one rainy thursday

I am sitting alone at a small wooden booth for two. The warm air is rich with the scent of exotic spices. I tuck my shabby thrift store boots under my seat and sketch a tree on a loose piece of paper I found in my purse. A paper explaining what DBT is.

It has been exactly one month since I was discharged from the hospital.

I'm supposed to meet Bill here for tea, but he is thirteen minutes late. So I am just a girl, sitting alone at a small wooden booth for two.

I buy a chai tea with almond milk. It is somehow both creamy and spicy hot, leaving my mouth tingling. I start making a list of reasons why Bill might be late.

1). He wandered through a wormhole and is now standing on a dark hill, gazing at a sky glimmering with broken hearts.
2). I am in an alternate dimension. We are actually both sitting at this table, waiting for each other, but unable to meet because all of space and time is between us.
3). He's been kidnapped by koalas.

"Are you Kay?"

I look up, startled. A tall, thin man with a messy ponytail is standing next to me. I've never seen him before.

"Um. Yes?"

"I'm Brandon. Bill's friend. Did he tell you about me?"

I remember now. Brandon. He works here, at this tea shop. He's Bill's friend. I smile and he smiles back. He waves his phone and tells me that Bill texted him. He can't make it. He told Brandon to look for a "dark haired beauty who is probably drawing" to deliver his message.

I look down at my paper full of sketches and laugh.

Brandon asks me how I know Bill. I hesitate for one nanosecond before telling the truth. "We met at the hospital." I say softly.

Understanding and surprise mix on his face. I don't need superpowers to read his thoughts. He knows why Bill was in the hospital, but why was I? I'm too young, too pretty, too [insert reason here] to be crazy, right?

I get Bill's number and text him that I'm sad he's not here. And that I'm glad he didn't wander through a wormhole. He texts me back that he misses me and thanks me for making him laugh.

Around me people talk and laugh and argue. I sip my chai and stare at my reflection in the window, the solemn reflection of the girl sitting alone at a wooden booth for two.

...........

I'm at work when an Explosions in the Sky song comes on Pandora. A hundred different songs by different artists have played before this one, but this one reaches out and grabs me. It leaves me shaking.

I go home. I find Explosions in the Sky on Spotify and play every song they've made.

I sit at my computer, staring blankly at the screen, the music flowing through my headphones, into my head, and slowly filling the hole in my chest.

"Are you ok?" The Mr. looks down at me, worry in that space between his eyes.

"I'm sad." I whisper.

He blinks. Hesitates. Tilts his head. "Do you want to be sad?"

"Yes." I say softly. He looks more confused, so I try to explain. "I feel something."

...........

The internet is a graveyard, and I keep finding ghosts. Beautiful blogs. Words spun like magic. I am spellbound, but they are just fading echoes.

Some have been silent for years, but I read them anyways. I cannot help myself. They are full of the heavy sadness I know far too well. They ask the same questions that rattle around in my head and keep me awake at night. They use words like I do, to try to understand, to make sense of all this.

Where are you now? I want to ask them. Did you find the answers you were looking for? Are you happy? Where are you now?