Doubt
Doubt
By Parker S. Taylor
A horrible storm hit just as school ended, which is why I’m stuck alone at the bus stop in the rain. I just said goodbye and waved to Lenore. She lives nearby and her father comes to pick her up, so she could leave immediately, whereas I must await the bus. I just missed the previous one, so I check my phone in hopes of a message from her—she always messages me as soon as she can after school—but unfortunately find I have no connection. The next bus is coming in just five minutes, so I may as well sit down. Just five minutes.
As I cannot reach my friend, I look at my camera roll to pass the time. There amongst them, the very first one; innocuous, a snap of Lenore we took earlier that week in the school hallways. There, she stands by the math classroom, next to that water fountain that never works. Look, the way she has one hand lightly on her hips; she seems so confident, carefree, optimistic… See, what an admirable attitude, and YOU ARE NOT HER.
Just four minutes. She wears an innocent and cutesy expression, but is also not naive. She has relaxed and jovial features, she looks worriless and eternally happy, but in some ways also looks observant, perceptive, and knowing. She has piercing, but not judging eyes. She has shapely, but not exaggerated lips. She bears a seemingly coy but loving smirk which YOU CANNOT BE HER.
Right by her face, she has her left hand up, making a peace sign as usual. You can see she’s wearing that bracelet I gave her, just below her smartwatch. Three minutes. It’s so impressive how she manages to be so chic and also look so stylishly smart at the same time. YOU WILL NEVER BE HER. You can see it, too, in her dress: her flashy red skirt with the serious white stripe near the hem; her long brown hair with that simpering pink hair clip; her light-heartedly round glasses with those sleek rims; and her YOU ARE NOT WHO YOU ARE.
It’s raining so, so heavily, I struggle to block out the drone of it hitting the glass above my head. Two minutes. Look at the neatly tucked-in blouse, the playful collar, her bowtie, and the YOU ARE NOT WHAT YOU ARE.
The way she holds herself; her loose hips, her bright expression, one hand up, her legs crossed as she leans against the wall… all of it makes her seem so happy. She’s always like that: she’s always so happy. It’s like she’s YOU ARE NOT ENOUGH. It’s like she’s exactly found her place: she never hesitates, she never doubts herself, and she’s always so YOU CAN NEVER BE WHAT YOU WANT TO BE. She’s always so positive; I’ve never known her to think a bad thought. One minute.
The rain only gets worse. She’s never directionless, she’s never languid, she’s never aimless, she’s never weak YOU ARE WEAK, she’s never daunted, she’s never overwhelmed, she’s never despondent, YOU CANNOT FIND HAPPINESS, she’s never scared, she’s never lost, YOU CANNOT FIND YOURSELF, she’s never alone, YOU WILL NEVER FIND YOURSELF. YOU WILL NEVER FIND LIGHT. YOU ARE HOLLOW. YOU ARE VOID. YOU ARE EMPTY. ZERO.
Why?
The rain mixes inseparably with my tears as I fall to my knees by the side of the road. Why? Why am I like this? Why am I not like her? Why can’t I be like her? Why am I hopeless? Why am I never enough? Why am I in such darkness? Why am I in such a vice? Why am I so incapable? Weak? Lost? Empty? Why am I nothing? Why am I not me? Why am I who I am? Who am I? What is there for me? Is there anything for me? The phone screen cracks as it slips from my hands.
