Alis Volat Propriis

Alis volat propriis

Chapter one- eulogy

I stood upon the podium with tears in my eyes. My arms were shaking. My legs were jel-o. The podium swayed back and forth as the crowd came in and out of focus. I gathered up all the courage I could, and let a few sobs escape through my open mouth.

"In the coffin beside me," I began. "Is the best friend I've ever had. My name is Seth Benson, and she knew me. I'm sure she would've liked to meet you as well. Everyone, may I introduce you to Aryanna Renae Fisher."

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I awoke with a start. It was another dream about her. It was another restless night after I awoke. It was another sunny morning.

It was another yellow bus with another male driver taking us on yet another route to the same school, where yet another substitute teacher awaited my second bell class with another lesson plan that nobody's going to understand.

Of course, the day is but one big organized schedule. My favorite part: lunch with Aryanna.

Aryanna is the best friend anybody could ask for, and the most gorgeous girl in the world. I would die to save a friend, but I'd burn in hell for her. For her, I'd take torture.

I met her nearly two months ago at the beginning of freshman year. She's made high school less difficult. She makes everything so easy. I can tell her everything, I HAVE told her everything. She's done the same with me.

I know about her cutting, her tendency to want to end her own life, and the videos she watches to try to get sick, videos of people getting giant cysts removed. I seriously never wanted that image in my head.

In turn, she knows about my cutting, my tendency to want to end my own life, and the fact that I am severely and irrevocably in love with her.

People think I know so much about her, but the truth is, I feel so ashamed. There's a distinct possibility that one of us could end up leaving the other, somehow, whether by death or hate. Or maybe love. I don't know. I just know that I never want to forget her. I want to memorize her. I want to know the exact shape and color of her eyes, every fluctuation of her voice. Every fluctuation of her beautiful voice, a voice I want to echo in my head for the rest of eternity.

So when lunch comes around, I sit across the table from her, and look deep into her eyes as I speak.

"This will sound a little strange," I begin, "but could you just talk for a few minutes."

And she does.

And I listen

And I reach into the depths of joy.