Crash and Burn

I’m feeling seriously down right now. And it's because of a boy.Ahaha.Yeah, but just not in the way you might think.

Yeah, I met this guy at a choir thing we kids have to do for the Malaysian Society of Qatar (MAQ). During the first practice, I didn't really take notice of him.Well,I didn't really mingle with anyone so I guess it didn't make much of a difference(I think I've mentioned before that I am an introvert?). And same thing happened when I passed him by a couple of times at the pool near where I live. We just...smiled briefly and went our separate ways. The 2nd practice was no different.

But then as I was walking home after practice, he happened to be taking the same way as I was. (Note: My sister and brother were with me as well). And so I casually asked him how old he was. He asked me right back, “Would you believe me if I said I was 15?" He was around my height (give or take an inch, which meant about 5"3/4), so I told him "Yeah. Well, I’m 15." And then he just sorta smiled and said, “Well, I’m 17.” And I was like, seriously? Okay. So then I asked him which school he was going to, and he said he'd finished school and was going to Sunway College back in Malaysia in June. And that was that.

I saw him again in the evening while I was sitting by the pool, watching my sister, brother, and dad swim. He dragged up a chair and joined me. We ended up talking quite a bit, though there were numerous long, awkward silences when we both just stared at the pool. Turns out he plays the drums. When I told him that I liked Fall Out Boy, he just said, “Sorry, but they suck.” Haha. Well, the kind of music he was into was more hardcore. Hard rock. Yeah. Metallica, Bon Jovi, Guns & Roses, and whatnot. But I didn’t take any offence or anything. I mean, yeah, you have your preferences and I have mine (this reminds me of how Tabitha thinks Avril is a poser.Well, she sort of is anyway. Lol). I can’t really remember what else we talked about. Hmm…we just spent our time exchanging facts about each other.Well, for one thing, I know he hates reading, and wonders how come girls usually like reading, and why girls are smarter than guys. Oh, and I remember I told him, “You seem shy.” And then he just went, “Oh, really? How’d you know?” And then I stammered out a reply that probably didn’t really make much sense, but gah, who cares?

Anyway, the next day, I bumped into him again, which was inevitable, seeing as we had practice in the afternoon. Didn’t talk to him at practice, (I told you I was shy), but in the evening, he was sitting by the pool, and Sharinia, Pravin, and me decided to crash at his table. Sharinia, who was so obviously taken up by his being a dedicated drummer, immediately began questioning him on how long it took him to learn all the beats, and whether practicing once a week would be enough. As the conversation progressed, he told her, “Hey, give me a call if you ever come to Shah Alam. I’ll check my schedule and maybe I can teach you to play drums when you come over.” To which she began giggling in that weird way she always does when she doesn’t know what to say or doesn’t understand something (kinda reminds you of Rachel Soo, doesn’t it?). I didn’t do much talking this time around. After a while, Sharinia and Pravin left for home to retrieve their mp3 players. “So what do you think of them?” I asked him, smiling. He laughed, shaking his head, and replied, “I…I really don’t know.” Both of us sat in silence for some time after that, before he finally broke it. “D’you…do you mind if I go dunk myself in the water?” It was my turn to shake my head, though a raised eyebrow was clearly visible. “No, no...Not at all. Go ahead,” I said, motioning towards the pool. “Okay, thanks, cause it was really starting to get hot…” He walked to the pool, taking the last few steps at a run, before diving headfirst into the water. (And, yes, Fera, he kept his shirt on.-_- Ahaha.). He was in the pool for only about a minute max, before he came out again soaking wet and sat down, dabbing at his hands and face with a towel, his hair plastered to his forehead. When Sharinia and Pravin returned and realised he was drenched to the skin, he told them, shivering, “Oh, it rained. Didn’t you know?” -failing which, we settled for – “Yeah, I shoved him in”. Long silences ensued again in between the chatter, during which each of us tried to find something else to stare at in turn before turning away. (Except maybe Pravin, since he was too busy listening to his mp3 player to even notice the stillness of it all).

Then, I said, “So I suppose you’ll be taking your driver’s license as soon as you get back to Malaysia, huh?” expecting him to be anticipating it as most people I know do (And, yeah, Stephanie, that includes you. ^_^).

“Nope. My dad won’t let me.”

“Huh? Oh. Why not?”

