Writing From a Desk in the Dark: Chapter 5

I always give myself away. Piece by piece. My time, my interests, my feelings. A piece given to student council, raw until crafted to become the perfect senator. A piece given to the honors college, worn down into the perfect scholar. A piece to community activists. Never mind that they’ve crafted me into something unrecognizable, used for means far beyond the original intent. A piece to my family, the facade of a daughter who left to go to college two years ago, not the person I am now. A piece for Aaron, molded by me into the friend he wants, supportive yet quiet, someone who cares for him, yet asks only companionship in return and most days feels guilty for asking even that.

And a piece for me. Kept raw, precious because of its roughness, unpolished. Part of this piece are my stories, written from a desk in the dark. Part of this piece are my identities, unwelcome where I live. Here, everyone knows my name, but few actually know the true me. Aaron has seen it a bit, when my exterior cracked. It almost destroyed our friendship.

I’m the only one who knows Orion.

There’s a town I run away to sometimes, up in the mountains, where I can be nobody or anybody. No one knows me there, three hours away from the uni. I can walk down the street without seeing anyone I know, without having to remember who has which piece of me to know how I should act. In this town, I can give whatever name I want for my coffee order, cloaked in anonymity. For once, I can be Orion.

It wouldn’t be a problem if I was vaguely recognizable on my uni campus. Or even a-lot-of-people-know-her-and-she’s-nice recognizable. Instead, I’m campus newspaper photo recognizable, Uni-president-introduces-her-to-the-Board-of-Trustees recognizable. Everywhere I go, people come up to me, calling my name. Maybe they want to talk about student council or they want me to join their club. They want me to help with this protest or come to their party. And I rarely say no. After all, being a public figure on campus never ends with only student council business. But all I can think when they come up is not another piece.

I can’t give them another piece of me, no matter how badly they might need it. If I give away another piece, then there’s none left for Orion. I only have a few pieces left.

I’m already starting to shatter, barely sleeping, either overeating or not eating at all. I avoid my friends. When there’s so many people I have to be around, so many things are expected of me, even being with friends feels like a chore. And my friends haven’t met Orion.

So I write this story from a desk in my dark room in the halls. High above the world, with the sun setting out my window silhouetting the trees, I type this story. Part fiction, part diary, a world where Orion lives. A piece for me.