The Light and the One Just Like Me

I could see a familiar yet unfamiliar face staring right at me from the other side of the glass.

The face belonged to a normal boy. A boy with his hair cut to the normal length, functional eyes that looked just a little grey under the unfortunate lighting, and just enough baby fat on his face to look exactly his age. Christopher was like any boy you see when you walk into a normal school on a normal day. Someone that anyone would forget within a few minutes after meeting him since there isn’t anything unique to remember him by. He has no quirks, no peculiarity, and there was nothing eccentric at all about this boy.

He was the definition of normal. Yet, as Christopher smiled at me with that normal face and a normal tilt of his head a little to the left, I felt a wave of discomfort through my veins and cringed in disgust.

There was nothing wrong with that smile, of course. It looked normal, just like the rest of him was. Yet there was something about the way that he smiled that just felt so wrong to me, that I had to turn away to run from the uneasiness I felt.

There was something about him that other people couldn’t see. Something that I could. And I really wished that I couldn’t. Because if I couldn’t, I wouldn’t feel the discomfort that I felt every time he smiled at me, and I wouldn’t have noticed the way he looked at me when I looked back at him.

With disgust. With discomfort. And with a judging glance behind that friendly, normal smile.

I hate him.

I slipped my jacket over my shoulder and walked down the stairs. I really don’t have time for this today. Not that I would’ve stayed in his presence any longer than necessary without a proper reason to leave. Mother had told me that I should visit my Great Grandfather that day, and since it’s a long way there, I had decided that I might as well get there early so I could get back home hopefully before sunrise.

Informing my mother of my departure took way longer than needed, after she stopped me on my way out to fill up my bag with food, presents for my Great Grandfather, as well as an umbrella just in case. “The weather seems to be great right now! The perfect chance to go outside and get some fresh air.” My mother had said before rushing me out the door.

The sun was high in the sky when I made my way into the streets and toward the subway station. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the wind wasn’t going very strong. Yet even under such an ‘ideal weather to go outside,’ I felt suffocating as my grip tightened on the straps of my bag, adjusting it, hoping it would make the uneasy feeling go away.

It doesn’t.

I gave up on fiddling with the straps as I made it underground, my chest painfully tight as I scanned my ticket to enter. Finding where I needed to go was more of a pain than necessary when it requires you to navigate through all six underground floors in hopes of finding the line you need (especially when the map is so hard to read), but I am not the one in charge of how it works so complaining is useless. What isn’t useless, is planning your trip beforehand. And it wasn’t until I was already closing in on my station, have I realized that I had messed up on my calculations.

In the hopes of returning home early, I had completely neglected the importance of checking the traffic beforehand to make sure that I was not going at a busy time. Which I had just completely messed up because right now, early in the morning on a normal weekday, was the perfect time for busy adults who needed to go to work to come and ride the bus. I really had lost track of time and reality ever since summer break had started just four weeks ago.

As you would expect, the subway was full when it arrived, and I was for sure not the only one waiting at this stop. The door opened in front of me, and it was already packed to the front when the people surrounding me pushed me in along with them. Cramped by people from all sides, I was squished like a sardine in a can as the door beeped and closed.

My feet were not touching the ground anymore, and the subway felt like an oven. It was in the middle of July, and since I wore a jacket out of habit, being squished between two hundred people was an absolute nightmare. One that I had no one but myself to blame. To make matters worse, it smelled awful in here. And I was almost positive that the person in front of me did not know how to drink because his shirt reeked of alcohol like he had taken a bathed in it instead of consuming it like a normal person would.

There was also this skunk-like smell coming from the side, mixed with an awful smell that I could not recognize. And to be frank, I don’t think I would ever want to. That felt like a good choice to make, which I still believe is true.

Squeezing off the subway is at least a hundred times harder than getting on the subway because instead of getting pushed in with the flow, you need to squeeze out of a tightly compacted shipping container with people still coming in, stopping you from leaving the vehicle capable of killing more than two hundred people with one single mistake.

