On a Saturday morning, I decided not to exist anymore.
I was standing behind the counter of Super Corndale, the convenient store closest to my apartment, counting lottery tickets. A fan was vrooming behind me, while the white noise of the fridge at the back of the store buzzed along.Ā
It was the perfect, aimless moment to cushion my musings, as there was nothing to think about in here. My blinks were slow and sleepy, and the light outside was still all shy, barely daring to peak through the clouds.Ā
It dawned on me gently; a murmur so tender, it made me shiver, as if caressed by the idea. I could justā¦stop trying.Ā
āMorning, Evelyn!ā The voice jiggled as the door of the store opened. I looked up, as Evelyn: the cashier, the nametag.Ā
And he was the old man who passed by enough to pretend familiarity with me. A subtle eye with an obnoxious voice, big veiny hands with chubby fingers, and a taste for cheap coffee and sunflower seeds; thatās all he was to me.Ā
I wished he wasnāt there from the moment he walked in. I wished I wasnāt there, with him, in him; in his eyes, his ears, his thoughts, his mind. Get me out.Ā
āMorning,ā I mumbled back, ducking my head to finish counting the lottery tickets. I put them back under the glass, sliding the drawer shut.Ā
The coffee machine started as he pressed the button with his chubby finger. āWhatās with the long face?ā he asked.
My lips were already forming a cheery ānothingā when I remembered my earlier soft thought.Ā
There were rules in life. Relational, societal...moral responsibilities I acquired from the moment I was born. These terms werenāt mean, on the contrary; they were the wheels that allowed people to move toward personal fulfillment with the least amount of friction with others.Ā
But I donāt need to abide by them. I can just stop trying. And then, what would happen?Ā
As the silence stretched, I didnāt answer. The vroom of the fan filled in for me, along with the buzz of the fridge, and the pounding of the old manās presence. I think of what heās probably thinking: she didnāt hear me. But he didnāt repeat himself.Ā
Maybe he was feeling embarrassed or awkward now. But I didnāt check, I didnāt try to interpret the light and colours that pushed into my eyes, to guess from my blurry impressions what was going on inside that old manās body.Ā
I already had all that was going on inside my own body to process. And here, it was much clearer, much safer, much nicer.Ā
I was feeling awkward too, a reflex kicking in. I was feeling hesitant; was I being mean by not answering?Ā
The thought was interesting, and I felt content. I liked thinking. I loved being inside myself.Ā
Perhaps that made me selfish, self-centeredā¦but wasnāt that wonderful? Society was so complex, and the way I fitted inside it was an endless, comfortable scenery I could observe for hours.Ā
That Saturday morning, I decided to stop existing out there. My hands still scanned his purchases, but I didnāt bother pulling myself to the front of my mind and interacting with him; with the world.
I sat back on a metaphorical chair and lounged inside.