His name was Matthew. Her name was Lucy.
I remembered them as I lay in the bedframe I’d slept in since I was twelve, on and off after I’d left for my first year in college. The old pain, now ancient pain, clutched my chest as I wiped my tears, inhaling the damp tissue I was using as a mop.
Matt. The star of our first grade class. He was the fastest, zipping around the bases after kicking the ball far and high, and the smartest boy, his blue eyes a startling shade of cornflower. All the girls were in love with him because, of course, we were. He glowed, yes, but most importantly, he never gave any indication that he knew he stood in the center of our universe, an impeccable sun. He gave generously, kindly. He never had a cruel word to say or a cruel act to impose, so naturally, only goodness flowed back towards him. A closed loop of positivity.
I remember staring at him from across the playground longingly. Oh, if only he would look my way. If only he would come over to me and ask, “Anjana, why are you always reading Nancy Drew books?” I might not have been the prettiest girl in the room – my skin was muddy brown and my eyes, again, an impenetrable brown, imprisoned by the cheapest, ergo, ugliest, wire-frame glasses – but I was certainly the most well-read. And when I stared at Matt from across the playground, I knew in my heart, I just knew he was the sort of boy who would appreciate a girl who always had her nose stuck in a book. He was too smart not to. But how, how was a girl like me supposed to get the attention of a boy like him? His cheeks, always ruddy after we’d played outside in the brisk autumn air.
On the weekends, my sister and I would sprawl out in front of the television. I couldn’t get enough of The Little Mermaid. I would lay on my stomach, my elbows dimpling in the rough carpet, my chin resting in my cupped hands, looking up at Ariel, wistful. Yes, how I too wished I could be a part of another world, one where I could escape my boredom and my body, the one that didn’t fit in anywhere, where I could sing and dance and didn’t need glasses and I could wear chokers and listen to pop music and buy full-priced clothes from Limited Too. Maybe then Matt would notice me, the way Eric noticed Ariel. But there was no villain to sell my voice to, no contract to sign, only the terrible curse of being able to imagine an alternate reality where I had control. Frizzy, black hair and an Indian, too. Still, I’d fill up the bathtub and heave myself against the far end, water sloshing everywhere, because when I closed my eyes, I knew that one day, I would make it to shore. One day.
Right before the weather got too cold for us to have recess outside, I heard a girl whisper to another girl that Matt had told Lucy that he thought she was pretty. I lurched, blindly reaching for the merry-go-round, spinning round in close proximity to the gossipers. Lucy. I blinked. Of course. She was the prettiest girl in our class, long, blonde hair that hung in loose, luscious curls. Her eyes were blue too, but more gray. She was smart, too – not as smart as me, of course, but she was plenty smart on her own. Worse, she was a ballet dancer, a good one. Me? A few months in soccer, gymnastics, piano. Nothing consistent, and nothing good. I had no talents to speak of. Of course, Matt would choose Lucy. In fact, there had never even been a choice to be had. Stupid of me to have overlooked Lucy in my calculations.
Looking across the playground now, I could see Lucy standing in front of Matt, shyly twisting her right foot. Whatever she was saying, he was utterly engrossed. How could he not be? She was wearing a black, netted choker, a blue, ribbed shirt with lettuce-edge hem that was most definitely from Limited Too, well-fitted jeans, a charm bracelet that jangled delicately. She was perfect, just like he was perfect. They made sense. I now understood that I made none.
I stepped off the merry-go-round, my head, dizzy. I shook it, fluids sloshing against my skull, furious at myself for ever entertaining the thought that a girl like me could ever catch the attention of a boy like him. I was no Ariel. I would never be an Ariel. I would never have red hair and I would never win the love of an Eric. It would be better for me if I just learned that lesson now, save myself the heartache moving forward.
But the heart, it does not like to remember these things. At least, mine doesn’t. Was it optimism or masochism? Over and over, whether it was a boy or a girl, a man or a woman, there was always a Matt and there was always a Lucy I was losing my heart to. I would fool myself into thinking I deserved the best, that if only I said the right words, my Matt, my Lucy, would see me for who I knew I was – a diamond. But they never did, or if they did, it appeared they preferred the presence of an opal. I was left to kick myself for forgetting what I had learned all those years ago on a blacktop in smalltown New Jersey.
It’s been a season of wintering, of rest and healing, of opening up to the void. Despite years of hard work in therapy and meditation, I have been surprised to find that there are still very, many unpleasant things in that void, many sorrows and many griefs. Matt and Lucy are but one, but their echoes reverberate. It was only today that I began to wonder if perhaps the world I need to escape into is not the one where I transform into Ariel and woo Eric by signing over my voice, but another one where there are no Matts or Lucys at all.
You see, I had this dream recently where my mother was leading a class of high school students and fellow teachers on a field trip. I had come along to support her. She took us to a science center where we could experience zero gravity, the way a female astronaut had in a movie she screened for us earlier. In the dream, I couldn’t remember the plot of the movie, but I did remember the calm and grace of the astronaut as she led her team in free fall. I wanted that poise.
My mother walked us to a ledge. “Look,” she pointed. “That space has zero gravity activated. Now, you can either step down or you can try the zero gravity out. It’s up to you. Whatever you are comfortable with.” I peered over the side. It was not that significant of a drop, perhaps ten feet. I calculated my risk. If I tried the zero gravity and it didn’t work, I would fall, but it wouldn’t be too bad. Worst case scenario, I would bruise myself pretty badly, but I likely wouldn’t break anything. Okay, I decided. I was going to try the zero gravity thing out. After all, when was the next time I’d be able to do something this cool again?
“Are you ready?” Amma asked. “Let’s go.” The group moved to the ledge. A few people in front of me stepped down carefully, including my mother, which I was particularly disappointed to see. I walked to the edge as others behind me reached it too. At the moment of my decision, I was suddenly nervous. Should I step down after all? Who knew if the zero gravity field was really going to kick in? Was it all a trick? Only one way to tell.
I lengthened my torso over the void, then stepped off the ledge, my eyes squeezed shut. Was I going to fall? Had I made the wrong choice? But then I felt it, the buoyancy. A laugh erupted as my eyes sprang open. I was floating! I was actually floating. I was filled with childish joy. What a rush! What a feeling!
That was when I noticed that I was the only one floating, that everyone else had stepped down. I was surprised, shocked, even. How had I been the only one who had chosen zero gravity? With that large of a group, I had assumed there would’ve been at least eight or nine others who would’ve been curious enough to give it a shot. But I had no time to worry about those people because I was floating higher and higher and suddenly, I found that I could steer myself and then I wasn’t just floating, I was flying. I chuckled. What freedom. The quiet satisfaction of making the right choice.
And then from down below, I heard someone say with great pity, “Oh, she was the only one. That means she’ll never find love.” I lurched, but only for a second. Even though there was a part of me who wanted to see who had said such a mean-spirited thing, I didn’t bother looking down because I knew they were wrong. I knew they were wrong in my heart. Surely, someone, somewhere, at some other time, had chosen to float too. My people, my world, they were waiting for me out there. They had only been waiting for me to learn to fly, and now, here I was.
I closed my eyes, felt the wind rippling beneath my wings, and in that moment, I knew I was never, ever coming down.
Music Corner: Annie Lennox, of course.
Originally posted on LinkedIn.
