The Eyes of the Universe

And before I knew it, it was day again.

The sun cycles around the Earth, whether we want it to or not. The sun, like everything else, will eventually end, in a fiery death that will be the second hottest and biggest death in history.

And yet, it still cycles.

Every day, light makes its way onto every sliver of the earth as the fiery sun rises from the unknown abyss of space. One fateful morning the sun tickled my eyes and I woke up, neither sad nor happy, simply alive. I yawned.

I was not looking forward to the day ahead; rather, I was dreading it as I dreaded every day of my life. It took me a long time to realize that I was dreading being alive.

When I stepped outside the cold burned the tips of my fingers and nose and the desaturated sky and clouds filled me with hopeless melancholy as I quickened my pace along the sidewalk.

Looking back on this day I wonder what it would be like if I hadn’t woken up that day, or if I had never woken up at all, or if I had died when I had the chance. I suppose wondering helps nobody but Death himself, whose grimy talons draw nearer to my chest every time I think about that day and how it could have been different. But such is the nature of a human brain, mine in particular, and as I am one who is prone to regretting things I could not help, I welcome Death. I did then, and I do now. For a hopeful sliver of time I did not, and when I look back on the times my life got brighter it always goes back to that day.

That day, when I had missed my bus and ran across the street, almost getting hit by multiple cars in the process because I had neglected to look both ways. That day, when I stumbled, breathless and numb, into the dull and bleak office building in which I spent eight hours of every day.

That day, when I first saw her face.

I had heard her sweet voice, almost like a bird’s call, which prompted me to turn around and see her. I wish I could forget what she looked like. I wish I could forget her curly red hair that came down to her shoulders, and her green eyes, and the freckles that I would later fall asleep counting. I wish I could forget her one crooked tooth that was the reason she smiled with her mouth closed, and the mole on her left breast that was the reason she did not wear low-cut shirts, but of course she was destined to be burned into my heart forever. I wish I could forget her first words to me.

“Hello, I’m new here. Would you mind showing me to my desk?”

Of course, I didn’t mind. What a coincidence that our desks were next to each other! I think I made a joke, but of course, the only thing I remember is her laugh, like a tinkling of sweet bells that will, unfortunately, be stored in my brain to be replayed over and over, especially when I don’t want it to.

She told me her name was Phoenix. I said that it was lovely to meet her. It was.

“How long have you worked here?” She asked.

“About eight years,” I answered.

“Well, I’m looking forward to making your acquaintance.” She gave me a tight-lipped yet polite smile. I sadly chuckle to myself now knowing that we would become more than acquaintances. In fact, I don’t think we were ever less than what we turned out to be; perhaps we were always connected at the heart and joined at the hip.

Nobody knows who decides destiny. I know I sure don’t; if I controlled my own destiny then why would things be going the way they are now? What higher power decided to curse me from the start with a cruel and unfortunate end, even if the journey ended up being one of the best times of my life? Why is happiness now only a distant memory, filtered in vintage black and white, slipping forever further and further away from me?

I remember going home that evening and crying into the mirror, frustrated with the fact that I was doomed to be myself forever, and that no woman such as her would ever love anyone who was even a little bit similar to me. It seemed that fate had betrayed me since birth and that all of my unfortunate circumstances are merely a result of something about myself I could not change.

I thought about how easy it would be to die and how much less weight I would have to carry on my shoulders. I then thought about how she was looking forward to making my acquaintance, and who was I to deny her that right?

When I slept that night I dreamt of her, and when I woke up she was the first thing on my mind.

A week into our acquaintanceship I met her fiancé. I do not remember his real name, as in my mind I referred to him only as Tybalt. Believe it or not, I did not like him very much.

Jealousy is like a creature that takes control over the minds of those who are unsatisfied with their own selves and feeds off of negativity. Jealousy caused my heart and brain to turn on themselves and engage in self-destructive habits, as I was forced to carry on with a straight face and occasionally attempt to crack a smile.