I resurfaced till I was standing under the bright sun, this time with greenery around me as I walked to the bus station, catching it right before it left. The bus ride was nice, I actually had a seat right from the start, and there were no tall men around squeezing me between them until I levitated off the ground. Or it could be that I was going to the countryside at normal working hours.

I hadn’t checked my phone until then, since I knew that the second I took it out on the subway, I would never see it again. But since it had been beeping and I had nothing to do, I decided to open it and see. Big mistake.

My phone was flooded with messages from my class chat, talking about the previous exams, the next semester, and what they were going to do this summer vacation. There were pictures of them in Paris, eating Sushi in Japan, and skiing in the mountains in the middle of summer since they had missed the chance in winter. There were smiling faces in all the pictures, blooming with genuine happiness. I closed my phone.

Putting my headphone on like I had been tempted to do since the second I was out the door, I closed my eyes as my surroundings disappeared into nothing but the soft, familiar music playing by my ears. The tension around my chest loosened ever so lightly.

Everyone I know all had some plans for the break. Either getting a job early or going on vacations. As for me, going on this little trip to my Great Grandfather’s was a complete surprise for me, and not something I had planned to do at all after school had ended at the end of June. I had just wanted to stay home and sleep until I needed to go back to school again, where the only thing that truly matters is my grade. And contrary to popular opinion, I didn’t mind going to school because it was way easier to follow instructions than to read a situation and act accordingly.

I didn’t get why people preferred to go home early or were so happy when classes were cancelled. And while I understand the wish to sleep in more often, at least in school, you could make yourself invisible and blend in with the rest. And even if group projects exist and finding a partner had been proven to be difficult, it was still better than having to try to figure out just what exactly it is that you had said wrong, so you can calm down a raging human being from glaring at you from across the room for the rest of the day.

Also, stress is good for you. Or, at least to me, it was a motivator. Since without the pressure to do something, I wouldn’t do it. I wouldn’t do anything but lay on my bed and stare at the ceiling, silently wondering if it could crash down and kill me if I looked at it long enough.

Don’t get me wrong. I am not suicidal. It was just that I was not opposed to the thought of dying. Like, if I was going to die, then so be it, but I won’t seek it purposely, you know what I mean? If you tell me that you read my future and know that I will die if I go to a certain place at what time, I might go, but I won’t commit suicide. After all, pain is awful, and I am not about to subject myself to such horror.

The countryside was very humid. Not sure why. But as I walked past the rocky, muddy road to reach the house on the other side, my chest squeezed uncomfortably, which almost made me turn right around and go back home there and then. But I had already come this far. I was not about to go home without finishing my job after a three-hour trip of pure suffering.

The sun was bright above my head, and crickets chirped from the plants around me. My head was starting to pound the longer I subjected myself to this torture. The road is very long, but the bus doesn’t go this way, so to be able to make it to the house without feeling like the casts of Cats are tap-dancing inside of my skull, I took out the painkillers in my jacket pocket and washed it down my throat with the water that I had stuffed into my bag in a rush on my way out.

It didn’t work for another half an hour. I should’ve known after so long. I had already made it to the house when the headache finally started to die down a bit, and before I even knocked on the door, I rested my head on the wall and squeezed my eyes close. It hurts, and my head felt like exploding. I was sure that people walking by were staring, but I didn’t care at this point. I needed it to stop so I could keep moving and finally go back indoors. It was in the middle of July, on a day with no clouds and minimum wind. I was going to get cooked alive if I had stayed out here any longer.

When I finally made it into the building, greeted by my aunt, who answered the door in place of my Great Grandfather, the air condition felt like bliss, and I had to stop myself from collapsing on the spot.

The mansion that I was in had a longer history than I would ever have, which isn’t saying a lot, so a better explanation would be that it had been standing here for way longer than I had been brought into this world. It had been my Great Grandfather’s ever since my grandmother was my age, and I’ve been told that it hadn’t changed at all besides the addition of air conditioning, which I am most thankful for.

