Lost in the Echo ღ {//Deenosaur}

[ᕙʕ•ᴥ•ʔᕗ]

Her eye caught the boy as he was walking towards her. What do I do? Smile? Wave? Meira settled for a small smile and her hand barely left her side as she moved her hand to look like a wave. She expected a smile and a wave back, not the close contact of a hug. It was friendly, not aggressive at all, but it caught her off guard as she didn’t know how to respond. He was warm and his body seemed to swallow her small stature for just a moment. She wasn’t given a chance to respond as he grabbed her hand and led her to a booth that was tucked away for some privacy.

She sat down, giving him a nod of thanks for pulling out the chair for her. She grabbed the strap of her bag and swung it over her head, leaving the bag on her lap as she pulled the chair in closer to the table. Her eyes flickered up to see that he was staring. Feeling uncomfortable, she looked around the café and soaked it all in. What does he want to talk about? Why isn’t he saying anything? she thought as her eyes looked at the wall, the pictures, the bar—anywhere but at him. He started talking, bringing her eyes back to him. “I’m Meira,” she responded, realizing that she had not known his name the whole time. “It’s um…”

The sparse and rather awkward conversation was interrupted by another boy, one who worked in the café and had menus in his hand. Meira had not anticipated eating—she had packed lunch after all—but she knew it would be rude not to order anything. “I’ll just have a coffee. And ehm, some bread.” She smiled at the boy as she handed him her menu. Meira looked back at Ryan, waiting for him to order and finally give her the explanation he mentioned earlier that day. Was it going to be something horrible? Something sad? Meira didn’t know what to brace herself for, but she decided that she owed him her time.

[Marrs ღ (FAF)]

After writing our orders, Taylor walks away. 

The air is heavy with tension, again. I close my eyes, take a deep breath and flex my fingers. My gaze is glued to the table as I speak. "Before I start, I want you to know that I've only ever told this story to one person, my therapist. Other than that, not even my dad knows the real story. Just...just let me finish before you speak. If I stop, I won't be able to finish.

When I was 14, I made some friends. They weren't very good people. But I was young and stupid and I started hanging out with them, doing all the 'cool' stuff that they did." I shake my head at my idiocy. It's strange repeating these lines to a complete stranger, but this isn't the worst part of the story.

"I started drinking. My...my mother, she loved me very much. She began to worry when I started staying out late. She didn't talk about it though; She had a weak heart and was afraid of what she'd find out. We both ignored the issue like nothing was wrong but it soon became a barrier between us." I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the next part. 

"One night, I came home late. I left a bottle of Vodka on the dining table and I think it fell during the night. When my mom heard the sound, she came downstairs. She didn't see the spilled alcohol, Meira. S-she slipped and fell. She was holding a candle in one hand and t-there was a fire. She burned...she died. I killed her." I'm not crying. Surprisingly, my face is void of emotion.

"You remind me of her, Meira. She had this beautiful spirit of kindness and selflessness. You have it, too. For some time, my mom even blamed herself for the barrier that came between us. Earlier when you left, you thought it was your fault. You thought you made me cry. Nobody should have to think that."

The moment of silence that follows is oddly peaceful in contrast to the tension a few minutes ago. Taylor comes and goes, setting our food on the table.

I finally manage to look up at her. When I do, I try to recall the few words the book in the library had taught me. I bring my hands forward and perform a series of actions. I'm a monster.

[ᕙʕ•ᴥ•ʔᕗ]

Meira’s body stiffened as it responded to the tension that she could feel in the air. Even his words were not reassuring as he confided that whatever he was about to say had only been told once and to a therapist. Did he commit a crime? Kick an animal to the curb? Planning on joining the Peacekeepers? A multitude of possibilities flowed through Meira’s thoughts as she kept her mouth shut at his insistence. She wasn’t the type to speak up anyway, but she made sure that her lips were sealed and her hands were rested on her lap as she listened to his story.

It started off simple, the typical teenage coming of age story. It sounded a bit like what she would do sometimes at night, but not to the extent that Ryan had. He brought up his mother, and it was at that point that Meira started to understand the emotion she saw earlier that day when she first spotted the boy. Nothing could have prepared her for the next part of the story. All she could feel was sadness: sadness for the loss of his mother, but also sadness that he lived every day believing that she was dead because of him.

She understood the loss of a mother; she had lost her own mother when she was fairly young. But she had never felt the same sense of guilt that he must have been feeling. Her mother had died from an illness, not an accident, and her death was far from sudden. Meira was unsure of what to do, but Ryan continued talking, saying something about how she reminded him of his mother. There was something about kindness and selflessness that Meira had no idea how he managed to get that from her from their rather quick and awkward meeting that morning.

He quieted down just as the other boy brought them their food. Meira gave him a small smile and nod of thanks, but as soon as he left the table, she looked back at Ryan. Now that he was finished speaking, she could technically speak but she didn’t know what to say. Instead, she simply took his hand that was on the table and enveloped it with both of her hands, her small hands barely covering his hand. “Don’t…don’t worry about how I feel.”

She wanted to use her hands for the next part, mostly because it was how she felt most comfortable conveying emotion but she also wasn’t sure what words described what she felt. A part of using her hands was based on the connection she had with her father and her doctor; they communicated with a language only they understood because of how close they all were. If she had tried to use their language with anyone else, it would make no sense. So she left her hands closed around his hand and said softly, “I’m sorry about your mother. I…I also lost my mother, but I had known about it for a while.”

[Marrs ღ (FAF)]

“I’m sorry about your mother. I…I also lost my mother, but I had known about it for a while.”