Tybalt wasn’t all bad. At least he seemed to make Phoenix happy, something I longed to do myself. I thought I would never be able to see her smile at me as if I was the only one in the world who could possibly manage to make her happy. I was wrong, but not foolishly so. I don’t think anybody could have guessed what would become of our relationship, least of all she or I. Perhaps the universe knew, and the answers to all of my old questions laid amongst the stars, waiting for me to discover on my own that we were always destined to be a pair.

But whether or not that was the case, I definitely did not expect anything to happen between us, which resulted in more feelings of hopelessness that followed me wherever I went, latching onto me, always watching and never fading until that one night when everything changed.

We were both working late. I remember her walking into the room after being on the phone with her fiancé. Something was obviously bothering her, but I found it best not to pry. I did not need to anyway; as soon as she sat back down at her desk opposite me she immediately burst into tears. I instantly walked over to her chair and knelt down beside her, placing a friendly hand on her arm. She wrapped me in a hug, burying her face in my shoulder. I felt her tears soak into my shirt. I asked if she wanted to talk about whatever was wrong, and the only reply I received was a muffled no.

With her arms still around my neck, she lifted her face off my shoulder and looked me in the eyes. My breath stopped and my heart began to beat so hard the building seemed to shake. I hoped she wouldn’t notice, but I know she did.

It didn’t matter anyway, because the next thing she did was kiss me.

It took me a few seconds to process it, mostly because I didn’t believe it was happening. I thought I was vividly hallucinating, or that I had miraculously died and somehow gotten into my own version of Heaven, despite being told by myself and countless others that I did not deserve a happy afterlife.

After a few seconds she pulled away, and as I grounded myself I knew that what had happened was real and that I was alive. I was also confused.

“I’m sorry.” She looked down at the ground.

“Please don’t be.” I was unsure as to why she was apologizing to me, as the past few seconds were probably the best of my life at that point.

She told me that her engagement was an arranged one made by her family to keep her from living her truth and that she was just like me; alone and helpless in a world that couldn’t care less.

I told her my story and about how I was all alone. She listened. She then gave me a weak yet genuine smile and told me that I wasn’t completely alone. I put my hand on her cheek and kissed her again. She let me.

I couldn’t sleep that night. My heart raced and my mind buzzed. My hands would not stop shaking and I could not stop smiling. I think that night I realized that I could potentially be happy. Maybe.

That’s probably the reason why it hurt so much to see Tybalt standing at her desk the next day at work, holding a bouquet of butterfly weed flowers out to her. She took them, even though her favorite flowers were calla lilies. I don’t remember how I found that out, but I will remember that small detail for the rest of my life. She shot him a clearly fake half-smile. When she caught sight of me her eyes silently apologized. I silently forgave her.

I think the night we kissed was the night my life began. It was the first time I was ever truly myself. Ironically, it was when I was doing something that I had been told all my life was wrong. I still don’t know how Phoenix felt about that night or any of the countless nights we spent together after that, but I think she felt the same way I did.

The first time she went over to my apartment was about a month after we’d kissed for the first time. We hadn’t discussed the kiss or anything related to it since then. I had previously given her my address to discuss a work issue but the plans had been dissolved due to other unforeseen circumstances. One night she showed up at my doorstep soaking wet due to the rain. She was crying and had a bruise on her face.

“I’m sorry. I really can’t be at home right now. Not with him there.” I told her it was okay, and that she could come over whenever she’d like to. She smiled and thanked me.

I asked her what had prompted her to come over and why she had a bruise on her face. She told me about a fight she had with her fiancé, and all the while I cursed the universe for putting her with someone like him and wished that she could openly be with someone like me. I told her I was sorry, and she just hugged me in response. As I held her in my arms I wished I could protect her forever. I felt like I would do anything for her to be safe and happy. I still do, but now there’s nothing I could possibly do.

