The World Goes on Without Me

The world goes on without me. I don’t like it.

I want to be seen.

I want to be noticed.

I want to be free.

My entire life has never known a single thing outside of this house. I was born with a “condition” that can apparently seriously hurt others. I call bullshit. My mom takes care of me, but neither of us have had anything bad happen.

I saw a boy outside my window today. He was tall, fashionable, and good-looking. He looked like Edward from Twilight (except for the whole skin of a killer part and he looked more juvenile). We met gazes. I hid right away and I could feel my cheeks glowing vibrant red.

“Who are you staring at everyday?” Mom asked, bringing lunch to my bedroom. “Just a boy. We talked with each other a few times. His name is Peter.”

She warned me to not get too close to him, but I could see a bit of a smile on her face. She was probably glad that I wasn’t a total social shut-in, and that I still remember how to talk to people.

—

I received a message from Peter. I had my window open last night and in the morning, I spotted a paper airplane on the ground. Gosh how romantic!

I read the contents. It was a short love poem about our distance.

…We may be just 6 feet apart,

But to me, you look like you’re staring from afar…

Yes I know you’ll probably cringe, but I found it cute so who cares.

I wanted to send him back a letter. Then I remembered what my doctor told me, “Everything I come into contact with can be contaminated so you shouldn’t give things to others.”

How cruel this world is. The gift of giving has been taken from me, yet I receive from everyone else.

—

I’m a boy. Just a boy in this lonely world. Just a boy in his room all day, being lazy and unproductive. Just a boy who wishes he could travel the world. Just a boy who wishes to travel the country. Just a boy who wishes to leave this state. Just a boy who wishes to get out of this suburb. Just a boy who wishes to leave this street. Just a boy who wishes to exit his house. Just a boy who wishes for more than this bedroom… to be his world.

I shared my sentiment with Peter. The next day, he gave me a gift.

—

Again, through the window, came a paper airplane. This time, there was a USB stick taped to it. I plugged it into my computer, forgetting my cybersecurity 101–which is “Never plug in USBs willy-nilly you silly-billy” (do as I say, not as I do), and opening the contents of the USB. They were vacation photos. Peter had written a note alongside it, “Though you can’t travel the world, I wish to help you at least see it.”

How sweet he was for doing that. He probably forgot that the internet existed. But the photos were better than the internet. They didn’t feel just like pictures of fancy places I’ve never been to. They felt more like… memories. Imperfect yet pure, full of details and events, these were memories that Peter has made throughout his travels. And he was sharing them with me. It turns out Peter has traveled a lot. His dad is a co pilot. I didn’t even get a wink of sleep that night.

Who needs sleep when they’re in Paris at night?

—

It has been half a year since I first met Peter. It is now winter. I have a tacky mug with some christmas-themed pun on it next to my computer. I heard a call from outside. It was Peter.

He had four layers on. I could see his breath crystalize in the air. His ears were red and he had his mouth buried in his scarf. I really wanted to invite him in.

We had our typical conversation: How’s life, when are we getting out of this town, where’s the body, y’know, typical teenager stuff.

He dropped a bomb however. His family was moving to Brussels in Belgium. It was in three days. That’s Christmas! I didn’t know I was on the naughty list, but what a way to reveal it to me Santa.

I asked him to come by one last time on Christmas Eve.

—

It was Christmas Eve; 11:57 at night. 3 Minutes 'till Christmas. I had patiently waited for him to show up in front of my window but by now, it’s pitch black outside. Even the street lights couldn’t beat the harsh silence of a winter night.

At 11:59, I heard a knock from my window. I went up to the door and opened it. There was no one there.

Huh, that’s weird… I thought I heard a knock… wait, window?

I turned around and got jumpscared by a silhouette of a man. The moon illuminated their face a bit and I was able to make out… Peter?

I hurried over and opened the window.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to tell you goodbye.”

“Well… You could be infected!”

“I talked to you for half a year, and I’m still fine aren’t I?”

“But-”

Before I could finish… he… leaned… in…

Afterwards, he left a note on my desk before spidermaning back out the window (except for y’know, the shooting webs and flying part).

—

I woke up in a cold sweat. What a weird dream that was. I turned my head to my desk and… it wasn’t a dream.

—

Five years have passed since those events happened. Peter is still fine, living out a wonderful life in Brussels, and I now have the courage to leave the house now.

I don’t even know what was real back then anymore. I can’t even remember the face or name of the doctor who first told me about my disease, and mom suddenly changed attitudes and allowed me to leave my house. I now have friends, and I get to travel outside my house. My world has gotten a little bigger.

—

Today’s a big day. I had to experience TSA security, get my dignity scanned along with my luggage, and now I’m finally on a seat, In an airplane.

I looked out the window and it was surreal to feel the ground no longer be ground but air. It was a long flight, but I was able to endure it. Leaving the airport, I heard a voice call out to me,

“Welcome to Brussels!”