Perspective 3: Jamie neglects to confirm the fact that he may or may not be the main character.
I was 4 when I lost mine.
I was only little but that didn’t stop the overwhelming feelings of guilt and sadness. I remember crying for what seemed like weeks on end. It was unbearable; but I guess everything seems infinite for a child.
That’s what they said it should be: infinite.
As soon as I heard that word on the news I looked it up: infinite- a concept describing something without any bound, or something larger than any natural number. So love was to be boundless? Or was it larger than anything naturally comprehensible? They always failed to distinguish that.
Mum said I should “feel privileged, many people rarely get to see theirs, you know?, In fact, most people can go their whole lives without knowing if they ever had one in the first place”. Then she’d smile. I hated it when she smiled, because in the end it was empty and meaningless; I fail to see how death is a privilege.
She had one.
I watched it swirl into a cloud as the wind of her final breath swept across her breadth: a perfect storm for the most perfect person- she’d smile at that too.
I can’t say I didn’t feel anything after she was gone, but whatever it was, it was never quite as intense as when I was 4, in fact, compared to that I was paralyzingly numb. I was left cold and alone, and with a lot of questions that had still gone unanswered by her. It wasn’t that her death was sudden, it’s just that I never had the guts to ask her myself: that smile could stop time itself, if she wished it, which she usually did.
From then on I lived with my grandparents until I was 18, in a small town near the countryside. I was happy there, and thanks to all the unanswered questions I bore as a child, I have always had an inquisitive nature.
I remember playing chequers with my grandad next to the fire on winter evenings, when the air was brittle with chill. I lost most of the time, but I never used to sulk, I’d laugh instead out of the sheer pleasure of learning. And when the night drew in, and I had exasperated all my energy in losing and laughing, my nanna would scoop me up and carry me off to bed.
It is within one of these care-free nights that I finally asked her.
“Why did my soulmate have to die?”
I expected her to smile silently like my mother did.
I expected her to laugh.
I expected her to cry.
But she didn’t.
She looked down at the floor and paused. I remember thinking how she looked so dark at that moment, like a Disney villain after they had been bested by the hero, I didn’t stop to think about the lack of light in the room at the time, despite the open window.
“It is only the end if you believe that you are the main character in this story we call ‘life'”
She stopped to take a breath, lifting her head and allowing her eyes to meet mine. They were surprisingly vibrant for her age: sapphire blue, with ripples of white where the moonlight now danced in her eyes.
“You see, my love, this isn’t a tale about you, this is a tale about the two eldest companions in the universe; ‘coincidence’ and ‘fate'”.