If Only - Part II
I had just arrived home from the field. There was a package that I had been anticipating for some time, and during our recovery operations I happened to sneak by the mail room to see if it had arrived. It had.
Now, hands trembling in the anticipation borne of weeks' worth of waiting, I carefully cut the box. I am usually not so delicate, but this was a very important delivery. I wanted to maintain everything in the most pristine of conditions.
Nobody is here. Perfect.
I am here.
Ignoring the voice, I reach inside the box at the plethora of products that had arrived, searching for one specific item. Although very nearly frenzied, I am still as gentle as I can be, despite the popcorn and other various packaging barring my way.
This is foolish.
Shut up.
I already told you what's going to happen.
And I told you to shut up, I hissed. Finally, I found it. A small box among the others, carefully wrapped. I open it.
Yes. Oh, god, finally. It looks like it should. It feels like it should. Finally, no more of this. We will be one again.
No, we will not. I refuse you.
You CAN NOT.
I delicately remove the wig from the box.
That doesn't even look like my hair. It's too dark.
I walk to the mirror.
I'll tell you why this isn't going to work. It doesn't even matter if you put the wig on and it somehow manages to look EXACTLY like my hair did. We are still two seperate people. I know what you want to do; you want to make me comfortable inhabiting the body again so I'll leave you alone. It won't work. Your body sickens me. YOU sicken me. And I won't let you have what you gave up.
I clench my teeth. Why are you so sadistic?
Because you deserve to hurt.
I try and block him out. I've waited for this long enough.
I put on the wig.
Hahahahahaha...
...
Hahahahahahahaha.
I take it back off.
It looks real. It feels real. But it is so obviously not me. It doesn't do what my hair does. It curls where it shouldn't. It's unnaturally dark. I start concocting stories about dyeing it, about why it looks like it does.
HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
I later wear it and go out to a few nightclubs. I am constantly stared at. I recieved looks when I had my own hair, before. But those are just the natural looks I attract. These are looks of amusement, of pity.
I have failed. I tried to recapture the past, the feeling of freedom, the unity of souls, and I failed.
I try all the products I ordered with the wig. I try to straighten the curls, to give it a natural dirtyness to lighten the dark that I later wash out, only to find it still looks perfect. Unnaturally perfect. Fake.
Fake, like myself.
I finally try to cut the curls. I already know the end result of this exercise.
The wig is trashed.
God damn you for being right.
God damn *you* for splitting us, fool.
K
Now, hands trembling in the anticipation borne of weeks' worth of waiting, I carefully cut the box. I am usually not so delicate, but this was a very important delivery. I wanted to maintain everything in the most pristine of conditions.
Nobody is here. Perfect.
I am here.
Ignoring the voice, I reach inside the box at the plethora of products that had arrived, searching for one specific item. Although very nearly frenzied, I am still as gentle as I can be, despite the popcorn and other various packaging barring my way.
This is foolish.
Shut up.
I already told you what's going to happen.
And I told you to shut up, I hissed. Finally, I found it. A small box among the others, carefully wrapped. I open it.
Yes. Oh, god, finally. It looks like it should. It feels like it should. Finally, no more of this. We will be one again.
No, we will not. I refuse you.
You CAN NOT.
I delicately remove the wig from the box.
That doesn't even look like my hair. It's too dark.
I walk to the mirror.
I'll tell you why this isn't going to work. It doesn't even matter if you put the wig on and it somehow manages to look EXACTLY like my hair did. We are still two seperate people. I know what you want to do; you want to make me comfortable inhabiting the body again so I'll leave you alone. It won't work. Your body sickens me. YOU sicken me. And I won't let you have what you gave up.
I clench my teeth. Why are you so sadistic?
Because you deserve to hurt.
I try and block him out. I've waited for this long enough.
I put on the wig.
Hahahahahaha...
...
Hahahahahahahaha.
I take it back off.
It looks real. It feels real. But it is so obviously not me. It doesn't do what my hair does. It curls where it shouldn't. It's unnaturally dark. I start concocting stories about dyeing it, about why it looks like it does.
HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
I later wear it and go out to a few nightclubs. I am constantly stared at. I recieved looks when I had my own hair, before. But those are just the natural looks I attract. These are looks of amusement, of pity.
I have failed. I tried to recapture the past, the feeling of freedom, the unity of souls, and I failed.
I try all the products I ordered with the wig. I try to straighten the curls, to give it a natural dirtyness to lighten the dark that I later wash out, only to find it still looks perfect. Unnaturally perfect. Fake.
Fake, like myself.
I finally try to cut the curls. I already know the end result of this exercise.
The wig is trashed.
God damn you for being right.
God damn *you* for splitting us, fool.
K