Irretrievable

Chapter 3

A few weeks had passed since Layla’s first day at school. I had been thinking about her, more than I had ever expected or really wanted to. It was actually quite annoying. Who was she? Why was she here? And why on earth would I be the one to ‘know’ her without the formal introductions at school? It was perplexing to think of the possibility of such a coincidence. But I did not want to indulge in the search of an answer to this mystery because I knew I’d ultimately get nowhere. To say it was a happenstance occurrence of life is as plausible as saying it was contrarily a perfection of some scheme. Either could serve to explain it.

The question especially plagued me one particular day. I found myself relating everything to chance and fate, analyzing even the most insignificant details. I didn’t like it. Finally the day ended and I made my way up the track to my car. I stopped to trace a line in the track, an imperfection of the flat surface. It seemed to go forever, but then it curved slightly, pointing itself toward the field. I followed it. It ended exactly at midfield pointing towards the net at the far end. I headed for the net. I reached it, and stood inside, not really knowing what it was I was doing there. I turned around to find a few people staring at me. To think of it, I had found myself in some odd situations in the past few days. I suppose I was getting used to it.

I left the field and went towards the lot and upon my entrance a friend, one I would consider better than the rest, approached me. Banks had dark, curly hair and a definitive jaw line. He always had a distinguished look upon his face, accompanied by eyes coolly aflame with intense purpose. His natural expression was sometimes mistaken by others as anger. I knew otherwise. He was more pensive than I, and more philosophical. I think that’s why I enjoyed his company. I said to him, “Someone was looking for you earlier.” He said okay and that was the end of the conversation. The intent had been achieved; there was nothing left to say. We parted with a nod of the head and went home.

After about an hour or so of relaxation, I began my homework. I had to do four or five problems of physics. I couldn’t really relate to it and got bored quickly. I never did fully engage myself in physics. The thought of studying concepts and principles and laws that were only applicable to a fantastical ideal world annoyed me. None of our calculations would ever do us good in life, why do them? I’m fairly sure I’ll never be free falling without a parachute. And even if I was I would not think to calculate my acceleration or how fast I would hit the ground. If I did it wouldn’t be right because I was not in a vacuum, and my last act as a living man would be boringly scientific and all for naught. Homework was out of the question for the rest of the night. My dad called me into the kitchen. It was time for dinner.

I sat down in my place at the table, waiting for the food to be set down. My dad came in carrying a couple of steaks as if they were priceless. He seemed especially proud of them. I took one from the platter and began eating. The meat was good. I appreciated it. My sister asked a dumb question: something along the lines of ‘did British people think we had accents?’ I thought she was kidding for a second but soon realized she was serious as her brows were arched up slightly and her eyes seemed to be searching for an answer. A conversation was started about the differences between cultures and how Britain and America differed. I just ate.

I looked over at my dog, who often lay on the kitchen floor as we ate. He appeared as the epitome of indifference. He was promptly lying on his back with a large, goofy belly protruding up into the air. His paws hung limp over his chest, lackadaisically swinging to and fro. When he turned his head towards me his tongue slipped out of his mouth and plopped on the floor. He just left it there. When I smiled at his odd appearance, he began wagging his tail in dumb happiness. He was so oblivious to what was going on, and it seemed he did not care. Why should he, though? A subtle smile crept across his lips for no apparent reason, yet there was no reason not to either. Oblivious and delighted – what a life to live.

I turned back to the table. The conversation had somehow shifted to a religious debate. My sister was getting emotionally involved. She was actually quite annoying, even though I agreed with her standpoint. I suppose religion is pointless to debate; everyone believes they are right, and when everyone’s right everyone else is wrong. It’s an endless cycle of pointless argument. I looked back over at my dog. He had flipped over and was now concentrated on scratching his ear with his hind paw - still oblivious. I was finished eating, and I wasn’t interested in the discussion going on. I left to go to my room.

I put on some music, mostly The Doors. I became entranced in the music’s soft rhythm and grew drowsy. I could listen to the music for hours, doing nothing more than listening and allowing myself to be enveloped in the tale of a moonlight drive or the story of the roadhouse blues. Music could be better than actual conversation with people. It’s compelling yet not overbearing enough to create disinterest. It’s the perfect interaction with others, if you’re a good listener that is. I was overcome by sleepiness after a while and went to bed, left with a comfortable echo in my head.

At school the next morning it was very cold. I guess December was about the time the weather changed in Florida. It almost seemed too early, even though it was still moderately cool compared to more northern places. I reached the courtyard and sat down at a table of people I was familiar with. I hunched myself over with my hands nestled into my pockets, fighting for every bit of warmth I could retain. I looked up and observed a pattern of circular congregation. People formed unintentional circles, whether to keep warm, or just out of an instinctive tendency to include or exclude who they saw fitting. People are strange. I am strange. Why don’t I take to association?

