“I drank to drown my sorrows, but the damned things learned how to swim.”
—Frida Kahlo
An abundance of merry. That’s what it was. It was another mediocre family reunion, as per Grandpa’s request. The adults were in distinct little droves; little discussion groups. They drank and laughed and conversed like they hadn’t seen each other for decades. The last reunion had only been seven months before. The kids—my cousins—were running around everywhere. Some were riding bikes, playing cards, chasing each other in the grass, playing hide-and-seek, and whatnot. All the older ones were inside, that is, if they hadn’t all gone to the movies. I had preferred to stay.
I got tired of sipping soda while listening to people talk about the same stuff over and over again, so I got out. It was even noisier. Noisier…I don’t know. I found a spot away from most and sat on the grass. It was nice. The sun had just set. Dusk and everything. I was still holding my soda, looking at the first few stars to show. It felt childish. Something I hadn’t done in a long while.
Then a kid came and stood next to me. I think his name was Eddy.
“Shhh. Don’t tell them I’m here. Is this a good hiding spot?” he was whispering.
I looked around. There was an old pickup truck a few yards away. “I think that’s a good spot,” I pointed, and the kid agreed with a nod.
“Why are you here all by yourself? You should go listen to Grandpa. He has so many stories. He sits on his old couch and tells you stories. He’s also a really good listener. He listens and knows everything.”
He said it all with such enthusiasm. But before I could think I replied, “No one knows everything, Eddy. Not even Grandpa.” So he shot me a weird look and ran off to crouch behind the truck. I sighed. But it was true.
No one knows everything.
Yet I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I liked thinking. Thinking about anything, and nothing, and everything, and everyone, and thinking itself. If I were given a whole day to just sit and do whatever I wanted, I bet I’d just find a spot and think so hard that I fell asleep. My aunt said I thought of bad things. That my thoughts were unhealthy. And that I used to attempt terrible things when I was younger. It didn’t make sense until it got to the point I needed to see a doctor. He talked on and on about rumination and positive thinking. It sounded horrible.
What I didn’t know was that I wasn’t the only one who had terrible things. Some of my relatives did, too. Some looked pretty normal, and it was disturbing every time they laughed so audibly. Like they were hiding something. One of my cousins had had depression for almost a year, and it was rumored that his whole family had problems as well. Once, a group of people had tried to take away his father, probably to some institution, but he had hurled insults at them until they went away…I kept thinking and thinking.
I was interrupted by a bunch of kids who were suddenly flanking me on all sides in a semi-circle. “Have you seen Eddy?” one of them asked. “We’ve been looking for him everywhere.” I didn’t say anything. There was silence. Then we could all hear someone crying. It was from behind the truck. The whole team ran over. Eddy had curled up and was sobbing as quietly as he could. He was surprised to see all of us.
“I thought you were all gone,” he quivered amid sniffs, “I thought you had left me alone here.” It was pitiful. Just pitiful.
That evening as I sat on my bed, I realized that everyone has their demons—something that troubles them. Sometimes they know it, times they don’t. It creeps into their heads and befriends them, so they think it’s harmless, but it starts eating away from the inside. It’s only painful when it’s over. I hope it won’t be too late for us.
Strong writing. An insightful peer inside someone’s thoughts. Excellent.
A wonderful story. So beautifully written.. I loved reading this!