I'm surprised. At first, I thought she was lying just to make me feel better and immediately felt guilty for thinking so. She wouldn't lie. She isn't like that. 

I'm not sure why I trust her so much, given that I barely know her. But when I speak with her, the flow of my words is languid and genuine; It's rather frightening to think of the effect she has on me.

"She died of an illness, right?" My voice is hesitant and tender. I don't want to bring out the bad memories that take residence in the back of her mind, but I'm very curious now. Her voice seems a bit sad when she mentions her mother so obviously, the death had taken it's toll on her. I still want to make her feel better somehow.

"Meira, your mother died. Mine? I killed her." I shake my head. "So easily, I could have prevented her death. It was my addiction, my alcohol, my bottle and my fault."

I don't want to cry in front of her. I don't want her to think that my tears are because of her. No. It's from one single mistake that sentenced my whole existence to years of grieving and guilt. Somehow, my hands don't possess the energy I need to wipe the tiny droplets that are brimming over my lower eyelids and staining my cheeks. 

I feel ashamed of myself. She's so calm, controlled and strong. I feel so weak in contrast. But now I remember the last time I cried in front of her and she left.

"I'm sorry," I say pleadingly as I rub furiously at my eyes. "Don't leave, please."

[ᕙʕ•ᴥ•ʔᕗ]

Meira widened her eyes as he asked her about the cause of her mother’s death. She nodded slowly, her fear of that illness creeping back into her mind. She knew that he meant no harm when he asked that question—for how could he have known about that fear—but it didn’t stop her from tensing up slightly. Her mind was not given the time to continue pondering on the matter, a blessing really, when Ryan brought up how he had killed his mother. It was too horrible for Meira to comprehend and she wanted to believe that even if he had a role, it was not intentional. No, someone who was so affected by that death could not have had any malicious intent.

Instead, he lived with the guilt. Yes, if he didn’t have the habit, perhaps his mother would be alive and Meira never would have pulled him out of the crowd that morning, but she also didn’t see how it was his fault. No one was to blame in this scenario except whatever higher being decided it was time to take his mother, just as how it had decided that it would take her mother when she was a little girl. Tears were falling from his face as he pleaded with her, asking her not to leave.

She was taken aback with the idea that she would even think about leaving him alone at this stage. It was true that she did not know him well, but the least she could have done for him was be some form of support. It was the right thing to do. Meira leaned over the table and used her thumbs to wipe away the tear streaks that remained on his face despite him rubbing his eyes. She leaned back on to her seat before she started speaking. She tapped the center of her chest twice before holding on to one of his hands. “I’m not going to leave.”

A part of her did want to leave, to remove herself from a situation that she wasn’t accustomed to. Once her hearing started to worsen again, she was afraid of new things, afraid that she would be thrown into a situation that all of her other senses could not compensate for. That fear expanded until she was no longer comfortable trying new things—until she tasted the burn of the liquid that rushed down her throat and left her with a glowing feeling. It was times like those that she didn’t have to worry about not hearing; it seemed like no one else could hear each other anyway. And soon, that became familiar to her as well.

But this conversation? This setting in a café where it was just her and one other person that she had only met that day was new, strange, unfamiliar. It was a situation she knew her other senses could not compensate for. The person who sat across from her understood that, though, however little that understanding was. A part of him knew that she was in a vulnerable state and yet he didn’t pull away so why should she? “For…for what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s your fault. Maybe if you didn’t have that bottle, things would be different and we never would have met.” Her eyes glanced down, knowing her words probably were not helping. “But you don’t know that and you can’t keep living in the past.” Was she able to let go of her mother? Had she reached the point where she no longer lingered on what had happened and blamed herself for not doing more for her mother? It had taken years for her to accept that even if she knew the outcome, there was little she could do to change it. Time was funny and cruel and sweet in that way. “Don’t be sorry. I’ll be here.” Her words were soft but she looked at him to make sure that he had heard her. She gave him a small smile of reassurance, hoping that he believed her.

[Marrs ღ (FAF)]

R Y A N C O L E M A N She saw me cry and didn't pity my fragility.  She didn't leave.  She stayed, for me. "Mama, there's a monster under my bed. Make it go away." "There are no monsters, my boy. Only angels." I fiddle with the hem of mama's nightgown, looking up at her with a puzzled expression. "Angels?" She nods and lightly pecks my forehead. "Angels. They do good deeds and make people happy." "Are you an angel, mama?" I ask. But she just smiles and tucks me in, telling me I have to get up early tomorrow. The memory is vague and a bit blurry; just bits and pieces stuck together with cheap duct-tape. It's funny that whenever I'm with this girl, old memories resurface like keepsake polaroids. They singe a little at my heart, but the unbidden joy that follows isn't something you'd ever want to miss out on. Her soft hands wipe at the tears on my cheeks. I sniff a little as she pulls away and taps on her chest, telling me she won't leave. I believe her. She grasps one of my hands in hers and speaks to me in the gentle tone of her voice.  But I'm not paying any attention; instead, I'm tracing the curve of her nose with my eyes,  surveying the thickness of the eyelashes, watching in sheer admiration how her hair falls so perfectly without her setting it. When she finishes, I have absolutely no idea what she has been saying. Bringing her hand to my lips, I place a gentle kiss on her knuckles. "Angel." I whisper. "Thank you," My voice rises as to let her hear me clearly. "You don't know me, yet you've done so much, I can't even..."   I shake my head, grinning from ear to ear.  I know I need to ask her now, before we go our separate ways and never see each other again. "Will you..." I say, my voice sounding nervous and small to my own ears. "Will you go out with me?" And then I squeeze my eyes shut, silently wondering what her reaction would be. template by chelsey