Expanding and Imploding

Reece Alexandar
Expanding and Imploding

I remember we were at a cliff, Southend or somewhere.

You’d been telling me about all the slimy stuff that lived there and that some of them had lightbulbs on their heads so they could see better because when you got really deep you couldn’t see a thing. I think you were wearing that bright yellow dress, with the white polka dots. Mum said it was old fashioned but you loved it. I was eating a ninety-nine, you’d taken the flake out for me because I was the only kid on the planet who hated chocolate.
One thing I can’t remember though is how the ocean looked. I know it was probably blue, but when I try to picture it in my mind I can only see a sort of blank space. I could try to fill it in, but there are just so many shades of blue.
Anyway, when we got to the cliff edge you told me it wasn’t that high and jumped off. I was a nervous wreck. You sank into the water and I thought it’d eaten you. Then when you finally did come up you were acting really strange. You started screaming and so did I.
After that I remembered you refused to get in the bath, Dad had to force you in while you kicked and screamed. At least you’re ok now, I mean we’ve been to the pool a few times and you learnt how to swim. To be honest, I think that day at the cliff affected me more than you.
The reason I was thinking about this is because remember last year? That day when I came home and I had a ripped shirt and dried blood near the cut on my cheek. And mum shouted at me and Dad told me to stand up for myself and I locked myself in my room for hours. You went round the shop and got me a can of coke and I’d had such a shit day and I started crying and you told me it’d be ok and then we played monopoly and I felt like everything was going to be ok from then on. I keep thinking about, how if you hadn’t swam back up, I’d have stayed in my room and no one would have brought me a can of coke, and that makes me really sad.
I think you were the first person to realise something was wrong with me, I just wish we’d done something about it sooner.

I’m sorry for bothering you with all this stuff. You don’t have to reply. I know that you’re busy with the new apartment and the job, It’s just ever since you moved out I’ve gotten so much worse. I don’t really know how to explain it. I'm scared. My chest is expanding, filling up with cold air. And my mind just won’t stop. It’s like a radio that’s constantly on, sometimes I don’t even pay attention to what it’s saying, but it’s always saying something.
I just feel like everybody hates me. When I go outside I can feel them all staring and whispering to each other (I swear I saw one guy even recording me on a camera). You’re the only person I can trust anymore. Mum and Dad just keep saying I need to make some friends, and that the tablets will kick in soon.
But that’s the thing. I’ve been taking these little green pills for two months now and I feel worse than ever. Yesterday, I opened one up. I read a thing online about doctors who prescribe placebos to people they think are faking. The pill was full of this white powder though. It still might be something else, like kiddy aspirin.
Last week I saw a baby, in one of those baby walkers, right? It was coming out of a pub and rolling into the road. I grabbed it before anything happened and the mum came out, thanked me, and took it back inside. I couldn’t stop laughing, to be honest. I know it sounds quite bad with the baby so close to being injured and everything. But the thought of that parent downing a pint of lager while her baby bounced happily by the bar stool just broke me. I just needed to include that because it was the only thing that’s made me laugh recently.
The problem is I’m a downer, that’s what Mum keeps telling me. I really am though. A miserable bastard. I knew it’d be like this, years ago I mean. When I was twelve, Dad sat me down and gave me a talk. He said that I was becoming a teenager now, that I’d soon be going to secondary school and I was going to be a man. A man. I was going to have responsibilities and decisions. I started crying. I don’t know why, it seems funny now. Even at such a young age I knew that my best days were behind me. I’d never be as happy as I was when I was eating a vanilla ice cream on the beach with you guys.
My therapist has started to take anti-depressants. Mum says she’s crap because she’s too young and not in her right mind. I don’t mind too much though because we get on a lot better. I was telling her about what I’d learned in science last week. How the Earth is so small in comparison to the universe and stuff, and if a black hole was to swallow us up no one would notice. There’d be no impact or anything. She didn’t say much during that, she was pretty quiet. That’s the trouble with me being around people.
God I feel so depressed. Sorry to keep going on about it. It’s just at college I’m walking through this sea of young people and I feel so old and bitter. Sometimes, when I concentrate hard enough, I swear I can feel my hair turning grey and my skin loosening and folding into neat lines of wrinkles.
At the moment what’s making me feel really old is my psychology class. See there’s this girl. She has red hair and she always wears this headband that has blue and white stripes going across it. And on Wednesdays she doesn’t wear makeup because the lessons so early, and it almost feels like I can reach her.
Everytime I see her I want to die. Is that what love is?
Sometimes she looks over at me and my chest starts hurting really bad. One time I had to get up and leave. I swear she does it on purpose. What a horrible thing to do to someone. Except I don’t think she does do it on purpose because she seems really nice. One time a few months ago we were partnered together and she said she liked my top, it wasn’t even a good top but she said it was anyway.
I just wish she would stop looking at me. I know she isn’t looking at me like I look at her. She see’s a dying animal or something. And not one you’d want to help either, no broken wing. Like one that’s dying of some horrible disease, with pus and boils under patchy fur. She feels sorry for me, but like hell she’s actually going to help me.
I think if she was an animal she’d be one of those show dogs, with pampered fur and ribbons. Them sorts of dogs don’t even know why they’re getting so much attention, do they?
I wish I could talk to her. The thing is I feel like once I've met somebody and said something to them, everything’s ruined. Like I've already screwed up any possible chance of being friends because I opened my mouth.
The way I see it, there's an infinite number of things to say to someone, and each thing I say makes them either like me more or less. But because I don't know the person, I don't know what the right things to say are. That means in one sentence I could ruin the potential lifelong relationship I might have had.
Talking is just too much work. There’s so much pressure to get it right, it’s like taking an exam or something that you haven’t even revised for. Exams are stressful. Imagine taking dozens of them a day. That’s why I haven’t been in the past week.
Did Mum tell you?
Last Friday was bad, I mean really bad. We had to give these presentations in Psychology and the projector was so bright I couldn’t read my cards. It took me so long to finish. And the red haired girl saw everything. Then in Science I got partnered up with this boy who smokes and I couldn’t stop coughing because of my crappy lungs and everyone was staring. Then, after I’d written out my note and tucked it into my jacket pocket, I stepped into the road. The fucking car stopped, Hallie. I should have known. It was only going twenty. The guy stepped on the brakes and got out. There I was with my eyes closed and I didn’t even notice him walk up and sock me. For a second, I thought it was the car. I thought it’d hit me right between the eyes.
Turns out one of the teachers saw and called Dad. They agreed I should take sometime off to get better. Apparently that’ll take one week. Then I go back. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be recovering from though, Dad says the black eye looks better now. I just feel terrible staying inside right now; he’s constantly moaning about work and Mum keeps watching repeats of this stupid reality show I can’t stand anymore.
By the way, I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you when you phoned. I’m crap with phone calls. I always get emotional and my voice breaks. I figured it’d be easier if we did it like this. Hopefully you get the time to write one back (I’ve included an extra stamp in the letter). I just don’t think I can wait until I see you in person next.

Anyway, bye.

J