspoken question.
Guilt underpins my secret relief that I have a bit more time to try to become the person he needs me to be. “How has he been today?”
Her expression tells me everything I need to know. Hesitancy. Sympathy. And pity.
Of all of the emotions ending in y, pity is the worst. Before his brain betrayed him, my grandfather was a strong and stoic man. He wouldn’t want anyone’s pity and I don’t want it for him. The only comfort I can take is that it isn’t him she pities, but the stranger occupying my grandfather’s body.
Or maybe I’m wrong and she pities me .
I can’t allow that to be true, so I dismiss the thought as soon as it comes and look away from her sorrowful eyes.
“Not good, huh?”
“No, today isn’t one of his best, but he might have improved once he wakes up.”
This time she’s the one who can’t look me in the eyes.
We both know no truth or hope lives in her words.
“Maybe.”
“So how was the funeral?”
I pause for a moment and think about how to describe today. I expected it to be sad, and it was; but it was also funny, and happy, and one of the best days I’ve had in a very long time. I don’t think Freya would quite understand or approve if I told her I had a great time at the funeral today.
She’d love to hear about Matilda, but I’m not sure I want to tell her. It was special and sacred, as if what we shared today should stay a secret between us. I’m not sure Matilda felt that way, but I do. Somehow, telling Freya would be a betrayal.
Plus, even if I wanted to tell someone about Matilda, it wouldn’t be Freya. Meeting an extraordinary girl, who makes you feel like you’re standing in the sun, is the sort of thing I imagine you tell your guy friends about, but the problem is that I don’t have any. I left all of my childhood friends behind in Michigan at the age of eight when my parents died, and I moved to California to live with my grandfather, who home-schooled me until he couldn’t, and then I taught myself.
We live in a cabin in the woods off the beaten track. There are no neighbors near, and no other young people. My best and only friend used to be my grandfather, and now he’s technically no longer around. I guess it would be his married thirty-five year old nurse, or my fifty-year-old art mentor, Pierre.
Talking to Matilda today made me feel closer to someone than I have in a long time. You know things are bad when
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