Work Text:
ılı.lıllılıı.ıllı
ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ
no children - the mountain goats
━━━━◉───────
◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹
ılı.lıllılıı.ıllı
At age 9, I hoped I'd befriend this British transferee in my class. And at age 10, I finally said, "Hi, you dropped my crayon, pick it up for me?"
At 11, I hoped I'd get a girlfriend like those other cool boys do. And at 12, you helped me ask my first girlfriend out.
The next year, I hoped I don't get bullied anymore. And at 14, you saw my bruises and finally reported it to the office.
At 15, I wished for a great highschool experience. And at 16, you helped me try out for the basketball team.
You see Arthur, it's times like this I realize a pattern in my lifeーeverytime I wish for something over my birthday candle, it takes a year before it comes true. It was odd that I believe in this weird coincidence when you are the one with the occult shit and tarot cards, but I think it was trueーso I believe in it.
We are so different, you know? I was raised in an American household with a family that was always in a middle of a divorce, up until I was in eighth grade. By then, the divorce was finally settled and I only get to visit my dad in Sweden every other birthday.
And then there was you, who I first met as a kid at school with the iconic eyebrows. You said you were raised in England until you moved here and I always find it strange you still haven't picked up our accent after all these years.
Bottom line is that we are so different and that makes it wonderful. We learn about each other as much as we help each other live and, well, suffer too. We made ourselves suffer. It only was a matter between who will break first.
Wow, Arthur. It really had been a competition all along, huh?
Now that I'm thinking back on it, I hoped I haven't met you at all. If I didn't, I would still be lame and nameless forever. And you know what? Being bullied and unknown is better than this, Arthur. I hope you know how selfish of a bastard you were.
It’s funny because I didn't always hate you. There was a time that you were my everything. Back then, we were happy. Now, we're just angry and afraid.
Do you remember that poetry club you forced me to join? You weren’t there when the instructor asked for beautiful words in our language. Others guessed "Love", "Infinity", "Friendship" and all that stereotypical sappy shit.
I was too absorbed in my own thoughts to listen because I kept thinking of my own beautiful word. It makes me feel sad that I never knew what the actual answer was; I dissociated. Either way, even if I didn’t, I don't think I would have a different opinion. My most beautiful word would still be your name, Arthur.
And I hope I forget it.
And that one time, when I asked you what the tickets at your bedside were for? Those were concert tickets for your favorite band, and that concert was phenomenal. The band was better live, because I could feel the drum beats sync to my pulse. Even if you spent the entire time cursing under your breath with the wildness of the crowd, I carried you on my shoulders with no problem; I have never seen you so happy and free, shouting the lyrics I could barely hear.
And I hope I didn't ask to come in the first place.
Then, when we were sophomores, I had to crash at your house because I was too drunk to walk home and too sad to call mom. You saw me kissing your sister but you still offered me the guest bedroom. I may be drunk and delirious and might have made shit up in my head, but the regret I felt that night was real.
I hope I ran away when that green-eyed girl walked to me.
When I failed junior English and had to ask someone for help, you made sure I studied and never slacked off. The lollipops you offered me everytime I write a good paragraph helped me more than you or the lollipop company could assume. The scent and taste got me so hooked into it that I could simply smell cherries and I would always remember you. I would see a child with a lollipop and I would always remember you. I would taste anything red and guess what? I’d still fucking remember you.
I hoped I didn't eat any of the damn candy.
There were millions of "I hope I didn't"'s that I could think of, but you weren't worth that much effort. You only ever think about yourself. It’s because in your eyes, the only thing important in this world is yourself.
Where were you when I was relapsing? You found new friends and left me alone. That was your first mistake. You acted like I was a ghost, or someone you never knew at all. That was your second mistake. Then, you kept up the act and before I realized, we graduated without knowing what in the world I did wrong.
That was your worst mistake. You hated sad people; what, you scared it will rub off on you? You don’t like comforting sad people? Did you get tired? Or will you just give some bullshit excuse like ‘Oh, I woke up one day and I suddenly hate you.’
I get that there are a lot of other people smarter and better than me, Arthur. I am well aware that I wasn’t the bestest friend of yours in this world. I know there were people that actually supported you with your occult and theater things. I knew I never supported you nor helped you as much as you did to me and I admit that.
It's fucked to think that I deserve the pain, only because I really do. For one, I always talked shit of your tarot cards and British accent. I never tried to help you when you were struggling with acads.
I did bad things, but that won't cancel the way you did something absolutely hurtful. Bottom line? I gave all my friendship and you ghosted me.
Did you know I lived my gap year thinking day and night that I deserved all of it? Then when I was on my way on forgiving myself for that, you really fucking decided to appear again.
I do admit it wasn’t necessarily your fault, though. No matter what we did to avoid each other, we somehow always meet. You would be at the university library when I had to borrow a book. You would be at the junkshop when I had to buy cheap wood for my engineering project. You would be the actor when I came to watch the university production play.
And we both know that sucks. We both think we follow each other when we actually did the opposite.
The worst of it all, our friends are friends with each other. That's when it all snapped, right? Cafe hangouts were the worst when Francis, Gil, Antonio, Mattie and Natalya kept introducing us to each other...one by one, over and over again.
