I Miss Something (It Isn't You)

I Miss Something

(It Isn't You)

Katelyn Topshee

To Mom
The first to read everything, and the first to say it's good
Love you whole bunches

“When we think of the past it's the beautiful things we pick out. We want to believe it was all like that.”

- Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid's Tale

When My Heart Is Lonely

When Julie smokes, she’s never happy. It’s an escape, a response. When the night gets dark, and Uncle Alan leaves for bed, you might catch her sneaking out to the porch. Sitting in the living room, you’ll see the smoke rising up through the window; this is your first sign of danger. Something is clearly wrong. Don’t ask what it is, or that something will become you.
On a night like tonight, it’s probably Dale. Actually, scratch that, it’s always Dale. She only ever smokes because of Dale. She sits on the bench, wrapped in Aunt Irma's old quilt, with the photo albums laid out on the table. She flicks her lighter, and flips through the album, pages 8-53 (she always skips the baby pictures).
If you’re careful, you can sneak upstairs and watch from the guest bedroom window. Don’t make a sound, or she’ll hear you through the screen. No, she won’t be mad, but she’ll put the album away. Then she’ll slide open the door, and ask “Who wants dessert?” (that’s code for “You missed your chance, kid, be quieter next time”).
But, if you watch from the window, lying on your stomach, you’ll see her look at the past. You’ll watch her turn the pages, the photos old and dusty, and you’ll worry that the cigarette is gonna light them up. But you don’t say anything, or else you’ll miss it. You’ll miss the bit of vulnerability; that look she only has when she watches The Sound Of Music. It’s in her eyes: she misses him.

If you ask her, she’ll say she doesn’t. It’s a lie, but you’ll believe it when you hear it (until you watch her smoke, and then you know the real truth).
Because when Julie misses him, she smokes. Because she wishes he was there to smoke with her.
I like to think he is.

It's Not "Dwelling" ... It's "Denial"

(MARIE sits in front of a window. JANE enters with a vase of flowers, placing them on the table next to MARIE, who does not turn from the window)

MARIE: Do you ever wonder about death?
JANE: God, not this again.
MARIE: Well, do you?
(JANE sighs, and sits in the empty seat next to MARIE who finally turns to look at her.)
JANE: Of course I do, everyone does.
MARIE: That’s a bold statement.
JANE: It’s true, isn’t it?
MARIE: Yes. Doesn’t mean it’s not bold. (pause) What do you think then?
JANE: What?
MARIE: When you think about death, what part do you think about?
JANE: Look, Marie, I don’t think this is something you should be talking about.
MARIE: Why not? Because I’m dying?
JANE: Don’t— (pauses, composing herself) Don’t say that.
MARIE: Jane, you’re a smart woman, don’t act like I’m not dying.
JANE: I know you’re sick, but you don’t need to talk about it like that.

MARIE: Like what? Jane, I’m only being realistic with you. They’ve stopped my treatment, and rightfully so if you ask me. Just be honest, what part do you think about?
JANE: I don’t know, just… the usual stuff.
MARIE: Such as?
JANE: Gosh, I don’t know— the afterlife, I guess?
MARIE: Hmm. Do you believe in it?
JANE: Do you?
MARIE: I asked first.
JANE: Fine, um… yeah. I guess I do.
MARIE: So what do you think it is?
JANE: (pauses, thinking) Like a void. Just a white void of nothingness.
MARIE: Oh. (beat) Is it just you?
JANE: What?
MARIE: In your void. Do you meet other dead people, or is it just you?
JANE: There’s other people there. But it’s (beat) it’s not like your family. It’s so big that you can’t really find anyone. Like you’ll find a few people every once and a while, but they’re all looking for their families, and so you’re all sort of helping each other walk around and find your friends, talking about your lives and all that to pass the time.
MARIE: Well, do you ever find them? Your family?
JANE: I suppose, yeah. You could find them at any time, because they’re in the void with you. But it’s just incredibly low odds that within the billions of dead people you’ll find your family right away. So you meet other people, and you learn about who they are and what they did on earth, and you just… walk. Talk.

MARIE: Interesting.
JANE: I guess.
MARIE: Can I tell you something Jane?
JANE: Of course.
MARIE: No offense, but your afterlife sounds terrible.
JANE: (offended) What? Why?
MARIE: Well like, what is that? You spend your whole life on earth dwelling on the past only to arrive in the afterlife and do the same?
JANE: You’re not dwelling, you’re just talking! Sharing your experiences!
MARIE: You walk around a blank white void, with nothing to do except talk to each other about your past, for all eternity, while you try to find the people that actually interest you. It seems like dwelling.
JANE: Oh my God, you make it sound so awful. You’re just meeting new people! With none of the usual societal pressures that come with that!
MARIE: I thought you were an introvert?
JANE: Jesus— look, I didn’t think it through that much! I just thought it would be nice if the afterlife kinda forced you to talk to people you otherwise never would have met. It doesn’t have to be about your past, but like, what else would there be to talk about, you know?
MARIE: (beat) Well that’s nicer than you originally described it.
JANE: I didn’t know I was going to be questioned about it so much.
(pause, they both turn to look out the window again)
JANE: What do you think the afterlife is?
MARIE: I don’t know. I guess I don’t know if it even exists.