I have always felt a sort of separation from the rest, save a select few. Banks was a person I could stand being around because he didn’t exude a need for embellished conversation and we shared a similar acceptance of the absurdity that brought us simple joys, sometimes at the expense of others. There were a few others I could tolerate, but the rest just didn’t mean much. I began thinking, for some reason I can’t explain even now, that I needed to change. I needed to embrace people and put aside my mentality of not caring.

I saw Layla in one of those circles. She made up one of six points in the sloppy circumference, but she stood out more than the others. In reality she probably didn’t, my mind was just telling me so. But for the moment she was radiant. Her hair glistened in the sun’s early morning glow, and even though she was only wearing a simple hoodie and jeans, she was beautiful. She stood out amongst the other girls overdoing their appearances with aggravatingly bright colors and unnecessary animal fur. She was simple and I liked that. She glanced over my way, but didn’t notice me. Good. I did not want her to. It would’ve ruined the serenity of her appearance.

Banks sat down and we nodded to each other. I broke my gaze from Layla and faced him. He always made for good conversation. We discussed some recent football games and their exciting outcomes. We both recounted some of the better moments, laughing and reveling at the amazing athletic performances of our favorite players. A girl chimed in, saying that football was stupid and she didn’t understand why boys liked it so much. We disregarded her completely and continued our conversation. When the bell rang we went to our respective classes, and that was the end of my morning.

In second period the same old routine was taking its course. When I arrived a small congregation of girls had gathered in the corner where my seat was unfortunately located. They were discussing a recent history test that they seemed to be upset with. I didn’t bother listening in, although I cast some looks of disapproval their way a few times upon hearing something blatantly stupid. I noticed that a few of them would change their opinion if one said something contradictory. It would usually be followed with an “oh yeah!” or a “yeah, you’re right!” that totally disagreed with their original opinion. I laughed when our teacher literally told the girls to shut up and sit down. He was a nice man, usually in a good mood, and he had a sort of flamboyant personality, matched by a goofy, warm smile.

He lectured us for a while then let us do what we pleased for the rest of the period. Layla stood up and walked across the room to where I sat. She said good morning in what I thought was an excessively cheerful voice. What morning is ever really ‘good’? Waking up is a bummer in itself. It didn’t matter, I was glad to see her. “How are you doing over here in your little corner?” she asked. “I could be better”, I replied. She frowned a bit and sat down. “Well what could be better?” I pointed at the row of girls to my right. That frown turned into a wide, understanding smile, and she nodded her head. I smiled back. I felt different around Layla, like she projected a different identity than most girls. She had a sense of individuality that obviously appealed to me.

Then she became somewhat apprehensive. “Hey, uh, I was invited to go to this bonfire on Friday at someone’s house. I was wondering if you would come with me…”, she stopped briefly but began again as if she felt she needed to say something more, “…because I’m not that familiar with town yet and it’d be nice to have someone along with me.” I asked about who was involved and I knew who they were. It didn’t seem like a terrible idea to me, although I was hesitant to do so. Sitting outside in a December night didn’t seem like a very fun thing to do. I could be doing better things that night. “Yeah, sure, I’ll go with you.” I said. She seemed delighted at my response. I felt fine. Yet, I realize now what I thought meant nothing, meant a whole lot more.

Chapter 4

Layla asked me about the bonfire on Tuesday. I didn’t really dwell on it all that much. I did feel a little uncomfortable going to someone’s house and being with so many people I was unfamiliar with, but I would know a few people, and of course, Layla was going to be there. I didn’t speculate it would be uncomfortable, it shouldn’t have been. Unfortunately, I had an important project due in math. That drew most of my attention for the next two days, at least outside of school.

Wednesday morning there was a fight in the courtyard before school. Two guys got in a dispute over something completely stupid. They were really going at it too. The one had a firm grasp on the other’s forearm as he kept his other hand in front of his face to defend from the other’s fist. He successfully blocked the blow and proceeded to tackle his opponent to the ground. With the other on his back he began throwing punches in a constant winding motion, hard enough to hurt but slow enough to agonize, a slow moving windmill of calculated pain. I learned later that the dispute was over violent solution and whether it should or should not be used. I suppose the fight had only strengthened their arguments, yet it was still so ironically stupid. How mysterious the world is.

I remember being quite reflective afterwards. Nothing went unnoticed. Every minute detail of behavior and subtle pattern was magnified by some tendency of mine to pick apart human flaw. It was intriguing and frustrating. Some worked hard with more dedication than they designated to school to reveal themselves to the world as they believed the world wanted to see them. They would inject themselves into conversations regarding things they knew nothing about, nor cared about, to project to the rest an acceptable image. In essence they shed the robes of individuality to wear the glamour of a life not really theirs, a life of acceptance. But acceptable in what terms? We were, we are still, manipulated and morphed into lackeys of billboard advertisements loyal to a voice of illogical reason. It was agitating to see people my age who were in all senses intelligent, respectable people subject themselves to deliberately acting ignorant and stupid to impress a ‘special’ boy or girl, or even their friends. They would change their opinions like they changed clothes and the motive was to be in pointless agreement with those around them, for the sake of approval.