“Well, he probably thinks I’m not mature enough,” he replied, pondering the question pretty seriously, to which I was just about to laugh and tell him that he was definitely mature when he continued, “Not responsible enough, I guess…and I kinda have a phobia about driving…”

I just nodded, but Sharinia interrupted, “Why do have a phobia of driving?”

Smiling, he said, “You really don’t wanna know. Believe me, you don’t.”

After a few seconds, Sharinia smiled sheepishly. “I think I know. Maybe…maybe your…mother had an accident before?”

“Er…not quite.”

I threw Sharinia an exasperated look, since she had made it sound as though his mum had died or something, and we knew perfectly well that his mum was the one coming to pick him up later. The only theory that had entered my mind was that he had driven before and probably knocked someone over, and that the person had either died or got seriously injured. But I just sort of laughed at this idea inside my head, since I knew that my mind was usually very capable of coming up with extremely dramatic situations (thanks to an overactive imagination).

When Sharinia continued looking at him enquiringly, he sighed. “You really want to know?”

I just shrugged, while Sharinia half-nodded, giggling again.

“Hmm…well, okay. Um…it was two years ago, when we were back in Malaysia for the holidays…summer vacation, you know. And…and I sorta sneaked out and took the keys to my mum’s car. Drove over to my friend’s hou-”

“You were driving a car? How old were you?” Sharinia’s eyebrows were knitted really close together, as though she was trying to solve some tough Maths problem (Maths, huh? This reminds me of Adila).

“Fifteen,” I muttered, not taking my eyes off him.

Then Sharinia turned to me, her eyes all big and round, and went, “*Gasp* He was driving…but he was only fifteen!”

I just gestured for her to keep quiet. I wanted to kick her, knowing that she was probably just making him feel worse, but I remained in my seat, frozen, hoping against hope, for one of the few times in my life, that I was wrong.

“Yeah, so I drove to my friend’s house, and…on the way back, I sorta crashed into someone…” He paused to take a breath.

Oh, God, please…fucking hell…no. I had just sworn, but it didn’t even register at that time. My stomach was all clenched up.

“He was young…” Please don’t let it be a child… “…around twenty-two.”

I wanted to know, to know what happened to him, but I didn’t dare ask because…because I knew what was coming. Tell me he’s not dead…

“Yeah…” He paused again. “Um…eventually, he died,” he said matter-of-factly.

The silence now was even more pronounced than before. Everyone was staring at something else. The atmosphere felt a lot heavier, but I don’t think Sharinia and Pravin noticed. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I blinked them away. And of all the stupid things to do, I sorta smiled, I smiled… (Right now I wish I could bang my head on the table repeatedly. Or maybe against a wall). God knows what I was thinking. But as soon as I did it, I know I regretted it. Emotion stung at my throat, but I just sat staring down at my lap. I wanted to move, but couldn’t; I wanted to say something, but didn’t know what to.

Then he excused himself, saying he was going to change (his clothes were still dripping wet, remember?), leaving me behind with Sharinia and Pravin, hoping that none of them would ask any questions (which, thankfully, they didn’t). A while after he returned, we, too, left as it was getting late and we hadn’t had a bath yet.

But the impact was still the same; that conversation really affected me. And I love the way I’ve written it down; it sounds awesome. You know, as in it’s an awesome piece of writing, not that listening to him was awesome. In fact, it sucked. Yeah. Do you think I liked having feelings of pain and guilt clawing at me? It was as if his emotions had somehow transfused into mine. I have no idea if that was how he felt about it, but that’s certainly how I would have felt if it had happened to me. I’d…I don’t know what I’d do. I would probably have just sat in the driver’s seat, frozen, clenching the steering wheel, telling myself that this wasn’t real; I was still at home, just about to take the car keys. Knowing, in the back of my mind, that no one would come to wake me from this nightmare, but not wanting to believe it all the same. It would have been bad enough if I’d merely gotten caught taking the car out, after which I would be cursing myself, wallowing in regret…but to have actually caused a person to die the first time I did? Oh, God. I mean, imagine if the parents of the guy I’d just run over were to come up to me and start screaming at me for killing their son (yes, I know this might be getting a little overdramatic, but after what he’s told me, I’m starting to think anything’s possible). I don’t think I could ever bear that. The first thing I’d do is to run to the nearest toilet and hurt myself. Yes, hurt myself. Someway, somehow…slit my wrists, maybe. Or bang my head repeatedly against the sink, watching my crimson blood drip, drip, drip, onto the newly waxed floor (I’m using the same phrase I used in Random-T.P.T.N.M.I-A.C.A.U.W.O.T). I’d feel as though I didn’t deserve to live, after what I’d done. (…I think this is getting a little too emo…even for me. I shall stop now.)