After a few moments of silence, she broke the hug and looked at the ground. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about when we kissed.”

My breath caught in my throat, yet I still barely managed to tell her that I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it either.

“I have really strong feelings for you,” I confessed, against my better judgment. I felt I had been too silent for too long, and with my gaze fixed onto the floor, I told her the only thoughts that had been running through my head since I had first laid eyes on her. “I haven’t felt this way about anyone else before and I can only hope you feel for me a fraction of what I feel for you.”

There was silence for a few moments. I looked up at her to see a toothy grin shining back at me.

“I feel the same way. I never thought…” She trailed off, flustered. I smiled and sighed with relief, then closed the gap between us with a long and passionate kiss.

That was the first night we made love. I can still feel her hands on my body, holding onto my hair for dear life, as if she could slip away at any moment.

It was new, and exciting, and felt so right despite my manipulated moral compass telling me that it was nothing but wrong. Being with her that way made me feel like I was the sky and she was my sun; she made me bright and happy as I cradled her warmth and beauty in my arms.

Later that night she fell asleep facing me. My arms were wrapped around her as her body moved with slow and steady breaths. I looked at her peaceful and angelic face as her eyes fluttered with dreams. I wrapped my arms tighter around her and felt her hand cover mine in response. Her eyes still closed, she smiled. I smiled and closed my eyes in preparation for sleep, thanking the universe as I drifted off into my first blissful sleep in what seemed like forever.

I attended her wedding that spring.

The night before she had come to me crying, saying that she did not want to marry her Tybalt but that she had no choice. I told her to get married, and that I would be there supporting her no matter what.

So the next day, with the ghost of my kiss still on her lips, she got married.

I was neither a bridesmaid nor a maid of honor; she said that if I was up there at the altar with her she feared that she would ask the priest to marry me and her right then and there. Instead, I sat in the front row. I watched her walk down the aisle, looking as ethereal as ever in her white dress. She looked at me and smiled sadly before assuming her position opposite her betrothed.

I don’t remember much about that day. It was probably cut out of my memory for the sake of my own sanity. I remember watching her first dance with her husband. I remember the marigold and white rose bouquets that adorned the tables, which I spent the majority of my time looking at as I sat in silence by myself.

I remember passing her and feeling her gentle touch on my arm as her hot breath whispered, “Meet me in the bathroom in five minutes.” I think I waited for about two minutes before finding her positioned in front of a sink, her head in her hands. The lace of her dress was smooth under the touch of my fingers, and her blue-painted fingers (her “something blue”) cupped my cheek as she bid me a temporary goodbye.

She and Tybalt left for their week-long honeymoon immediately following the reception, and I remember missing her terribly for that entire week.

On the day of her return, I woke up early and cleaned my entire apartment about five times until I heard the doorbell ring in the late afternoon, a few hours after she said she would be over.

“I’m sorry I’m late, I-” I cut her off with a hug, and she exhaled and hugged me back.

“It’s okay. I’m just so happy you’re here.”

“Me, too. I’ve had the most awful week being without you.” I pulled away from the hug.

“I was just about to say the same.”

She looked away from me and I knew that she had something to say because of the way her eyes clouded and the shadow of a question crossed over her lips for a split second. I asked her to tell me what was on her mind, and she shook her head before complying.

“I’m only ever happy when I’m with you. I want to be with you all the time. I want to live with you. I want to fall asleep next to you each night, and wake up with you every morning. You brighten my day, so it feels as if I should begin and end each day with you, right?”

I smiled at her. “I’ve wanted the same thing since I first saw you.”

She smiled back at me. “I’ve already told Tybalt I only married him to placate my family, and he hates me anyway, so I don’t even think he expects me to live with him.”

I wondered how anyone could ever hate someone such as her, but some people are solely irrational.

