Submission to Admission

I'm waiting in line. Waiting to be accepted. Waiting to be judged, and ironically accepting to be judged. The line moves forward, and I can see him. He intimidates me, my fate lies in his hands. The line shortens and before I know it I'm face-to-face with the man who determines my admission.

He does not even look at me (which I find unnerving), but simply orders, "Explain yourself."

What?

Not exactly understanding his request I tell him, "I can't describe what I'm feeling. Not to you, not to me, not to anyone."

He seems to have not taken any of this in. This man is going to be harder to impress than I thought. As I contemplate on how to get on his better side, he catches me off-guard with yet another question.

"Why did you do it?"

I have no choice but to answer, but the problem is that I don't exactly have an answer.

"I don't know what provoked me to do it. I obviously regret it, otherwise I wouldn't be here."

"Why are you here?"

"Because I don't want to be there."

He is still unimpressed. I am still not surprised. It's time to step up my game. There is a silence while he waits for something better than my pathetic response. The silence is neither awkward nor is it unnerving at this point. I know I have all the time in the world, because I have no where else to go now; and neither does he.

Surprisingly he succumbs to the silence, my assumption that it is more out of annoyance with my pettiness than impatience. He finally looks at me and says, "Ultimately everyone winds up here. Think of me as the bouncer who determines who gets to be allowed in. This is why you need to explain your story."

At this point I want in so badly, I'm willing to tell all. It's not like I have anything to lose, because I had already lost everything (my dignity being the least of them) upon coming here.

So I tell him.

"I've spent the majority of my life physically moving through each day just to flee from my own past. Every man I was ever with, I clung on to in hopes of finding some sort of new life on the other side of their passion; all the while my soul was begging for some leniency. My problem was that I was never able to slow down let alone stop. I've always wanted too much and moved too quickly. I've always blamed the men for why I was so hurt."

Here he holds up his hand to make a point. "Look back at how cautious you have been throughout your life; are you sure you haven't been inflicting this pain upon yourself?"

I'm stumped and taken aback by his statement, but I begin to see his point.

My entire life I searched for love. True, passionate love that lies far beneath the surface of image and even words. I grew afraid and confused when my feelings were ever returned. I guess it was my insecurity questioning why any man would ever go for someone like me. This is why, over time, as the men grew closer, I grew further and further away. In the end they got hurt and left, but being the inconsiderate bitch that I was, I channeled all the pain onto myself, blaming the other side for the result. I still blame the other side for the reason why I am here.

Now that it's too late to redeem myself, I ask, "Why? Why was I ever like that? Why did I always have to go and ruin something so good for myself?"

He seems to have had the answer all along.

"Underneath your over-confident persona, dashing smile, and outrageous exclamations, there are detours that can lead a person somewhere so deep inside you where you yourself are even afraid to venture to. You need to stop wanting more. Instead of constantly trying to escape, you need to learn to adapt to the predicaments you usually put yourself into."

This presents a need to defend myself.

"I don't put myself into predicaments."

"How did you end up here then?"

I thought for a second and replied, "I just couldn't take it anymore."

"So you just decided to leave? Just like that? 'poof' and you're gone?"

"Well it was more like I left with a 'bang', but I get it. I know. It was wrong, but it seemed like the only solution. I had no other alternatives. Besides, it's not like anyone cared."

He looks at me.

"You honestly do not feel that your irrational actions made an impact on anyone or anything?"

Being a man of power and high authority thus demanding a great amount of respect, I decide to agree with him only because I just want in. However, my stubborn side overcame my modesty and I replied.

"Not really. I mean they'll all get over this soon, and they barely even notice nor do they care right now."

He simply sighs and tells me, "I'm going to let you in, but first you need to go back and just observe. See for yourself whether or not anyone cares or ever cared. Go."

So I left him, and now I am here on this field.

There is not a single cloud in the sky with only a slight breeze flowing through the day. I've been here many times before, but it was never in my honor. Not once did it ever cross my mind that everyone would one day dress up to come and honor me. I take a look around, and my soul is filled with regret as I watch them all pass by me one by one; each of them placing a white rose upon my coffin and walking away with tears in their eyes.

Now I know. They did care, they still care, and they always will care.

I want to go back. I want a second chance.