The first time she feels the little flicker inside of her, her eyes light up with an unspeakable desire for more. She remembers about that one time when it was raining and she was on the bus. She seems to have spent her entire life on a bus, hoping, waiting for the time to catch up with her and finally kill her. It had been raining for days and she was in a constant state of miserable, as well as finality. People were taking photos and she looked to her side, expecting a car crash. Rainbow. There was a rainbow, and the bus took a left. She said the lurch in her gut was because of it. She said it meant nothing.
The first time she feels the flicker inside of her, she remembers the rainbow. She thinks it’s childish and her mother would be appalled, but she cherishes it like she does few things. The second time she’s more prepared, she braces herself and as soon as she feels it, her mouth lifts in a silent thank you. In awe. In fear. A myriad of emotions, all running wild and brutal. She embraces it, because she knows at the end of the journey there’s happiness. There’s a little bundle of joy to cuddle, soft skin and a warm body. She sits and waits.
The flicker grows, it kicks now, it means more than a flicker. She knows from endless books that there will be a conclusion. There will be a climax, a finality, a big bang at the end. The whole new life shit, that’s what she thinks.
Somewhere along the line, she collides with the truth. She doesn’t gently probe it, test it with a toe. The truth is not a small pond she can soak her feet in. The truth, as she founds it, is an ocean. It calls to her, with the salty smell, the screams of birds and the death of a fish by the need of the other. It floods her insides and she thinks nothing could ever hurt more. She drowns in it, unable to keep her head up high. She swallows gallons of salt and along with it, fear fills every single corner of her being.
There’s no more time, she thinks. There’s no big finality. Yet she pushes forward, hoping against all hope.
When it happens, when the flicker turned being, turned killer, turned the biggest most important thing in her life, the tears finally fall. The ocean is subdued, no wind and no currents. It has become a river and it flows quietly in columns and columns of pain.
She drowns and surfaces and drowns again. She cries it away, because the being she’s given birth to is not a child, not a little pathetic cliché cherub.
The being she’s given birth to is the despair of falling in love.