Can't You See?

Caden was a writer. A brilliant writer, from whom words flowed like breath, a writer who could use the most blunt and basic of words to form beautiful images and stories in the mind of the reader. She was more comfortable with a pen in hand than a rugby ball or dance slippers on her feet. Give her a blank sheet of paper, however, and she could produce art.

Ironically, she was a very closed conversationalist. She knew it - her friends never missed a chance to remind her. ‘Open up,’ they said. ‘Let us know what you feel once in a while. We want to know.’

But she couldn’t, and she didn’t know why. She could laugh, she could cry, she could argue, but she couldn’t reveal herself emotionally. And it built walls between herself and everybody else.

The same thing was happening now, as she spoke to her godfather. He knew her better than almost anybody else, and yet she refused to open up to him.

“Caden,” he said, smiling very slightly. A knowing smile that always lifted the corners of her lips, too. A smile that she loved. “You’re always so ... ah, what’s the word? So ... solid.”

“Thanks,” she said sarcastically. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” But she smiled.

He laughed. “Ah, you know, you never talk. Which is weird, because you also never shut up.”

Caden raised an eyebrow, confused. “Pardon?”

He picked up cigarette, lit it, went on, “You’ve put up with a lot of crap in your life. You’ve watched people you care about struggle, watched them lose everything and hit rock bottom. You’re the friend who’s always there to pick them back up again, be their shoulder to cry on, maybe give them a little shove in the right direction.” He took a drag of his smoke, exhaling away from her. She hated that he smoked. “You’re the friend everybody can count on. If they need to vent, they go to you. If they don’t know what to do, they ask you for your opinion.”

“That’s a load of crap,” Caden replied, sitting back and crossing her arms. She stuck her feet on the table. “I give terrible advice.”

“I didn’t say they asked for your advice, silly,” he said, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. She laughed. He did that - pretended she was dense, that she didn’t know what he was saying. But he always took her seriously. “I said they wanted your opinion. And you give it to them, whether you think they’ll like it or not. You always say what needs to be said, Caden, but you never say what you need to say.”

Caden sat in silence. This was the kind of conversation she was uncomfortable having - one about herself. Unfortunately, her godfather loved these conversations. She stared at her knees, playing idly with a loose thread on the end of her sleeve. Listened intently, even while she tried her hardest to look disinterested.

“Caden, you never talk about yourself,” he said gently. It wasn’t a consoling voice he said it in, or a scolding one - not even an understanding one. He simply said it, and she knew it was true, but what could she say? Nothing. “You bottle it all up, and you lock it deep down inside, and you deal with it on your own. You’re the strongest person I know. You’ve helped me through tough times in my life, and you know I’m grateful. I’m glad you’re part of my life. But it should be me helping you, Caden. Not the other way around. It should be me listening while you complain about your life. Complaining about how your friends take it for granted that you’ll be there, that your life is great so you should never complain. That’s the problem, though - because that’s what they expect, that’s what you give them. Silence about your feelings. Like you have no feelings.”

“I don’t,” she muttered, grinning halfheartedly.

“Yes you do.” And now his voice was knowing, and she looked up to see him smiling slightly at her again, taking a drag of his cigarette. “I know you, Caden, even though you never tell me anything about yourself. I watch you deal with the shit in your life silently, watching as your friends go to Hell. Sometimes they come back, sometimes they don’t. You don’t drink, or do drugs, or have sex. You don’t rebel. You’re strong enough to say no to the things that would influence you badly. You’re strong enough to watch your Grandfather die for three months.”

Caden clenched her teeth, and looked away. She wasn’t angry with him for bringing it up. She just wished he hadn’t.

“I’m glad, Caden, that you came to me when you needed somebody. But you never talk. Why do you shut people out, Caden? Why do you take life on your own, without asking for help? It’s not a bad thing to do. I just don’t understand why silence is what you resort to. Why you don’t talk to me, and you pretend it doesn’t matter.”

Caden laughed shakily. A tear ran down her cheek, and she looked at him, smiling sadly. “Can’t you see?” she said softly. “It’s killing me.”