They told me you were actually an orphan adopted into an American family, and they told you I was a product of divorce. We had the guts to call each other “friends” but we never knew that much about each other. We would look at each other and ask, ”Why didn't I know that about you?”
There was only one possible explantion: Arthur, we were never friends at all.
Every glance, every awkward silences, questions were asked and hung in our gazes. It answered into "secrets", which translated into "betrayal".
That's when we slowly accepted the universal truth. We aren't really friends, Arthur, we are just highschool classmates who had guestrooms reserved for each other. Just highschool classmates with an abundance of lollipop inside jokes. Just highschool classmates that sat together one day at class with nothing common with each other.
That was everything we were and everything we are by then. It could’ve been perfect if we just accepted it, moved on and lived happily ever after, right?
Well fuck that because it just had to be worse. We had to hit rock bottom. Quite literal rock bottom, I spoke of.
You were the one that came to me first. It was quite comical how we were like dramatic little girls who fought over candy, once put into perspective. We realized this immaturity and then went on with our lives. You apologized, I apologized, and we were forgiven.
We seven always hung out by the bridge at the forest. We camp there sometimes too. I remember that was when I noticed that relying on Mattie was something we both have in common. He helped you as much as he helped everyone he could.
When he successfully made a campfire with nothing but wood and rocks, I saw you look at me and realize how much of a good friend Mattie was to me when you left. I probably won't survive without Mattie, and so won't you.
We both understood that unspoken realization that night.
Then there was the day Francis, Gil and Antonio had a car accident. They were at the hospital and you were the one who called me. You were so relieved to know they didn't die and I saw just how important they were to you, as were Mattie and Natalya was to me.
Somehow, we find relief in that—when we don’t have each other, we had them. It’s fucked to know we find it nice. We’re just really bad friends, aren’t we?
I wonder how you would feel if you knew I was the one that drove the car? If you knew I jumped from the car when I realized the brakes were off? If you knew I was the one who called 911? If you just knew it could entirely be my fault and that you could blame it all on me?
I know you will be furious—more than furious—and you really were. Francis told you as soon as he was conscious. You were livid.
But you never said anything. You never said anything to me, and I resorted to hiding my wounds from the incident for you to forget all about it. The silent treatment was almost just as bad as you lashing out at me. You only did what you normally do around night: go to the bridge, light your cigarette and smoke until you're sleepy.
That night, I heard you met Natalya through your smoking habits. She was the one you bought packs from, and Mattie and I always watch you two smoke together and share a conversation under the moon. But that night, Natalya didn't smoke with you, she smoked with me.
She lit me my first cigarette and I almost fell from the bridge from almost passing out. She also gave Mattie one—I didn't even know he can smoke. It was one memorable night and above that, you were watching me. I knew you were smiling coyly from behind the cigarette on your lips, and I tried hard not to wonder when exactly did you start smoking. Or if you still hated me. Or if you ever stopped hating me at all.
I still wished I died from that first smoke, even now. I wished I passed out with them on the accident. What exactly do you have against me? I remember thinking. Why are you smiling at me? Are you going to destroy me?
That very expression in your face kept me up at night. Do I really hate you? Or do I hate myself?
On my gap year, the year I spent trying to forgive myself for the things I did, I finalized my dream of graduating college and leave the state, never to return. I would send my dad some support and leave my mom’s house. If he just won the custody years ago, he would take me with him to Sweden and I would have never met you. However, there was never an ounce of luck on my name. It didn’t turn out my way.
And then again, it didn't turn out your way either.
Life went worse on third year. Natalya went back to Russia. Antonio suddenly dropped out because of financial problems and went back to Spain. Gil also started dating Mattie, and caused some shifts between us.
That left me, you, and Francis. I've never felt so alone. I was overpowered. I was vulnerable. We were only mutuals; never really friends. I am alone once again.
At least you had Francis. He knew more about our situation than we do, because he isn’t a bastard that watches his friends die. He wasn’t like us. He hid your cigarettes and my beer, both for bagchecks and our organs begging for mercy. He even invited us over to his house for dinners just so we can eat real actual food instead of ramen for once.
I know he likes you, Arthur. I see the way he looks at you when you contribute to the conversation. I see the way he seems to be in deep thought when he reads the poetry you never showed me. I see how he always sits next to you when we go to the bridge. I even notice how you two smell alike most of the time, whether it was you who used his perfume or the other way around. That used to be me.
Seeing that, don't blame me when I started to not show up at the bridge anymore. There wasn’t any point to it anymore. Why would I choose to sit there silently when I could do that by myself at my dorm?
Mattie and Gil weren't concerned that much; I told them I was busy. You and Francis were left in the dark. For the record, you didn't ask nor visit. I bet you didn't even notice I was gone. I admit I waited for you to notice how lonely I was, being the only loveless person in the group, but you never came. I was an alcoholic who begs for attention, but you were a chainsmoker who was practically the same.
So I didn't ask nor visit you either, just like you did to me. This is all a competition of pride, Arthur, and I am not giving up on winning.
