The Miracle Girl by James Upsilon
I should feel put upon, but I don’t. There’s something about that dull ache that I can still see in her eyes that feels familiar, somehow, even though I haven’t had to deal with any mental health stuff myself.
“Well that was dumb,” the girl says.
“I guess I should give you my number in case you need anything,” I return.
“Buzz off.”
“But she said—”
“I don’t care what she said.”
I should feel put out by that, but there’s something about that look in her eyes that I can’t quite put my finger on.
She sees me watching.
Our irises crash in an exploding kaleidoscope of sheer awareness. You know that mask you always wear in public? The one you use to keep everyone an arm’s length away from your deepest insecurities? Well, for the briefest moment this girl in front of me, in contrast with the literal physical mask on her face, lets the emotional one slip. Suddenly I can see a depth to her heartache that hints at layer upon layer of further suffering stretching almost as far as the eye can see.
And then, down another layer still and almost out of sight, I see a light. A pure radiant beam of energy that sets my mind on fire. It’s warm, bright, piercing. Everything I want my life to be but isn’t. More precious than gold.
This isn’t some kind of love-at-first-sight moment. What I’m feeling isn’t hormones. But it is incredibly special. I want to cup her light gently in my hands, protect it from anything that could possibly try to hurt it.
As one, we break eye contact and turn away. The girl starts packing up, obviously intent on heading out soon.
For reasons I can’t explain, the thought of her leaving and disappearing without a trace terrifies me. I scramble to get my stuff together so I can go with her, but she’s already halfway out the door.
“Wait!”
I jog after her.
It’s raining much more heavily now as I burst out the front door of the library. What with the buildings around me so completely devoid of life due to the late hour and the copious amount of precipitation, campus now feels otherworldly. After a few hurried glances, I spy the girl in the distance and walk quickly over to her.
“Hey—”
“Can’t you take a hint?”
I stop.
“Buzz off,” she says.
“Look, if you need anything–”
“I don’t. Mind your own business.”
My jaw clenches. Despite my fear of losing whatever magic spell this girl possesses, I know instinctively that this isn’t something I can force. My heart sinks.
“Okay, fine. You don’t want me in my life. I can respect that. Just promise me you’ll reach out if you need something.”
I scribble my digits on the first thing I can find and hand it to her. She doesn’t take it.
“I’m not the kind of person you want to be around.”
What a harsh thing to say about yourself.
“I’ll be the judge of that, thank you very much,” I say.
She looks away.
“Actually I do have a few people I talk to. I just didn’t mention them because it was none of their business.”
Silence reigns on.
“I can handle it.”
More silence.
“Please just go.”
I turn to leave.
“Look, thank you, all right?” she says, looking me in the eye for the first time. Her gaze is soft and hesitant, as if she’s treading on unfamiliar ground. “If you see me again on campus, come and say hi. But I’m doing just fine. Really, I am. I know I can be a bit of a downer, but I’m not going to do anything stupid, I promise.”
Something feels off about this, but she does actually look a lot better than before.
She tosses something into the trash can and starts off again. This time I let her go. I guess this is where this story ends, which is a pity because it would be nice to have a chance for her light to rub off on me. Also, I’d rather like to help her. There’s nothing I can do about it, though.
Well, it’s not like the trip home is getting any shorter or my shoulders any drier, so I hoist my backpack higher up my back and step towards the crosswalk that will lead me home. Suddenly a glint of something white catches my eye from the depths of the trash can. As I peer into it, my stomach does a backflip. I look around for the girl again, but she’s nowhere to be seen. This isn’t good. This isn’t good at all. At the bottom of the receptacle, already sodden from the heavy rain, is a single slip of paper that changes everything.
It’s her safety plan.