burden

After I finally got out of bed feeling the old familiar internal guilt along with the momentary concern of being late, I decided not to go and get the proper meal from the cafeteria —they made turkey and I did not like it. Instead, knowing that I would be hungry until dinner time, I just prepared myself the ultimate breakfast: Nesquik chocolate cereal with milk, as I always did when I wanted to bodge a meal in hurry. I packed myself a bar of chocolate as well and left hastily, trying not to disappoint my past self and his friend.

I had already told them that I would arrive late even before leaving the bed as I did not want to be left waiting for hours like the last time. Just as I was leaving the dorm, I was informed that they would also be late. It did not make sense. They were supposed to be in the library. Yet, maybe there was some distraction important enough to deter them from their plans, it was natural. I kept going, expecting them to arrive soon.

My call was not answered, the rational protector inside me got all nervous: “You got fooled again. Be wary. Protect yourself.” But maybe what they were doing was really necessary. I was supposed to accompany them. That was my part, and I should not leave until the deed was done.

I was unsure as to what to do when I arrived at the library, for my sole goal was to be present with them. For some reason they would be more responsible under my supervision. But I did pack four different things that would keep me busy: first and foremost, my laptop, then I had the novel I was determined to finish one day, my everything notebook that came with me wherever I went, and finally my course book in case I got curious about what my linear algebra instructor mumbled about that week. I chose to go upstairs with a frown on my face to the pseudo-room that had comfy armchairs. There I could dive into the novel and move away from my thoughts of abandonment.

First, I spent some time on my phone, scrolling through posts about the grand prix weekend. Would Alonso really get the pole position for tomorrow’s race? I didn’t care. It would probably not matter. It’s just the first race and Aston Martin was not a real team. There was no way they could keep the momentum going. Still, it would spice it up a bit. After I consumed the subreddit, it was time to start reading. I don’t remember anything from the first few pages. My mind was busy thinking and I was trying to silence the angry thoughts inside my mind that told me of their plans to not talk to them for weeks or to hurt them for revenge. I guess the part was about how Roberto became a Paris gentleman after the peace treaty. It mentioned some names that did not matter to me.

I would be very pissed if they went away to a café or a pub or something because someone else called them. There was potential. They were very easily convinced when other people made offers. The music in my ears drew me back to the book. Now Roberto was listening to a conversation about how things of the same kind of atoms were eternally attracted the each other and what happens to one could be transferred to others through attraction with light, wind or water; witnessing a person’s wound mending with an operation done on nothing but the bloody bandage that used to wrap it. It was classic Eco, introducing alchemists’ ideas in his books as a display of his intricate knowledge of the history of philosophical and scientific ideas and practices.

I made my mind. When, or if, they came, I would just be cold. It was not to hurt them but to justify to myself that I protected myself. I could leave just as they arrived without saying anything. Somehow I believed that it would explain to them more than my words would. I could also ignore their messages for some time. By ignore, I mean reading them, waiting for a while and answering in a very unhelpful and disinterested way. That would teach them(!) That would solve all issues(!) Meanwhile, Roberto, while wandering in the city, saw a lady who covered her face. Her eyes, and the mystery that she explicitly wore instantly sparked a new love. The lady did not notice anything though, as always.

Just as I was considering giving in to reason’s noise inside me, their voice found me through the phone. I considered not answering, but it wasn’t that late so I told them where I was.

I did not give them a warm welcome, trying to seem as if I was too engaged with the book in my hands. My mind was occupied with ideas and stories though, still thinking about ways of acting passive-agressively and trying to make sense of their delayed arrival. Upon sitting on the empty armchair in front of me, they took out a notebook from their backpack and started working on a problem they could not solve. Oh, how I, after brief and discreet gazes over my book, pitied them, and then, reflected on myself, and pitied.

I closed the book as there was no use for it anymore. The words were only passing by, their beloved meanings left inside, unpacked, folded in layers and layers of connections. My mind repeatedly commanded me to write and I repeatedly refused until that moment. That was how I got here, and now moving on to how I came back hours later.

After my initial anger was let out with the words I vomited on my keyboard, I had one more of those brief gazes, this time over the screen of my laptop. It was time to start communication because I had been getting on my own nerves for a while. Because however I’d built myself up for abandonment, they were there, and I did not even wait for one hour. We’d made an agreement to meet and get things done today with each other’s company. I had to start interacting with them, otherwise it was destined to be a sorrowful few days for me and possibly for them. I got up and went next to them —it took no more than two steps, one for position and the other for orientation— asking about the problem they were wrestling with. Of course, being inferior in the ways of mathematics, I could not help. Yet, I offered help, that was why I was there. That was why I had been there before. Also, the armchair —they were good for just chilling or reading a book like a waiting room chair— did not help them in terms of posture.

We went to a different room, I still did not want to ask why they didn’t head to the library when they could. We spent the next few hours doing our own things. I took out my laptop once more and worked on my website. I still hadn’t quite figured out how to host it on GitHub by then, so I tried to focus on that —I did manage to host it within minutes of documentation reading, trial and error. In my mind, I was still angry at them but it might also have been a form of fear within me. Uncertainty, as my therapist suggested in that week’s session, seemed to have a discouraging influence on me. And so during dinner, I inquired about the reason why they were late. It started off quite innocently, and the genuinity and spontaneousity of it was something I supported. “I can forgive it easily,” I thought to myself. They continued, “but then I saw some friends and we shared our opinions about the philosophy instructor who…” Ughhh! Again, a noble cause was unduly interrupted by outsiders. “Let you be yourself,” I felt within me. “Be decisive and walk to the bench you’ve meant to go. You need to be by yourself more.” Of course, these did not come out of my mouth. I was feeling too distant to try to be good, and we were then joined by two of their friends from the department as well. As the famous song goes, what a wonderful world(!). I do not know if I could ever be more disinterested in a conversation.

After we went back to the library and I watched the anti-climactic qualification round, my thoughts were getting normalised again. I knew they did not mean anything bad, and we did get along as two caring friends when together. But I felt like that count dropped to one when we were apart. Since I could not keep my thoughts to myself anymore, I asked them about their time alone and first therapy session. The whisper conversation was fine. It helped me gather my sympathy back. Then, I told them that I was angry at them during the day, explained the reason and mentioned that the anger wore off. Of course, they did not know as much as I did because I did not show them what I had written afternoon.

The fluctuation of my sympathy tired me. I knew, they had their own problems that they couldn’t overcome —the one on the notebook was not the only one they had been wrestling. But it is confusing to start the day with expectations, topping up with anger after their failure, and going back to sympathising as normal. When we departed at the end of the day, I did not feel anything.

That’s wrong, I did feel concerned when they headed to the faculty building. I was expecting them to go home. There, they would be surrounded by those people again, outsiders. I felt my hope for them melting away like grains of sand escaping the confines of my hand.

Honestly, I will probably hold a grudge. I did not enjoy it. Cheated. It is how I feel. Yet, I did not lose my care for them. I will just approach with caution next time. I just can’t let go.

I walked back to the dorm listening to Strauss’ Also sprach Zarathustra, which might have been the most reachable piece of classical music I had ever listened to. With each step my plan was getting clearer. I would sit in front of my computer, open a pack of chips and watch the cartoon with the miserable man like another kind of sad man I am; tranquilising my brain until it defaulted to its normal state, finally allowing me to answer the urge of finishing the day by finishing its tale.