All the Little Things.

Leo told me I should write all this down, so here. God, where do I even begin? Leo says I should introduce myself first, write my name, say my story and such. But I don't really care, so why should anybody else? My name is Gemini St. Claire, and I am the pessimist—yes, the pessimist of all pessimists. But that doesn’t matter. I guess I should start, huh?

None of this would have happened if I hadn’t tried to commit suicide, second guess my decision, and then accidentally fall off the ledge of a five story building. No, it wasn’t a dramatic suicide attempt off a seventy story building while I stood at the ledge, stalling for someone to come up and knock some sense into me, or waiting for the police to come with that huge blow-up thing that’s supposed to save me when I jump. No. It was a five story building. In an average town. With average people. Definitely not a movie scene.



It was September 22nd, 2011. I had enough of it, all the bad things. I was about to do it. I was about to commit suicide. Oh my god. I was about to jump off a ledge. Godgodgodgod save me. And then I remembered something my mom said before she died.

"Keep in mind of the little things," she said as she held my hand tightly. "They may be little, but when they add up, they can sure make your day. Make a list, write a song, blog about it, it doesn't matter. Just keep those in mind." And with that thought, all the little things came to me. Dad's chocolate chip and marmalade cookies. Roman's gap-toothed grin he gave me whenever I let him stay up when dad was out. The way the sun always broke through the fog by eleven o'clock in the morning. The visits Mom, Dad, Roman, and I had to New York City on the third Saturday of every month. Sliding all over the wood floors in socks. They flew at me, sailed towards me, walked towards me, all at once, and I tumbled off the ledge, not even hearing myself scream.

Soft, plush feathers flew around me. If there was one thing I knew for sure, it was that the ground was absolutely under no circumstances “fluffy, soft, and plush.” And then this huge jolt came. Keep in mind this happened within a two second time frame, though. I hit the soft whatever and then that jolt came. I lifted my head slowly, my hand touching the back to see if there was any blood and that this was some dream. No blood, just feathers. I opened my eyes once I realised they were squeezed shut only to meet with a set of eyes that were two different colours—one, the left, bright bright green, and the other, the right, a honey-glaze colour that made me thing of Carmel. No, not caramel, the condiment. I think I know the difference between Carmel and caramel. Carmel the city. Carmel-by-the-Sea Carmel.

“Uh, you all right?” My eyes focus on a guy who looks about my age. Scruffy brown hair, light six o’clock shadow.

“Yeah,” I say, dazed. I look down and all I see is more feathers. God damn, what am I lying on? I roll my eyes and internally hit my head as my eyes shift downwards.

“I’m on a couch. I’m on a couch! Seriously? I was about to kill myself, and I land on a couch.” I scoff, shaking my head as if this was complete and utter blasphemy.

“So I’m assuming you tried to kill yourself, but you landed on my couch, which completely fucked your plan up?” The boy says drily. My eyes meet his.

“Well, that was the original plan, killing myself. But then I had second thoughts and all at once, a bunch of things just hit me at full force and I tumbled off the ledge. And landed on the couch. Yeah.” I say, nodding my head.

“Sorry my couch ruined your death.” he says, and I raise a wary eyebrow.

“What?” I ask. He immediately holds his hand out.

“I’m Leo Thornwood, nineteen years of age. I just moved here, hence the couch that you happened to land on while I was dragging it. I like to think of myself as an optimist, and you just heard my elevator speech.”

I don’t take his hand. Elevator speech. What.

“Elevator speech?” I ask, confused.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” he says, then laughs awkwardly, raising a hand to scratch the back of his head. “It’s basically a speech you give to someone or a group of people you’re in an elevator with, and you’re just supposed to ramble off facts about yourself until you reach your floor.”

“We’re not in an elevator.” I say bluntly, now in a sitting position on the couch. As he moves to sit by me on his couch in the middle of the street, he says, “I know. What’s your elevator speech?”

“Hm…” I say, genuinely thinking of something I can use in my “elevator speech.” “Well,” I start off. “My name is Gemini St. Claire and I am at the tender age of nineteen as well. I did not just move here, hence the couch I was not dragging around. I find myself to be a pessimist, and you just heard my elevator speech.”

Leo grins before saying, “Pessimist, huh?” I smile back. “Yeah.” He holds out his hand once more, and this time I take it. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but I’m an optimist.” I nod my head, silently telling him, “I noticed.”

“Did you know that opposites attract?” And just like that, I am rolling my eyes and laughing along with Leo, on his plush, faded yellow couch—one that probably has many tears in it, hence the feathers flying around us—right in the middle of the sidewalk as people look at us oddly. And I don't mind.