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Last night I dreamt about my girlfriend again.
Well, she wasn't my girlfriend. Not anymore. She hadn't been for a while now — at least two years, I’d think — something like that. I stopped counting after one.
Once or twice, I’d figured I’d run into her, reaching out trying desperately to grab her attention somehow, before realizing it was my imagination. Just a shadow moving in the trees, a branch falling in the distance, or perhaps a hallucination of my brain begging to see her face again. Either way, I was sad when I realized she wasn’t there. It was lonely without her, almost unbearably so.
I kept dreaming about her. All kinds of dreams, good and bad – about her being happy, being sad, being angry; about our fight; about her day-to-day life in Yoyleland; whether she was thinking about me, and what she might have thought about if not – but it was always about her somehow. It was like my brain was trying to make itself sad. It seemed to do that a lot.
I admit, I missed her a bit too.
I missed her voice, her face, her laugh, the way she acted, the way she walked… everything. I missed everything about her, and it was clear. According to my friends, I kept hanging behind to stare at trees; she always loved trees, which makes sense, because she was a leaf. And she was a lovely leaf, at that. I kept referencing moments we’d had, not quite realizing she wasn’t there anymore to understand our inside jokes and not quite understanding the others wouldn’t get them. I still liked green. She loved green.
I always seemed to be sad. The others didn’t understand why. They thought I hated her. I did — I do. But it wasn’t like I despised her. If I did, I wouldn’t be missing her so much.
Every day and every night, it was like my thoughts were filled with a barrage of her. Her. Her. Her. I couldn’t get my mind off her. That day he'd killed her… That day I pretended not to remember her… was that a bad idea? It was the last time I might have seen her again, and I ignored her. I wished every day I’d done something different; she missed me, wanted to talk to me, to be friends again, and I just brushed her aside. I feel guilty – had I chatted with her when she asked, maybe we’d be friends, or maybe more – but I lost the opportunity.
I sat on the dirt below me and watched the sky for a bit. Birds flew by, and clouds passed. A fly buzzed across my vision once or twice, pulled out of their deep slumber by the cooling evening and the nearby Goiky Canal. The sound of the canal was loud, even from this distance. I could hear the water rushing. Reeds swayed far away in the corner of what I could see. I continued to stare at the sky.
I couldn't stop thinking about her. I never could. I felt like I'd wasted my life by now. I could have been with her right now. I wasted days, nights, entire summers trying to will her back into my life. It never worked. It never would work.
The sun began to set. The bright yellow sky faded into a dark purple, matching the soft dirt below my feet. The dirt was too soft, and the wrong colour. It made me feel like I wasn't entirely there. Like I was floating, not quite alive, not quite dead. Like the world around me wasn't real. It was uncomfortable to stand on, too. It tickled my paws in a way that made it hard to walk.
I could barely handle being in Yoyleland for a few weeks. I couldn't imagine what it was like for her — having to live in this place for years.
At least with the competition, I had some way to break repetition; occasionally, there would be a new contest, someone would be eliminated and someone would be given a prize. Even after I was eliminated, I had the eliminations to look forward to, because it was a surprise and everyone was a new friend to be made. But it was never boring — I had all my friends, and new ones, and I had things to do and things to see.
She didn't have any of that. She was alone here, with nothing to do. Day after day, month after month – year after year – I wouldn't be surprised if she was going insane here. Even I would go insane here.
I wished I knew somehow what she was going through. I wished I could feel what she felt and think what she thought. I don't know if I would be able to understand, but it would be nice just to know. Maybe knowing would help me understand. Maybe knowing would help me feel.
Maybe I would understand why we did what we'd done.
Why I did what I'd done.
I looked up at the starry sky. Today had been eventful, for which I was grateful. I'm sure today had been eventful for her, too. I once again sighed.
I could try to get her back. The recovery centre was right there. But if I did, wouldn't everyone be mad at me? If they knew it was I who'd recovered her? She was dead. She should have stayed dead, no matter what. Nobody liked her. If people knew I liked her, they would hate me too. And then I'd be just like her.
Maybe that would be nice.
I glanced to the side. The recovery centre was right there, the cold grey metal patterned with graffiti and machinery. The brightest graffiti was in red, a small doodle of a leaf. I couldn't recognize it at first, but I knew who it was anyway. It was her. She must have drawn herself, being bored. I couldn't figure out why she chose to draw in red, though.
I found myself standing up. I shouldn't have been. It was too dark to see which way was the front of the recovery centre, but that didn't bother me. I was a source of light for myself. I just walked around the box, scanning the walls for the keypad and lever.
The wall was cold when I approached it. It didn't get very warm here. It was always much more dark and cold than it was in Goiky. I wondered if it was hard for her to stay awake here, not being able to photosynthesize as much. I wondered if she was always tired, always hungry, always irritable. I couldn't imagine her being irritable. She was always the nicest, most patient person I knew. Only one more reason to regret what I'd done.
The wall was cold when I passed the buttons on the keypad. The first time I'd seen her name written down since the last episode of season one. The first time I'd seen her name written down since it happened. Her name was almost foreign to me. I could still remember how it sounded when I said it. I could still remember how it sounded when she said mine. I wondered if she still thought about me like I thought about her.
The wall was cold when I pushed the OK button beside the keypad. If I spelled her name wrong, which I knew I didn't, it wouldn't work and I would get caught. I had to be careful, and I was proud of myself that I was. I wondered if she still knew how to spell my name. I was sure she did.
The wall was cold when I started to slowly crank the lever. Her feet came first, then her legs. Then, the bright green of her body. It was a long time since I'd seen the colour. It made me happy, but with a hint of terror. What if someone saw me? What if she saw me? What if I got caught? What if she was still mad? I wasn't prepared to explain myself to her. I wasn't prepared to explain anything to anyone.
The wall was cold when I saw her face. It was dark enough that I couldn't make out the details. The crevices of her cheeks and nose were illuminated poorly by the soft orange glow that I emitted, and it made her look even more beautiful than normal. I'd almost forgotten how she looked after so long apart, but I recognized her immediately. That was her.
The wall was cold as I finished cranking. The lever fell back into its original place, and she slowly floated onto the dirt below. She stirred, and I backed up slightly. I didn't want to hurt her again if I was too close. She squeezed her eyes shut and gently rubbed them with tight fists. I backed up more.
The wall was cold as her eyes opened. I was hiding behind the side of the machine now. Her face was dark once again now that I was further away. I already missed it. She looked around for a bit, and I ducked behind the recovery centre just as she looked in my direction.
I ran. She missed me. I could hear her approach as she briefly chased me. I ignored her. I was gone. She didn't see who I was.
I went to bed later that night. I leaned against the wall of the Weak Trembling Fortress, as I always did. They'd installed metal walls the other day so I didn't have to lean against the wood. There was always a risk of burning it down, which often left me unable to sleep comfortably. But today I couldn't sleep for another reason.
The wall was cold.