Page 57 of When Stars Collide
He ran his hand through his jet-black hair, which must have sparked something, because he continued with his story. “When I graduated from high school, I couldn’t move away fast enough. I thought being on my own, meeting new people in a new town, would be the solution. As it turned out, I felt even more isolated. My depression robbed me of my desire to leave my dorm and meet new people; it took away my personality, my passion, my drive to accomplish something with my life. Still, I somehow managed to drag myself out of bed every day. Because of that, I kept telling myself that I would snap out of it, that it was just a phase in my life that would pass, and any other lie I could come up with because I didn’t want to admit the truth to myself. I became so consumed with trying to convince myself that I was okay that I lost the ability to focus on anything else. And then my grades came out, and I found out that I was failingmy classes. That was it. That was the final straw. The catalyst. I didn’t belong at home, I didn’t belong at school, and as I had convinced myself, I would never belong anywhere.”
I rested my hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to continue, if you don’t want to.”
“I know, but this next part is the most important part of this whole story.” He cleared his throat, pulling the rolled-up sleeves of his plum-colored, button-down shirt back down. “The night I found out I was failing, I returned to my dorm with a bottle of Advil. I figured an overdose would be better than other methods. I didn’t want my aunt and uncle to have to identify a disfigured, bloodied corpse. Then I scrawled a quick note to them, thanking them for taking on the burden of raising a child who wasn’t theirs, opened the bottle, and dumped a handful of pills into my mouth, washing them down with a bottle of water. And that’s the last thing I remember.”He fell silent, staring into his shot glass as though it contained the strength he needed to continue.
“Another fact about me is that I hate cliffhangers.”
“Then I’ll regale you with the details.”His posture was more relaxed, relieved now that the most difficult parts of his story were over, and those details could once again be locked away inside of the vault from whence they’d been pulled. “After I lost consciousness, the RA made rounds through the dorms. Usually, the dorm doors lock automatically when they close, but for some reason, on that particular evening, my door hadn’t. When the RA knocked on my door, it creaked open and he saw me on my bed; my face was blue. He called 911, and the rest is history.”
I took his hand in mine, something I certainly wouldn’t have done had I not been only one sheet shy of three sheets to the wind. “I’m so sorry, Phin. Now I feel like a real jerk for taking your granola bars from the break room.”
“That was you? Why am I not surprised?” It was nice to see him grin again after such a heavy story. “It’s strange, because as horrible as that experience was, I honestly believe I was reborn that day—like a part of me actually did die. When I awoke and I was told the details of what had happened, I decided then and there that my life must have meaning. So, I sought treatment, returned to school, and worked my ass off to get to where I am today. Almost dying made me realize just how much I wanted to live. I’ve since learned what works for me when I feel myself slipping away again, and I manage it.”
“I’ll say. Just looking at you, no one would ever be able to tell that you had a care in the world. You conceal your troubles well, but you don’t have to. If you need someone to talk to, you know where my office is.”
He nodded. “That’s the thing about depression. I liken it to an iceberg. On the surface, it may not look all that impressive, but underneath the still water its complexity is far reaching and devastating.”
“Well, this night just got real. Here I was hoping to learn whether you were a cat or dog person.” I laughed, nudging him.
“Let me go first this round. I promise I’ll keep it lighter.”
“Okay.”
He took a few seconds to mull over his selections, and then turned to me, a revitalized gleam in his eyes. “I’m OCD when it comes to cleanliness, to the point where it’s cost me relationships; I’ve never had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich; I wanted to be an artist when I grew up.”
“This is an easy one. It’s the peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I’ve never met anyone who hasn’t eaten a good, old-fashioned PB&J.”
“Now you have. Take a drink.”
“How is that even possible?”
“My mother was allergic to peanuts, and we never kept peanut butter in the house.”
“Damn that George Washington Carver.” I knocked back my shot glass as the dizziness inside of my head intensified. “My turn, and I’m digging deep.”
“Hit me with your best shot.”
“I started smoking cigarettes when I was thirteen; my parents favor my sister over me; I wanted to be a pianist when I grew up.”
“Geez, well you don’t smoke now, but then again, I’ve never heard you talk about your family, and I have no idea whether you can even play the piano.” He searched my face for information, finding nothing. “I’m going to go with your parents favoring your sister, because I can’t fathom that being true. Besides, for all I know, you don’t even have a sister.”
“And you would be wrong. I have both parents and a sister. I’m also the black sheep of the family for so, so many reasons.”
“Although you never speak of your parents, I figured you weren’t created in a lab, but I’m shocked that I haven’t heard something of your sister. I guess aside from your second life in Virginia, you don’t really open up much about your personal life at work.”
“I’m a tough egg to scramble. Wait. Nope, that’s not it. Tough … A tough.” I began moving my hand around in circles with my index finger outstretched as though that would help me come up with the right words. It didn’t work. “A tough banana to split?”
“I believe you’re looking for a tough nut to crack.”
“That’s just ridiculous,” I scoffed.
He lifted his shot glass. “It’s a good thing it’s me and not you taking this.” In one smooth movement, he downed the drink, setting the empty glass down. “It would appear as though we are one shot short for another round.”
“Oops! I guess we’ll just have to finish the game some other time.”
“Would you care to elaborate on the whole family situation?”
I picked up the last shot sitting next to the fire pit. “Sure, but I’m going to need this first.” Phineas watched as I emptied the glass. “My sister, Melissa, was born with a congenital heart defect and had open heart surgery when she was only three weeks old. Our parents treated her like she was made of glass, fragile and destined to fall and shatter into a thousand pieces at the slightest bump. Because of that, they lived vicariously through me, throwing me into all types of activities, only two of which I actually enjoyed.”
