I was sinking into myself again. I had just finished my final exam, which I had studied very little for, and was feeling good about myself. I could tell my college professor was surprised I even showed up, much less take the final. I could feel everyone staring at me. I was a rare occurrence in the class. Nobody knew who I was or where I lived or anything about me really. I doubt any of them even remembered my name. I didn’t care.
This sort of thing, coming out of my small closet sized dorm room, only happened twice a semester. The first time at the beginning of the year to get my books, then I head back to hibernation where I teach myself. Do I miss classes with people? Definitely not. I learned better on my own. I was a recluse, who only read books. I don’t think I’ve ever had a friend or even seen anyone else besides my parents. I was home-schooled all my life. I was very white, almost albino, because I never ever go outside. Outside there is diseases, like my mother said. Mom is always right, but sometimes, when I do go outside, I revel in the sunshine and breathe the fresh air before realizing how much toxin I had just breathed in. Then I hurried to the classroom or my room with a mini air purifier.
I’m not paranoid, I swear. Everything is just habit. I’ve never made a decision for myself, never. Somebody tells me to do something everyday, and I enter it into my daily routine. My mom taught me to bathe twice a day, once in the morning and once in the night. I always do that. My dad taught me to use the air purifier and what germs could do to you if you kissed anybody. That scared me off dating. I looked up suddenly and realized I was the only person in the class. The professor was sitting in his desk, staring up at me mildly. I smiled and unplugged the air purifier from the circuit next to me and hurried out of the room.
I stepped outside and looked about, blinking the sunshine from my eyes. I saw a few guys stopping to gawk, and I felt the customary need to flirt, but I shied off and hurried upstairs to my room, remembering the pictures my dad showed me of the germs around and in your mouth. I shuddered and locked my door. I looked around my meticulously clean room, which I vacuumed and dusted every other day. My air purifier was humming in the living room. I followed the routine that dictated my life every day. I sat down and picked up a book, reading until eight o’ clock every night before taking my shower and crawling into the bed sheets I had changed that morning, every morning.
I picked up the book and started to read, feeling myself starting to sink into it. Suddenly a bright flash appeared in front of my eyes and I had to shut them to protect my sensitive pupils. The light stopped and I opened my eyes. Across from me sat a man, not a very impressive man, but a man nonetheless. I was curled up, feet underneath me, so I did a not so graceful jump that earned a small chuckle from him. “Who are you?” My voice was hoarse from so little use. I only talked when reading, often times because I felt an irrepressible loneliness and desire for another. “My name does not matter Adiwin,” he answered, “I came to see what you are doing with your life.” I blinked and wondered since when did a stranger want to know my life. “I’ve been doing well in school and I take very good care of my body,” I answered, bewildered when the man stood and started pacing around the room.
“That is not life, Adiwin. Life is getting out of the house and meeting others, balancing your time between friends and love and school. It doesn’t mean following a very precise routine every single day of you life. It means fighting when people challenge you, flirting with boys who show interest. Then again, what is your definition of life?” He stopped pacing and looked expectantly at me.
“Doing what pleases your parents and…” here I paused. I could find no other definition in my mind of life. What was life? The dictionary said it was a noun and that it meant, ‘The property or quality that distinguishes living organisms from dead organisms and inanimate matter, manifested in functions such as metabolism, growth, reproduction, and response to stimuli or adaptation to the environment originating from within the organism.’ I had a feeling that that was not the definition this strange man wanted. He smirked at the puzzled look at my face and pulled his chair closer to mine.
“Adiwin, you do realize I love you very much? And how much it hurts me that you don’t use the life I gave you. It hurts that you don’t go out and live and have fun, get sick, experience love. It’s an insult to me that you can’t do these things.” I blinked. This man was so serious, but it was confusing. He wasn’t my father, but he said he gave me life and that he loved me. This was very strange. He then asked a very strange request, “Please go out and use the life I gave you.” I shrugged, extremely puzzled and asked, “How do you live? All I’ve ever known is the life I live in the here and now. Everything is planned and the same. How do I change?” I realized as I said that my life was very boring and predictable.
The man chuckled and clapped his hands together, slowly pulling them apart. A rainbow was extended between them. “Touch it, my child,” he whispered. I poked it with a tentative finger and my hand was sucked in. A feeling of exhilaration flooded up my arm, a feeling of giddiness, of being loved, of acting stupid, of being spontaneous. “What is this?” I asked, sobs in my voice. The man chuckled, “Life. That is life. Go and live.” With that he disappeared. I jerked from my sleeping position on the armchair and dropped my book. I gasped as the dream hit me, and, grabbing my coat, I rushed out the door to a rave that I heard was going on that night.
Life was mine to experience.
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