*Sigh*

So now I suppose you guys have figured out how I can write such amazingly detailed, nerve-wrecking, emotion-wringing stories, huh? Pfft. Yeah, cause I do a lot more than just create or-or…imagine the situation. I visualize it. I feel it. I actually relate to the fear…or the anger, or the happiness, the guilt, the frustration, the pain, the panic, the relief, the joy - everything. I actually cry when my character is especially depressed (well, no, not really. The tears sting my eyes, and I just blink them away, but the feeling doesn’t fade, of course). Every word I write is carefully planned in my mind, yes, but it’s never stiff or rigid, or following a certain format or set of rules; it’s free and flowing. My mind usually wanders a lot, but instead of stopping it, I let it take me where it wants to go; coming up with or discovering ideas so creative that I sometimes astound myself (I constantly enjoy pushing and breaking my own limits or barriers); trying to think of more significant sentences for my story that might be able to provoke or plant a certain emotion in the reader. Basically, when I write, I just try to write something which I would enjoy both reading and writing (usually I enjoy the writing part more, since it’s more involving than the reading alone. oh, and I also really enjoy reading the fruits of my efforts in the reviews –and desperate pleas– I get from other people).

Anyway, back to the guy I was talking about…I pity him. I really really feel bad for him. I had suspected that he was shy and reserved because he was somewhat short and probably felt insecure or something (yeah, 16-year-old guys here are, like, 5”10. Damn. In that case, I’m gonna feel like a dwarf. o_o), but I had no idea that it was something this huge that had made his life seem so freaking messed up! God, that sucks. That really really sucks. Big-time. I mean, who would expect the weight of the world to come crashing down on your shoulders when you’re fifteen? At fifteen, you’re supposed to be carefree and having fun, the time of your life, in fact, but instead, you’re worrying your ass off over a major mistake you made, that you can’t seem to forget, trying to get rid of the regret. And you have to deal with the nightmares, the pangs of guilt your conscience keeps sending you, constantly reminding you of what you did, and the voice inside your head that mutters non-stop about how you don’t deserve to live. Ouch. I think that’s just too much. It’s enough to kill anyone. Or drive them to insanity. Indeed. I just…feel so bad for him. I feel like giving him a hug, and taking all the pain away, which I know I can’t. But then again, this happened two years ago. He’s probably already gotten over it and certainly doesn’t need to be reminded again. Who knows if he felt even half of what I’ve mentioned? Not many people have the emotional capacity I have, you know. Besides, let’s not get physical right now, kay? o_O Haha. I’m just gonna stick to words.

Man, this thing is funny and depressing at the same time. Weird…but it felt good to write this. Yeah, it did. And a big thanks to all those people who actually had enough concentration to read up to here (and no, simply reading the beginning and end doesn’t count. -_-).

Whereas to those people out there whose reaction is “So? Shit happens. Why are you so concerned anyway?”, I have something to say to you –

That’s the problem with me: I think too much. I feel too much. I care too goddamned much.
Damn myself.

Gah.

- Lavinia.


P.S. – And no, to those who are wondering, I am NOT crushing on this guy, okay?! NOR am I going out with him or anything. Sheesh. I mean, come on. Like I mentioned to one friend, who rushed to this conclusion, “Why does it always have to be about boy-girl relationships?!” (Oh, and, yeah, Derryk, that friend would be you. No offence though, cause it’s the first impression EVERYONE got.)

P.P.S. – Hey, go look at the last long paragraph I wrote. The middle part of it sounds like rapping. Seriously! I only realized that much later when I was re-reading it. It evens rhymes a little, though I had not intended it that way at all.

P.P.P.S. – Everything you’ve just read is 100% fact, not fiction. And EVERYTHING I’ve written now belongs to me, and only me. (Oh, wait, it actually also partly belongs to the guy I wrote about…but no one else. So, hah!). If you felt touched enough by it (or maybe disgusted or something), feel free to pass the link around to anyone you know. But if you even attempt to steal any part of it, claiming it to be yours or otherwise, I swear that you shall suffer and perish in a horrible, horrible death. -_-

…or maybe I’ll just run you over with a car as soon as I learn to drive. : )