No one had heard from Milo for the whole day after the party. Rachel was extremely confused about what happened. She was hoping that he would be at the coffee shop the next day — she wrote a note to give him to read while she worked. She figured it might connect better with him, considering he liked to write on his computer:
“Milo, I don’t really know where to start on this note. First off, I don’t know what happened with you at Carmen’s. I saw you go outside but didn’t think you were leaving. I didn’t mean to make you upset, I was just a little nervous to come talk to you. I was really hoping that you would come say something to me. Drew was thinking you might have been mad at him for talking to me, but he was just talking about you the whole time. Your friend thinks pretty highly of you keep him around. He told me you were kind of quiet, which I kind of already figured. He said he wishes you would feel free to talk to him about stuff, but that you’re usually pretty closed off.
He told me all about the “baggage” you thought you had. He didn’t know all of the details, and said it wasn’t his place to tell me anyway…But I’ve thought you were cute since I’ve seen you at the coffee shop. There wasn’t anything you had to prove to me or hide from me. I’m not some shallow girl, looking for a big hunk to come and be my macho man. Nor am I looking for a guy with the perfect life. We all know that doesn’t exist. I was really just interested in getting to know you. I hope that there is still a chance for that… I’m off at 8 tonight — maybe we can make up for all these weird interactions? Up to you!
- Rachel “
She waited all day for him to come in, but never saw Milo enter the coffee shop. It was obvious that he was probably still embarrassed from what happened. But she still wanted him to see that she cared. She found him on Facebook and quickly typed up her note on her break. Hoping that he would reply, or at least read it, she sent it away immediately.
The message popped up on Milo’s computer as a notification in the corner of his screen. His computer laid propped open with the Word document he had been working on at the coffee shop. Originally, he had this project all planned out. He had written something specifically for everyone that was in his life. It was something he had been working on for a while, and he’d devoted a lot of time and thought to it. But the night at the party changed everything. He had come home and scrapped the whole project. He had wasted time addressing each person when they didn’t even care. He knew now, none of them cared.
The document now read:
“I can’t believe I gave this as much thought as I have been lately. I have spent much time grueling over how I was going to put all my thoughts together for you. Only to realize that it doesn’t fucking matter. It doesn’t matter at all. The whole idea of me spending time on this in the first place makes no sense. This place doesn’t make sense anymore. People don’t make sense anymore. Things used to be easier back when things made sense. Or when I was too stupid to know they didn’t make sense. I’d rather be blind than stuck with hindsight. I have made my fair share of messes and I’d rather be done with that.
Here it is for everyone to know; I am not doing fine. I haven’t been for the longest time. I desire for people to care about me, but when they do, I push them away. I have been so frightened to be my screwed up self, because of how this world works. Everyone talks of positivity and loving each other, yet all I see are fake people. Everyone desires to be known, but project something other than they are. When will we drop the masks and actually reveal the broken self that is within us all?
The tactics of my culture have not been of use to me. I try to deny the voices that haunt me in my mind by being someone other than who I am. When I tried that, I was left with utter failure and embarrassment. Another loss for me. I try to run from reality by ignoring the very things that have created this ache in my life, which only lasts until reality catches up with me. The voices only stay quiet for so long.
Meanwhile, these tactics have left me not knowing who to trust or confide in anymore. Everyone seems to look out for themselves. Each one of us avoids being truly known by covering up the baggage we have, one way or another. I see it as my father runs from the pain of his failed marriage. I see it as my fellow church members project a reality of their lives that isn’t true. I see it as my mother becomes defensive because she can’t admit the failures in her own life. I see it as my ex-girlfriend cares more about her own image and other’s opinions than those that truly love her. I see it when I look at myself in the mirror. To be truly known, we must bare the mess that is our life.
To my family and friends: I wish we could’ve really known each other. I wish we didn’t play games. I wish we didn’t wear the masks we wear. But we do, and I’m done. I give up. I have hidden from you all and I can’t just continue to hide from you. Unless I do this, I will never be free. You will now know that my life is a mess and I will finally be free from the voices. There is freedom in being truly known, and into freedom I go.
Sincerely,
Milo”
The computer rested right next to Milo’s body as he laid in peace. Right next to his computer in the open was his stash. All that was left was the bottle; the pills had all gone down smoothly. Milo finally found a way to get rid of the voices. Everyone would now see what he truly was: hopeless and destitute. He lay now like the box on the sidewalk- lifeless, having spilled his contents out for all to see.
