Tidal Wave | Teen Ink

Tidal Wave

November 13, 2008
By Anonymous

I'm staring down at the black stage and moving the bight spotlight, just doing my job. I'm trying to pay attention, to concentrate on what I'm doing. But I'm constantly fighting the urge to just leave and let this task transfer to someone else. I want to get away from all of this and I regret that I ever volunteered to do this, but I did everything for her back then.

She's walking slowly and steadily onto the stage and suddenly everything from the past to present knocks my mind off its feet. She's stunning in her costume and perfectly composed unlike the utter turmoil I'm feeling inside. I try so hard not to let the emotions flit through my face and try to keep a stoic face so as not to let the others know what’s going on. Just in case she looks up, she won't be able to see what she's done to me.

As she says her lines, I close off my ears trying not to let her voice affect me. I watch her move around the stage and I follow with the spot light, each step she takes wearing away the ties she's held to my heart and walks farther and farther away from me. I'm losing her day by day, moment by moment and it's just killing me for I can do nothing to stop it.

She's talking with another guy on stage and I wish it was me down there. I wish it was me she was pouring her heart out to, the one that she had had a crush on a long time ago. That was why I closed my ears, that was why I hated this job, because each word brought back memories and feelings that I didn't want to relive with every practice of this scene, of this play.

I would think that I would've gotten over this part of the play, but as I watch it unfold for the umpteenth time, my heart clenches in protest. She's walking closer to him down below and they've just said their last lines. Now they're together and give in to the simple sweet kiss that makes my blood boil in jealousy, but also with the toiling emotions wanting to break free. I switch off the spot light; it's the end of the play; people are clapping and I allow myself to close my eyes and let the craziness within wash over my thoughts.

It starts with just the simplest thought. A simple fact of my life. She is the light of my world. Before her, my life was dark, and I stumbled around, but she made me able to see. She lit up my world whenever she was around and even when she wasn't. Now she's fading away and I'm falling back into that world of darkness. She made my life worth living, and now she's the reason that I want to die.

Then an old memory, my favorite memory, filters in. The day I really first saw her. I'm sure I've passed her in the hall before that day and I'm sure I had some kind of thought about her in my head. But this was the day, I got a chance to really see her beauty in its totality. My first thought was that I was so lucky to have this class with her so I could admire her every day. Not that that thought ever changed throughout the year, but after that thought, I knew she was perfect in every way. I wanted her to be mine even if she wasn't my type.

Then the emotions start flooding my consciousness: love, happiness, hatred, sadness, regret, depression, on and on and on. A constant stream of thoughts, some good, but mostly bad.

The most prominent of these emotions is the sadness in my being quickly followed by regret. Sadness because I knew she was the only one who could complete me. Regret because I hadn't done something right and that it was my fault she was leaving me.

Depression comes after because without her, what am I to do with myself? I am nothing without her in my arms, in my life. She's the only one I will ever love and I can feel it in the depths of my being. That's why love is still within me because I still love her even if she's killed my will to live.

It brings me back to the day she broke my heart and left my poor body crying on the ground. I showed her what I had written for her on the brick wall after she had beaten me to a helpless shell and she just kicked it. It was as if she had shredded my heart after she stabbed me. I suppose it wasn't the smartest thing to show her at that time nor was the right time, but I had to let her know. Not that she cared. That's why there's so much depression, she shoved my love away and bashed it to the farthest reaches of the earth. It hasn't disappeared. It's just smoldering with pain, completely shrouded under my darkest misery.

The memories of happiness are slowly fading away. Memories from a long, long time ago. I treasure those whenever I can find them in this heavy never-ending cloak of my depression. Oh, how I wish I could turn back the clock so we could never stop making beautiful memories. But it's too late for it now. She and I are too far past the point of no return.

As I think back to what I could've done to prevent all this from happening, I feel this hatred toward those friends of hers who did everything they could to sabotage what we had together. Evil, evil implants into her thought process, damaging every good aspect of myself in her mind. It was 'to protect her' they said from me, the supposed self-destructive unpredictable time bomb. That burned my soul to bits when I heard the accusations.

I guess I really am that self-destructive unpredictable time bomb now. I can't think straight anymore because it's just too hard to go on. I'm slogging through every day, slogging through the darkness with the ball and chain around my ankles, weighing me down, sinking me deeper into the quick sand of my depression. I could do anything without a thought, it's no longer a human mind pulling off this life, just a robot with a drive that is ready to explode. The clock inside is ticking down slowly to zero, but no one knows how much time is left- not even me.

I don't know how much longer I can go on with this. Trying to live this pitiful existence. I'm distanced from everyone I use to hang out with. I've got no anchor to hold me steady. I gave up so much for her and I burned the bridge that should now be what holds me down except I gave that up to spend more time with her.

The only bridge left is still burning and there's not enough left to cross on because she's the one that’s burning it, burning, burning, burning. With every day that passes, a piece has crumbled to ashes. I'm left in this island that's only got an abyss of bleakness all around. The choices left are to continue this miserable life alone or to just let myself walk off the edge where the darkness will greet my body with gladness. Oh, the choices to make.

Someone is tapping on my shoulder and I emerge from the tunnel in my mind. I look around and all the people are leaving. I take a deep breath and make my way down the stairs. I plaster the best smile left within to say hi to people I know and it holds until I come close to her.

She pretends she doesn't see me as she chatters with her friends and family. Another blow to my crumbling, dying soul. The smile I have falters a little, but I stride forward as strong as I can, denying her the satisfaction of knowing that I'm hurting inside. I know as I walk past her, she's blocking out the nine months we spent, ignoring the feelings that we had for each other, pretending that we had never met. I wish I could do the same, but she means more to me than that.

As I pass her, I whisper a final goodbye, but she doesn't hear or chooses not to hear. I walk outside and take in my last breath of fresh air, then I'm swept away by this tidal wave of emotions leading me into the black pit of my destruction.

The author's comments:
The play in this short story is the Glass Menagerie and the scene should be mostly accurate. What inspired me to write this was my friend's statement when I asked him how the Glass Menagerie was going. He said, "It's a tidal wave of emotions." As a girl, I wanted to see if I could write in a guy's point of view and so I took his situation and used him as my . This is a very accurate description of his thoughts (even though it was written without his knowledge and was later shared with him) and barring a paragraph or two, it is all real.

I think all writer's should be able to write from another person's perspective because it expands their ways of writing and their outlook on the world as a whole. I encourage writers to try it and see what happens. Nothing is set in stone and writing is like a living thing that grows and wherever it ends may be a complete surprise to the writer and readers.

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