Great-Grandfather was a hundred and ten years old that year. He was, and still is, the most eccentric person I had ever met. Walking into the living room of the house, I was once again reminded of that fact once I spotted him on the veranda in his wheelchair, enjoying the awful weather with a genuine smile and a book in his hand.

“Great Grandpa.” I never truly understood how he always seemed to enjoy what he was doing, even if it seemed like the most mundane thing. He also seemed happy to see me when he had put down his book, and when my aunt pushed him inside, knowing I would not go back to the outside world anytime soon, I smiled back at him with open arms and squeezed him back enthusiastically when he pulled me down into an awkward hug.

“It’s disrespectful to distance yourself from your family members,” I remembered those words in the back of my head like someone was whispering them to me right at that moment. I’ve made this mistake in the past, and I had no intention of doing it again. I am smarter than that. And after years of going to my relatives’ house with my parents, hiding any signs of discomfort came naturally at that point. So even if the hug was awkward and long, and my back had hurt from being in this position in the first place, bending down to accommodate a person in a wheelchair, I smiled and hugged back with passion.

“It’s been a long time,” I told them as I was finally let go to stand up straight once more. My aunt invited me to sit on the couch and went to get some snacks, ruffled my hair and praised me for coming all this way, saying it must’ve been tough and that I shouldn’t have to come if I was busy with other plans. I told her that the trip had been fine and that I wanted to come, that I missed them too. The first half was a lie, but she seemed satisfied, so I had said the correct answer.

Pushing my Great Grandfather’s wheelchair until it faced the couch, I only sat down after he had once again invited me to, even if my legs were killing me, just to be safe. He asked me how I was doing in school. So, just like when anyone asks me this question, I selectively picked only the interesting, humorous, or stories that painted me in a good light to tell.

Like the one time that I got the highest mark in math and creative writing, or the time that one of my classmates randomly started to break dance in the middle of class, it’s what they liked to hear. And when Great Grandfather started laughing at a story that I’ve told, I knew I picked the right ones.

They say that going to your grandparents’ house is always going to make you fat. This is completely true, even if I was in my Great Grandfather’s house and the one feeding me was my aunt. With a tableful of treats and two cups of sweet tea, I hadn’t stopped eating ever since they had appeared in front of my sight. This wasn’t an act of disrespect and I was more than thankful for that because if it were, it would not be pleasant to hold myself back from eating a whole batch of cupcakes in one go.

“Oh, they are not starving you, are they, sweetheart?” My aunt had asked as I stuffed my face with the fifth cupcake within half an hour. “No, of course not!” I told her as I stuffed down a sixth. My parents were feeding me just fine, but they also told me to hold back on sweets since it’s bad for my health. Which is something that I don’t really care about that much, so when the chance is presented in front of me, who was I to let it slip away just like that?

My aunt was smiling with happiness as we talked about this and that, and I was once again reminded of how strong of a woman she was. My aunt was a stay-home mother, but just the year before, his husband and child had died in a car crash, leaving her devastated. I saw her at the funeral, her eyes void of any emotions. I asked if she was doing alright and if she needed something. “I think I forgot how to cry.” she had said as the answer to my question. I got the news a few weeks later from my mother that she had quit her job to come and take care of Great Grandfather.

“Oh, I remember how much I liked to eat sweets back when I was a kid as well!” Great-Grandfather exclaimed as his smile appeared in the form of a young boy, which despite the lack of teeth and his age, still shined with bright excitement and happiness. “I remember when James and I used to run off in the middle of a school day to the candy store, buying ice cream with the only change that we had and having a competition on who finishes them first!” Great-Grandfather laughed as he told me his story. “He always lost and ended up buying me lunch for a whole week after every loss! He was determined to win at least once, yet he never did! Ah, the good old times.”