I so vividly remember our time living together that I could probably explain each night in detail. We would spend hours talking, kissing, and loving, and rarely being unhappy. The night that sticks out the most in my memory is when we had just finished eating, and the smooth sounds of a slow song crept into the apartment from downstairs. I took her hand and placed my other on her waist, and her free hand rested on my shoulder.

I looked at her and immediately felt my eyes well up with the happiest tears that had ever been cried. I thought about my life, and what it had taken to get to that point, and all the times I could have given up, and I felt blessed that everything lined up correctly so that I could reach that moment of pure bliss, a bliss that I had never experienced before and will never experience again.

For a second I could not have cared less about who saw us through my open window, or what anybody would say if they were in that apartment with us, watching us love each other in the purest and most genuine way we could. For a second the only eyes that mattered were those of the universe.

The day she died was exactly one year after we had first met.

I think it was some kind of cruel cosmic joke; the kind that the stars would laugh jovially about at cocktail parties, mocking the poor person who made the mistake of being happy. Whatever is given can be just as easily taken away. In a hot flash, everything can be taken from you, and your heart can be left, naked and ashen, inside a body that once was bright with laughter and has now been left to decay.

The day was as cold as it had been a year ago, but I was filled with much less sadness despite the absence of the sun.

I had awoken that morning to the scent of Phoenix cooking breakfast, something she often did, but for some reason that morning I felt so much more grateful. She looked more beautiful and seemed more perfect that morning than any other morning, although that may be a result of hindsight clouding my vision along with my tears.

I can still feel her fingertips gently touching my stomach that night as my arms wrapped around her and she buried her head in my shoulder.

That’s when I smelled smoke.

At first, I assumed somebody downstairs had burned some food, but the harsh screeching of many smoke detectors revealed the magnitude of the source of the smoke.

The room grew hot.

Phoenix asked me to call the fire department, but as I was reaching for the phone we heard the sirens already outside.

I looked over at her. She was hyperventilating and backing herself into a wall. Her usually peaceful eyes glistened with tears and darted around in a panic. I walked over to her and placed both my hands on her shoulders. She grabbed onto my wrists, holding on for dear life. I assured her that everything was going to be okay and that both of us would make it out alive. I told her that we would simply open the window and climb down the fire escape. She wordlessly nodded, crossing the room to open the window.

It wouldn’t budge.

I went over and tried with every ounce of strength that I had to pry it open, but the window would not move.

Phoenix screamed.

I went over to the door and touched the doorknob, almost burning my hand on the scalding metal. I knew there was a fire outside, and that’s when I began to panic.

My anxiousness eased when I heard the voice of a fireman from the hallway just outside the door. Seconds later the door was broken and I saw the flames that filled the entire building.

This is when my memory of the night gets foggy, mostly due to my absolute refusal to consciously think of that night, even though to this day it replays over and over again in my subconscious.

There was a blur of heat as I was lifted and quickly carried out of the room. I kept screaming, pleading the man to drop me and save the one that truly mattered. I think he said that another person was going up to help her, which eased my anxiety slightly.

Letting myself believe everything was going to be okay was probably my biggest mistake.

I was dropped off on the grass outside the apartment where I could get a look at the burning building. I sat on the grass waiting for Phoenix to come out of the building and into my arms.

Then, all of a sudden, the building collapsed, and I think that’s when I truly died.

I may have screamed, but I know I did not cry. I couldn’t. I cried for countless hours after that night, but the moment I saw confirmation of the only thing to ever make me happy dead, all I could do was sit on the ground.

I heard a man ask, “Ma’am? Are you alright?”

I did not answer.

I only stared at the smoldering remains of my home, wide-eyed and wishing she would rise out of the ashes.

She didn’t.

It felt like an eternity that I sat there watching and waiting. I knew in my heart that my life was over. I suppose that’s why I sat there for so long, unaware of the passage of time, hoping that I would wake up from this nightmare, or even hoping that I would die.

But real death never came. At least not for me.

And before I knew it, it was day again.