Specifics on the General Idea

“What are we doing?”

Shrugging, I looked to my right and laughed. The air was thick with humidity and her hair was a mess, sprawled everywhere. I tried to keep my mind off the contrast: white-blonde vibrant against dark earth. Even in the middle of the night, eyes bloodshot as hell, she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I was halfway sure I was in love with her, but that could’ve been the drugs talking.

“I don’ know.”

She didn’t say anything. There was a sincerity in her silence, like she didn’t want to say the wrong thing and ruin the fluidity of everything she did. In all the months I’d known her, she never made one mistake. Life was too fragile for that, she’d always say. She said she’d rather spend her time moving forward than always having to go back to fix mistakes. As a man composed solely of mistakes, I couldn’t relate. I spent such a large portion of my life fucking up and trying to figure out how to fix it.

“It’s terrifying, isn’t it?” she asked, slowly dragging her arm upward to point at the sky. I tried to follow where she pointed but I could barely see. “It’s so…big up there. And we’re so tiny. And we still act like our problems are the most important.”

The spliff felt miniature between my fingers. I brought it to my lips and inhaled, resisting the urge to cough myself dizzy. “Sometimes they are.”

She turned to look at me. Barely visible was a gleam of mischief in her eyes. In the darkness of the night they looked black but I knew better. They were the colour of the ocean in the middle of the day, when the sun shone on it brightly: some indistinguishable combination of blues and greens. Now they looked like the ocean when there was nothing to shine upon it but the moon: an endless abyss of black.

“We’re never the most important. We like to think we are, but we’re not. We’re selfish.”

I laughed. She was always so serious, so philosophical, that I couldn’t keep up. She’d search for knowledge in the smallest things; inspiration in the most bland; comfort in the most appalling. I think that’s why she chose me when she could’ve had anyone. I had nothing to offer her. Nothing about me was philosophical or sophisticated like I assumed the normal company she kept was. Whiskey meant more to me than academia; a joint held more significance than Carl Jung.

“You think you’ve got the world figured out?”

She shrugged, moving to rest on her elbows. Her silhouette was flawless. Even in my drug-induced haze I could make out every curve of her body, every wisp of light hair that was out of place and every new indentation left behind from a scar. Sometimes we’d go weeks without seeing each another. Her effortless beauty always took my breath away when we’d finally see one another again. I’d traveled all over the world and had never met someone quite as exquisite. Deep down I knew I never would.

“It’s not as complicated as everyone thinks, Matthew.”

The way she said my name sent chills up my spine. There was a calm breeze sweeping through the clearing but that wasn’t the cause. Her voice was as innocent as she hoped to be, causing every wrong I’d ever committed to flash before my eyes every time she spoke. She made me remember things I never wanted to, reminding me that my entire being was flawed. When I started to soar above the clouds she pulled me down, reminding me that I was real, that in the grand scheme of things I was nothing.

“Don’t ruin the ending for me.”

“I wouldn’t,” she replied. “I couldn’t, really. I’ve finished my journey and you’ve barely begun yours.”

She did this all the time — talking in codes, referencing ancient hieroglyphs only the most experienced cryptologist would understand. I never bothered to ask what she was talking about. High, I could listen to her talk for hours. She must’ve revealed all the secrets of the universe to me one hundred times yet I couldn’t recite a single one. Sober, I couldn’t bear to be around her. There was a vulnerable honesty in her sobriety that I couldn’t surround myself with out of fear I’d adopt it. I was no use to anyone sober.

“I’m leaving again.”

She nodded. “I know. I bought you a map.”

She did that all the time, too: bought me things when she knew I was going away. They were all useful enough to be disguised as necessary, but we both knew she bought them so I wouldn’t forget her.

“You know I don’t use them.”

“I know,” she said again.

“Will you be here when I get back?”

I hoped she would be — she always was — but my worst fear was that she’d realise how much better she could do than me. Having nothing to offer her tore me apart. A few mixed tapes and plastic baggies filled with drugs weren’t a solid foundation. To my pleasure she never spoke about it. If she was going to leave me one day I’d never know it. Maybe that’s what scared me the most, not knowing what the future had in store. That’s how she lived, how she preferred her life to be: an endless source of the unknown. She wanted to figure it out.

“Aren’t I always?” She took another hit from the joint, her lips forming a perfect O-shape as she exhaled the smoke from her lungs. “I might be sleeping when you get back.”

“What does that mean?”

She shrugged. “I could be tired. Or dead. I might need a nap. And then I would be asleep when you get home.”

Things were always that black or white to her. There was very little colour in her world and at times I thought I was it. Nothing in my life was this or that. Everything had a reason but not everything a purpose. Whatever she brought into her life was meaningful. Nothing ever was just because except for me. I was the only colour in her world because I was meaningless. She could dispose of me and the intricate weavings of her life would still be in tact. Why she kept me around was the only thing about her I couldn’t figure out.

“Can I tell you something?”

She smiled. Her eyes closed slowly, like a woman’s do when she takes the first bite of a delicious dessert and wants to commit the flavor to memory. “I know.”

“I didn’ even say anything.”

Those dark orbs were open again and staring right through me. “You’re in love with me, Matty.”

If I’d ever been through something half as uncomfortable I couldn’t recall when. When someone sees through you so easily it’s terrifying. We, as humans, try so hard to hide ourselves, to compartmentalise our lives into tiny boxes to keep locked away in the attic of our minds. To have someone look at you and know exactly what they contain does something you can’t quite relate to any emotion you’ve felt before. You feel cheap, liberated, vulnerable. You feel free.

“I am in love with you.”

Her mind was someplace else. Love didn’t mean much to her from what I’d gathered over the months. Perhaps she’d never felt it; perhaps she’d never given it. Me telling her I loved her was such a small and insignificant act that it flew right by her. It should’ve hurt. I should’ve wanted her to love me back, to instill in me the smallest bit of hope so it wouldn’t hurt as much when I hit rock bottom. It didn’t. I felt empty in the most incredible way.

“What are your dreams?”

“I want to be known for my music.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” she asked.

Music, to her, was nothing more than life. Not in the same way that everyone claims it to be, but life performed symphonies only she could hear. Everyone wants to be known for something because they can’t bear the thought of leaving the world with nothing by which to be remembered. I didn’t know what she would leave behind, if anything at all, but she’d known all along. She’d been preparing.

“I just want people to remember me.”

“We’re too small to be remembered, Matthew.” Another waft of smoke. “We’re nothing more than a dot, a speck of dust on the universe’s lens. Why do we think we’re so fuckin’ important?”

I shrugged. “We don’t want to die for nothing.”

“And yet we all do. We die only because we can’t live forever. That’s nothing.”

She stood and offered me her hand. There was nothing but miles of midnight landscapes in front of us; the clear midnight sky above. When she began walking, I let her go. Her silhouette slowly got smaller the further she went and not once did she turn around to make sure I was following. It didn’t matter if I was. Life was nothing but an adventure to her and it didn’t matter if she went at it alone. It mattered to me. I wanted to embark on it with her. I wanted to solve her mysteries and break her riddles. I wanted to know every secret of the universe she’d figured out while I was too stoned to pay attention. I wanted to fall all the way in love with her and never look back.

“What are we doing?”

She shrugged. “We’re living, Matty.”