Great-Grandfather had talked a lot about James, and I felt like I’d known this person my whole life without having even met the man once. James, apparently, was a boy that lived in the same neighbourhood as my Great Grandfather, and they practically grew up together. They were best friends, they were rivals, and they were the reason that both of them had ended up living past the age of a hundred in good health.

They bet on who can live longer, who gets to laugh the last laugh, and they took care of each other through the darkest of times to continue this bet instead of sabotaging each other to win. They were the type of rivals who strive to surpass the other but also get absolutely furious when the other tries to give up. And as stressful as this relationship might sound, if it got Great Grandfather to this age with an unwavering smile still a presence on his face even if James had long passed away, therefore losing his side of the bet, I might’ve been a little jealous of such a relationship at the time. I thought that maybe it could’ve given my life meaning as well. Even if it’s just out of pure spite to live longer than someone in a competitive bet, it had seemed way more meaningful than my mindset of just making it past the day.

No, that’s not right. It was not their relationship that I was jealous about. It’s Great Grandfather himself. I still remember the first time I came to his house with my mother many years ago, and he hadn’t changed since. We stayed for the entire summer, and he brought me everywhere around town despite Younger Me’s protests, determined to show me everything he liked about the world.

He was always smiling, always enjoying everything he was doing, eyes looking at every new thing with the brightest glow of curiosity, enjoying life to its fullest potential. I didn’t understand him, and I still don’t. It was like observing a completely different species. It was very intriguing, but also, it was incredibly frustrating. It was like watching someone who has something or knows something that you don’t. He was blinding to watch sometimes, glowing brightly without a cloud above his head. And just like how I don’t really enjoy being under the sun. It was suffocating. It was painful. Yet despite all that, I kept coming back there without a single protest out of my mouth.

It was purely dark out when I left Great Grandfather’s to head home, way past the time when most people would call curfew. But this is what happens when you go visit your family. Even with the most distant relatives, it is always impossible to leave until they realize that it is way past midnight and that you have a place to return to. The perks of this realization being so late is that when I was walking back down the same road that I came from early that morning, there was no sun above my head cooking me alive, nor was there that painful headache that made me stop in my track every fifteen minutes, thinking that maybe jumping into the closest body of water and drowning myself would be less painful than this.

The bad part of going home at that time of day was that when you are out in public well after midnight, you see what you couldn’t when travelling under the protection of the morning light. While waiting for the bus to arrive, there was a man sleeping on the public bench, taking up the whole thing. He looked like he hadn’t taken a bath in a while, and something about him told me that I shouldn’t be anywhere near him as I stood a good six feet away.

The man does not need the bus. As I got on the only bus that ever came and left this place, the man stayed sleeping on the bench. And while he could’ve just missed his bus, it didn’t feel like he planned on leaving that bench in the first place.

It was impossible to see anything outside the bus window in the middle of the night as the light reflected off the windows and turned them into mirrors, so I didn’t bother looking outside, knowing all I would see was the reflection of myself. Instead, I leaned back against the seat and closed my eyes.

It was almost silent in the bus, with blinking lights that clearly showed the quality of the vehicle I was in. There were only three other people on the regular-sized public transit. And with only the sound of the engine filling up the shaking vehicle, it was not hard to understand how the lady in the sideways seat a few rows in front of me was fast asleep while hugging her bag.

I don’t like noise, but at the same time, silence frightens me. Having no sounds around me gave my brain absolutely no distractions to go by, and having all my thoughts overthinking themselves all at once is just the definition of horror. And it was at times like this that a certain thought tended to pop up in my mind head. The driver could really just drive us anywhere he wanted, and no one would’ve questioned it until we had already arrived. He is perfectly capable of selling us off to human traffickers just for a quick grab of cash any time he wants. And if he does so with a bus of merely four defenceless, everyday citizens, the risk is so low that he might just get away with it without a scratch.