We both let each other die for the first time that day.
I may have failed to do a few essays, but with Natalya’s help and some university internet, I managed to live past the semester and see my last year as a college student through. Gil helped me too—just by sitting at my dorm and making sure I actually do some work while he lives off my Netflix. Antonio would also send short messages when he can, which helped a lot when all I need were "Have you drank water today, vato?" to get through the day. Mattie and Francis were there to give support when I felt like giving up.
And you would do nothing. And I didn't do anything to repay any of them either. I was an “evil spawn of Satan who showed no sign of gratitude” and guess what Arthur: that’s exactly just like you.
I know they knew we felt down. They probably think it was mental illness or early-stage alcoholism. They resorted to acting out and helping me. I appreciate that effort but I felt too tired. And I know they do the same to you too. They were the good friends we needed but don't deserve.
We had to talk to each other though, sooner or later. We both know that. We can’t live like that forever without any of them noticing.
It came faster than I anticipated. In just one simple text, we packed our anger and went.
We met at the bridge, just the two of us. Out of all the things I did, I never regretted this one.
I gave you a solid uppercut for all the things you did. You were so shocked I hit first, like you were so innocent and it was all my fault. My fist would love to knock that look off your face. You weren’t innocent at all, Arthur. You’re fucking worse than me.
You don't think I knew you six had get-togethers I wasn't aware of, because you told them I can't come? You don't think I knew that you lied about me having an STD I never had? And how you actually went with my ex after we broke up?
You destroyed my name when it was all I had!You're like a motherfucking pathetic attention-seeking bastard, resorting to lying to be content with his own life.
All that time since gap year, I thought you were doing nothing and so I proceeded in doing nothing as well. It turns out you were fucking with my name all around. If Mattie and Natalya believed you, I would have been alone. Thank heavens they fucking didn't.
You were, are and will always be the worst person I could ever meet. You are worse than me, worse than this town, worse than my mom and worse than the bastard she’s hooking up with!
I became nothing but anger. That night we met, I did justice to that anger. You fought back too; it's not like I was completely innocent in all this anyway. All I knew is that I want to beat you to pulp. I want to take out your lungs and show you how black it is. I want to tie a rubber band on your esophagus and watch you suffocate. I want you to lose in every card game you play. I want you to feel so down and betrayed you can't look at your reflection without crying. I want you to trip in every staircase you come across. I want you to know how it feels to lick your lollipops with a burnt tongue. I hate you so damn much.
I don't think the others knew what went on when we came back at the room. We both lied and said we fought off a raging drunk man who walked past the bridge. I don't think they realize how your knuckles match the bruises on my skin.
We lived emptily for days. We left the coffee cold on breakfast. We would wake up, go to our classes, go back on our rooms and sleep the pain away.
Then, my 20th birthday came. I can’t remember when was the last time I had a birthday wish, but I spent my last wish for you anyway. Ironic, right? I wished for the person I hated the most on the day I hated myself the most.
A little sooner that year, we finally graduated. Natalya went back for a weekend to congratulate us. She herself owned a business in Russia with her brother and sister and never had to worry about college anymore. Antonio also appeared a few days later to show us his own college diploma from a Spanish community college. We all fucking made it, we all took a lot of photos, spent the night in Francis' house and drank to deaths.
To be precise, “we” means all of them except us.
Every night I kept asking myself, since when did life became this shitty? This...dark? Painful? Since when did I stop sleeping? How long have I been wondering who exactly do I really hate?
We went back to the bridge that night. I left my toga at the school. My things were boxed and all shipped to Sweden. When I saw you, I knew you did the same thing, too. We stood there under the afternoon sky, the sun reflecting on the water to our eyes. We had ourselves an agreement for the first time in a few years, and got rid of everything concerning that.
All I had on me was a knife.
And you just had yourself nothing but a knife too.
We stood together at the edge, not close but close enough. I asked myself one last time: who do I really hate? I finally had an answer.
"I hate you, Arthur."
"I know."
You jumped first. The water pressure was warm on the outside and cold inside. The water was both dark and light and I followed you down. If it wasn't for the momentum, I would have believed we jumped at the same time.
You reached to me under the water and I held your arm one last time, in a grip so tight I wish could break your bones. I saw you open your lips and let out your last breath. I wasn't sure who did so first and I have a feeling you aren't so sure either.
It was I who pulled you closer but it was you who raised your knife first. The pain of a stab from the back stained the water red, and I wouldn't come down with the water claiming only my body. I pushed down my blade into your chest and we watched each other bleed.
To hell with your lollipops which did nothing but strip my tastebuds off.
To hell with the friends who cared and didn't at the same time.
To hell with the parents who broke our hearts before any other girl would.
To hell with the cigarette smoke, the car crash and the cold beer which left me to die inside.
To hell with the dream I lost.
To hell.
At age 20, I wished you die. And at age 21, we found ourselves at the bridge.
I hoped we both die, Arthur.
At least you got one thing right.
and I hope the rising black smoke carries me far away
and i never come back to this town again
in my life
i hope i lie
and tell everyone you were a good wife
and i hope you die
i hope we both die
- no children