I wonder how much I’m worth. To people of the world, mostly. How far they would go for the sake of my life. It really brings out the question. How much do people really care? In all the movies, one lover would say he/she would die for the other. Meanwhile I’m sitting back in my recliner thinking, “Really? Are we just gonna jump to that? How about we start with the small stuff like may be a minor injury or an itch you can’t reach?”
Oh yes, you tattle me off saying I’ve never felt love and how I’m a cold person. But ask yourself this, could you really sacrifice yourself for someone or something (say may be hamburgers) you love without even a tinge of ‘What in heck am I doing?’
You’re thinking about it aren’t you?
If you’re wondering how this question came about, the answer is simply a story.
A long one.
Mine.
I lived in a small hamlet in Oregon. That’s hamlet (not capitalized). According to Wikipedia –which we know is always correct-, it means a small community the county didn’t know what to do with so they grouped them together. Well, not exact words, but close enough. To recap, I do not live in a fictional character created by long-dead guy, all rights to Hamlet still go to Shakespeare and all that stuff.
The name of my little hamlet (not to be confused with My Little Pony™) took little creativity. The creek that ran through many of the properties was filled with fish. You could almost see the county checking that one of their list. Fish creek, check. Springfield, check.
Regardless of its in-depth history (or mystery if you’re that person), I loved my home. While the house I spent my first sixteen years in was large and spacious, it was the outside I love the most. The perfectly cameoed green house was boxed in by thousands of overgrown Christmas trees. In walking through the dense undergrowth, I could often find my previous playthings that I had left behind. Miniature pots and pans rusted over with the deluge of rain every year, still holding remnants of the dead bug and grass soup. An occasional torn ball from the fluctuating dogs we were visited by.
But it wasn’t until the day I turned fifteen that I really found something special. Something worthwhile.
My bed was a cloud. My face was defaced by the wrinkles in my pillow.
But I was dreaming. Nothing matters when I dream. People could be screaming that the world was ending and I would still be snoring my buns off.
My cold buns.
I shiver. My hand involuntarily reaching for my comforter, to comfort my cold body with its warm spread. It wasn’t there.
I groaned, leaving the land of painlessness and descending back to life. Cold life.
My eyes opened. But it made no difference, the world was still dark.
Pulling myself to my feet, I almost instantly stumbled over what I assumed was my desk chair. What it was doing smack dab in the middle of my room, I didn’t know.
I thrusted my arms out in front me and strutted forward. Shivering and sleep-deprived, my head spun with crazy ideas.
I was robbed. By a bunch of wall eating zombies. They turned me into one of their own and set me on a wild goose chase to search for my light switch that is in one of their bellies.
I stopped myself.
“Alina, you’re losing it.” I croaked, my voice shattering.
I tried again, “You’re losing it.”
This time my voice held up under the strain of speaking.
“I hate morning voice.” I muttered.
I continued to walk on until I felt the wall with my fingertips.
I made it! As if I had arrived after a long journey.
I groped aimlessly with one lazy, half-asleep arm for the light switch.
Reaching the worn plastic item, I lifted up.
I turned slowly, getting my eyes used to the searing light. But what I saw in my room made me rub my delusional eyes.
Standing in my room, among my pile of books, was Jae Jabez. His dark hair swept to one side, his eyes shifting. All together it seemed out of sequence with his normal confident demeanor.
The cold air in my throat seemed to instantly change states from gas to solid.
I believe my science teacher called that deposition.
She would be proud.
My self-defense teacher however would not be proud of how I reacted at this juncture.
“Creepy wall-stealing zombies,” I yelped, “they are real!”
“Wait, no! Please stop. I need-” pleaded Jae, his hands outstretched.
I whacked him with my pillow.
Hey, just be glad there wasn’t a sharp object nearby or I might have accidently turned him into a Jae shish kabob.
When I pulled my pillow back, Jae was still standing. Hair ruffled, he asked “Was that supposed to hurt?”
“You, idiot!” I screeched.
“Shh!” he clamped an olive complexioned hand over my dry lips.
I shoved his hand away, “I’m home alone!”
I glared at him.
Jae cradled his hand, “I need your help.”
My eyes narrowed and then widened as my stomach did jump-roping with my intestines. My anger had been taking away as swiftly as a mother changing from so-glad-you’re-okay to I’m-going-to-kill-you.
I could barely choke out any words, but I heard myself ask him what happened, ever fiber my being begging it not to be what I was sure it was.
Jae dropped his arm, his large eyes turning to me. I winced at the raw fear in his eyes. “My parents… I don’t know. One minute, I was in my room. The next, my parents were rushing me out our kitchen door.”
He paused gulping hard, like an attempt to swallow a golf ball, “They told me to come here and tell you…”
My face remained expressionless, but inwardly my brain was on overload, a panic faster and stronger than any other current carried my subconscious far away until Jae said the code word that would cause the downfall of my entire world.
“Finis.”
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