We are insignificant. People whom the police could care less about. Whom they would drop the search for if literally, any other case were to pop up. And that was not a good thought to have when you are on a bus with three other defenceless citizens and a bus driver whom I couldn’t seem to trust. Thankfully, the bus arrived safely at my stop, and I was able to get off just fine before I was forced to continue my trip through something way worse. Also known as making it in and out of the metro system alive in the dead of night.

Suppose the chances are that you have never been in the unfortunate situation where you are forced to ride the subway for any reason after the clock has turned two full cycles. In that case, just let me tell you that it will be nothing like what you see when the sun is still up in the sky.

The station will be completely silent besides the sound of your own feet walking on the ground. And no matter what your eyes tell you, your brain will never be truly convinced that you are alone in the dark tunnel going to your stop. And if you manage to make it into the room with light without turning back and calling a taxi instead, you are going to see people. Not a lot, but they are there. Though, they are not always there for the underground trains like you are. For example, the drunken man that was slumped against the wall and spat out slurred swears as I walked past him was definitely not here to go on line 55.

And just like with the bus, it was way less crowded in the subway than the sardine can from that morning. There was barely anyone there. On the seats facing me, there was a little girl sleeping on her father, snoring away while the father, with an unshaved beard that just seemed sad, scrolled on his phone with an exhausted look and heavy eye bags.

In the almost silent ride, anything can seem overwhelmingly loud. And with my headphone out of battery from me forgetting to charge them the day before, unaware of my little trip today, the conversation between the two grown adults standing near the door could be heard loud and clear.

“Can I borrow a few bucks? Just a few, and I’ll give you back as soon as I earn it back!” One said to another, both seemed to be fresh out of college, “I really need a drink, and soon, or I don’t think I can make it, man. I beg you.” I didn’t understand the appeal of alcohol. It is a drink that makes you lose your rationality and makes you throw up uncomfortably, not to mention the headache that follows the next time you wake up. But it seems especially popular with adults, and it was really not the first time that I’ve heard someone say that not drinking would cost their life.

“You still haven’t given me back for the last three times I lent you money, you know? And I’m also a little low on cash recently, so sorry.” I’ve also heard this one a lot as a response to the previous question, and it had never ended well. Like expected, the one begging shoved the one that lent them money three times already and sent him tumbling down to the ground on a moving subway.

The subway was getting close to a random stop. I got off before the fight could escalate.

The door closed behind me, and the subway left. I got out of the one vehicle that could get me home, and the next one would come in fifteen minutes. I couldn’t feel the comfort of being alone when the place was so big that it could make you feel like there could be a murderer waiting to strike in the corner where you couldn’t see. I had sensed a presence behind me at the time but didn’t dare look back. I didn’t know if I would’ve made it out alive. It was when the next train arrived had I ran right inside, willing for the door to close. Looking out the window and back into the room where I was staying, I saw his face staring right back at me before the train took off, leaving the memory of what I saw in an unrecognizable blur.

Now that there was no one fighting, I had no reason to leave the safety of the train for another seemingly abandoned station until I reached my destination. Yet, I couldn’t help but think back to the father and little girl I had seen before. Were they doing alright? Have they left the train as well after the fight had escalated? Had the young girl, no older than six, gotten woken up by the fight and cried? Did the fight end up so bad that the police got involved? Probably due to having a younger sister at home, this particular event stuck with me longer than things like this usually do. Questions flooded my head, and since the aftertaste of it was bitter, I stopped focusing on them.

I was tired.

When I got home, there was not a sound in the house besides the dishwasher that buzzed from the kitchen. Shoes off, my jacket thrown to the side, I ended up falling face-first onto my bed. I would take a bath after being outside for so long today, but that would take effort, which I don’t want to have to do. And since it also takes effort to move under the sheets, I didn’t bother. On top of the covers, face down onto the mattress, that’s where I ended up sleeping that night.

I didn’t wake up until noon the next day.b