Some faked themselves for different reasons. Perhaps they were above it all, or they were the worst of it all. Jenna was like that. She feigned her image, and it was obvious to me. I knew she was better, though. She was different: intelligent, sophisticated, cultured, beautiful. Yet she made sure with an unerring effort to be cautiously perfect, hiding behind a wall of undeniable perfection, because she was afraid. Afraid that someone, it did not matter who, would disapprove of her. She was so alone and she made it that way. It was she who angered me the most, disallowing herself to express who she was because she was afraid of rejection. She was in many respects an enchanting princess who received the attention of every male she came into contact with, but aged herself into an old queen just as beautiful, yet not daring enough to embrace affection. She was so much better than that. She could have been above it, maybe she was, maybe I was just stupid.

I suppose this was a large part of the origin of my personal indifference. It was the first, but not the last, realization that life is for the most part absurd. What good is living if you can’t enjoy the subtle humor in the lives around you, even if they are frustratingly ridiculous? Banks and I often had discussions about this sort of thing. He introduced me to Nietzsche and his supposedly terrifying abyss, and the liberating idea of existentialism. I liked it. We applied it to our high school, and the people in it, decoding and uncovering the actuality of what lied under their facades. Those were fun conversations.

There was still half the day left. It was getting warmer, and I was settling deeper into my withdrawn pensive mood. But something brought me out, almost immediately. It was practically frightening. I saw Layla walk out the doors of the main building as I was making my way towards them. I broke my promise to keep my eyes always down so I wouldn’t have to face the consequences of recognition. Damn it. I sure recognized her, and I remember vividly that I didn’t fight it. She was beautiful. A lovely spread of golden hair lay peacefully on her shoulders as she floated effortlessly towards me. Her soft lips shaped themselves into a subtle smile, such a pleasant look of happy neutrality. And her eyes, her gentle eyes, gleamed in a warming sun, letting her blue-grey irises emanate indefinitely, striking my own as picturesque. She wore a t-shirt and jeans, both hugging her body, not a ridiculous winter coat like us flaky Floridians. Her skin was tanned golden, appearing radiant and utterly pristine. I could not take my eyes off her, no matter how much I told myself I should. She glanced over and saw my eyes glued to her. Crap; that was exactly what I did not want to happen. But when she saw me her lips parted into a toothy smile and she did some sort of awkward skip-step-hop over to me that, thinking back on it now was absolutely pathetic. She embraced me in a warm hug that I truly appreciated.

“I’m so excited for Friday! And I’m really happy you’re coming with me!”, she cheerfully told me. I said essentially the same thing, but in a more calm manner. We parted after what seemed like hours of content in one another’s arms to leave for class. I watched her walk away from me, and in a brief, frightening moment, it felt as if she’d never come back, as if she were heading into that abyss, to become part of the nothingness the rest of the world seemed to be. Yet, as if she knew about the eerie doubt that had suddenly crept over me, she turned and looked back, with that subliminal, intoxicating smile and again sparked my heart into its fast paced beat. When I entered the building, and a passing Ronnie gave me a weird look, I realized I was grinning like an idiot, walking down a hallway of worried faces concentrated on nothing but the next few minutes, while I was enveloped in the moments just passed.

Now nothing mattered, nothing at all. I could not wait, did not want to wait, would not devote any energy to anything but Friday. I was so stupid. I completed my math project without much care, doing what was needed and nothing more. It turned out fairly poor, and my teacher was understandably upset with me. I did not mean to invoke that reaction, but I just didn’t care.

Friday meant everything to me. I don’t even know why. It was a fucking bonfire. What does one even do at a bonfire, besides sit in cold weather staring at a goddamn fire next to someone’s perfectly warm house? The whole thing was so stupid. I only wish I would have realized that then. But the reality was, it was Layla I was excited about, not the bonfire itself – the people, place, circumstance – it all meant nothing really. I really was excited to go, and Friday couldn’t have come faster. I convinced myself I loved this girl, that she was heaven-sent, irreplaceable. She surely appeared that way. But I know nothing is ‘meant to be’, nothing is planned. The most wondrous of happenings are mere coincidence, meaning nothing more than the existence of dumb luck. I believed otherwise then, simply because I hadn’t experienced it yet.

Friday was what I yearned for, Friday was supposed to be a night to remember. I remember it, all right, because Friday is what I’ve reflected on countless times since.