Misery in Mosaics

I'm beginning to find that the more life goes on the more people become increasingly repulsive. With their heads filled up with so much self-pity, their empathy or any consciousness of what's happening outside of their life is pushed over the brim and spills onto the floor. Their pessimistic and selfish.

Not that I should be the one to talk about empathy.

Looking at my sister at the table, it's all I could do to keep from vomiting at the horrendous sight. Grieving over a lost relationship may be understandable, but a grown woman doing so for three weeks is not only sad and pathetic, but slightly unnerving. She's missing bills, missing appointments, missing life. All she's been doing is drinking coffee so she can stay awake and watch movies or stare at the newspaper, as if she's learning about a world she stopped caring for weeks ago.

My coffee cup hit the table with a clank, her slow reflexes bringing her head up seconds after. She didn't smile or say a word. Instead, she blinked as if waiting for me to say something, waiting for me to move her along so she wouldn't have to do it herself, give her direction as if I was the older sister here.

"Get out of my house."

Besides misery, confusion was the first emotion she'd shown in three weeks. "What?"

"You heard me. Get out of my house. Go home. Get another job. Go to a bar. Go feed your cat. Just get out of my house."

Her mouth moved soundlessly, as if she had no one to help her articulate any words and she was left on her own, only halfway completing the action. Because that's all she knew how to do alone.

"You're scared, right? Is that what you're going to tell me next? You're terrified of being alone? You're scared you're gonna die with no one by your side? Well, that's how it's gonna be sometimes. You're gonna die a little every time someone leaves you. and the more people you bring into your life, the more that leave, and it's that much closer you've brought yourself to death alone. You've got to get used to being alone. If you don't you'll just be buried miserable years after your death. So get out of my house."

The frozen stare she gave didn't affect me, I could wait for her to thaw out. Once she did, her words chocked her twice before clawing out of her mouth. "I don't know what to do, I feel like everything shattered and I can't figure out what pieces go where."

I looked over at her and picked up my coffee cup, taking a sip. "Make a mosaic."

"What?"

"Make a mosaic. Gather all your confusion and make it make sense in the way that you want it to. Don't mope in my living room all day because you're pretty stained glass picture broke."

Once again, her mouth moved but nothing came out. I contemplated giving her the time to answer, but my patience had frayed like an over-worn sweater. Instead, I helped her off the ground and held her an arms length away.

"I love you. I don't want you to feel bad anymore. But for you to feel better you have to be alone, and I don't want to let you stay here and be the cause of your pain. So please. Go home. Yes, this whole situation may make you feel like such a tragedy, but if you learned anything from all the movies you've watched it should be this; life is a tragedy. That doesn't mean it has to be sad."

For a moment there was only that blank look in her eyes. Then a tear slowly formed in the corner and she nodded her head in a reluctant understanding. Her frail arms wrapped around my waist as she asked the question that made me more happy than any other words could have. "Will you pack for me?"

"Yeah," I smiled. "I'll pack."

Stranger Than Fiction taught me that all life is tragedy. But that doesn't mean it had to be sad.