by Matt Burns
We see the pieces of other people’s lives they choose to share. The calm, composed parts where things are going well. But everyone is stressed out. Everyone worries. Probably half my grade regularly considers tying cinder blocks to their feet and pencil-diving into a lake. But if we could just open our eyes down there at the green-brown bottom, we’d see that we’re not alone. We could reach out to each other and swim to the surface together. Just another classic teen mass suicide turned lake party.
The girls who’d come to White Water had seemed so carefree and mature in their bathing suits, but they must have been just as nervous and paranoid as I was — maybe more. I mean, their whole bodies were basically on display in their swimsuits. At least guys get to maintain some mystery about the mess between our belly buttons and our knees.
And really, who was I to ever judge the God Squad and their abstinence pledges? They were weird virgins, just like me. Meyer’s pie chart wasn’t right about everything. Sure, everyone likes different books and bands, but when it comes to real life, we all have a lot more in common than not. A few weeks ago I would’ve thought that meant we’re all bland and uninteresting, but I was coming to realize it meant we could all understand each other’s problems if we just took our goddamned headphones off for a minute. Being interesting is a stupid goal. Being a fully formed, engaged person isn’t.
Going forward, I’d try to remember that no one is just one thing — an obnoxious new friend or a weird teacher or a girl who’s too cool for me. I’d take the time to hear someone’s whole story. To acknowledge they exist and they matter. Listen. Do what Alex did for me.
She made me feel seen when I didn’t even know I needed it. Maybe connecting with other people isn’t about having the same taste in movies or saying the perfect joke as much as the feeling you can give someone by showing them that you care. The one thing that helped me the most all year was Alex looking me in the eye.
I know I’m terrible at that. I’m the guy who stares at his shoes because he’s shy and nervous to show his face, and then probably comes off like an asshole who doesn’t care about other people.
I looked up at myself in the mirror. The lighting was bad — awful fluorescent overheads brighter than they needed to be. The kind of light I used to instinctively shut my eyes at. But I kept them open. I stared at myself in the mirror, looking over my face. My cheeks were smooth, but dry and scratched with pink and purple scars. My nose had some blackheads, and my jawline was streaked with red track marks from where I’d been squeezing. A bulging whitehead sprouted from my temple.
I could hear the guys laughing outside.
My face looked nothing like the Photoshopped fantasy. But unlike in that picture, I was smiling. My reflection here wasn’t the whole story any more than my reflection in a room with soft, forgiving lighting would be. The truth about myself and how I felt, or how any of us feel, is more complicated than one image, one angle, one moment of eye contact can show. Those things are a start, but real feelings take effort to understand and express. I need to pay attention, to not get distracted. To keep my eyes open and see myself from all angles, under the best and the worst lights, and have the courage to ask for help when I need it.
Right then, under those terrible fluorescents, I was able to look straight back at my face.
I’ll probably be okay.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2020 by Matt Burns
Cover illustration copyright © 2020 by amdandy/Getty Images
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.
First electronic edition 2020
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number pending
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