And that was everything, really.
I came out of that summer with nothing, for the most part. I suppose I had a car I could drive, so my commute to school would be a couple minutes shorter. The money I earned was just over $1000, but that barely would keep me running for a month. And with my classes starting, there wasn’t time to get working again.
It’s crushing, y’know? I already told you how little it meant in the grand scheme of things, but it felt like so much progress was wiped away. I spent every bit of myself that summer. Pushing myself for more hours working. Forcing myself to take more action to speed things up. Learning and adapting and being more than I could ever have been before that summer and it felt like every moment was ripped away from me by the time I was driving up to college.
I was already planning on writing these stories. At least, the first few. I wanted to share all the progress I made over summer. I took my own break from streaming to do it, so I felt like people deserved to know. It was going to be a nice, short series of positive life improvement stories that I could share after the depressing ones last time. Then, well, everything else happened.
I never wrote those stories, though. Not until the summer was over and I was back at university. I was stuck in my mess of a room, computer set up once more and classes coming the day after. Sat in bed, night peaking through my curtains, I thought back to them all. I debated what I would do next. Thought about what would replace that set of stories. I wondered where I’d go next.
I sat up and opened my laptop. I’m not sure why, but I couldn’t give these up. I didn’t want to just forget this summer, even if nothing really got to happen. Something in my heart was telling me that I had a chance to find something that wasn’t taken away that summer. Some sort of experience I could take away, or even a lesson I was given during those months.
I’m not really sure if I found anything. Some of these writings felt like they went somewhere, but a lot just trailed off into nothing. Some of these were just rants about things I didn’t understand. Hopeless, useless writings I’d get nothing out of. I don’t know why I kept writing them. Maybe I was hoping that the finished product gave me something I didn’t see before. Or maybe I was just too stubborn to leave it unfinished. Maybe I hoped someone else would find something I missed, and that would help them not make mistakes I did.
I don’t even really know why I’m writing this last one too. I’m trapped in class, a professor now explaining something about a movie I barely watched. Even then, I continue to write these words. There isn’t anything planned for this, you know? Every other story was meant to follow a theme. An idea I had that I wanted to explore. Do you know what this one says? “Another ramble that tapers off to nothing.”
That’s all this is. Me, with nothing better to do, throwing words on a page hoping something will strike me. In the end, this just turned out the same as everything else I write. Putting my thoughts into words and finding nothing. Writing and writing and pleading and begging that this time I’d find something inside that could help me. But in truth, all that happened that summer was nothing.
So now, I suppose I returned to the normal world. I even started streaming again, at least a little bit. That summer ended up being some other world, a place where nothing really had an impact on the future. I just experienced what it would have been like if I got my shit together in high school and could get to driving and working immediately. But instead, my real past is just full of a me that never grew up.
And even now, I haven’t grown up. Sure I had some open doors, but getting a job wasn’t really anything special. I still ended up being scared no matter how brave I thought I could become. I still couldn’t surpass a 17 year old in something I dedicated myself to. I couldn’t stand up for myself and define my identity in front of my mother. And in the end, my urge to take control of things left me jobless. Every step was another reminder that I was still just a kid. And now, each of those doors are shut.
But despite it all, something keeps pushing me to write. Something inside me feels like that summer did indeed change me. Even just dipping into that world left me different. It changed me. That job reminded me that I could, after all. I could be an adult. I could work on my own, learn and adapt to make people smile. I found myself face to face with terror and somehow was able to steel myself in the face of darkness. I somehow felt my age and its meaning for the first time, rather than just a number that people asked for at the doctor’s office. I had a form of courage that let me stand up to my parents when faced with resistance.
And that final day left with the choice that got me fired. That day I learned that I could act on my own. I could take control and steer myself towards what I believed was right. And even now, despite it all, I know I was right. Even if I may have made mistakes, what I did was for the right reason.
So, in the end, maybe there was something I earned. A strange series of thoughts that I picked out as they passed by, a fuel I could use to keep writing and find something in that summer. And maybe that was why I kept writing. Because every day I let pass, the more of that summer would fade away into obscurity. What I’ve done is taken the moments that mattered, no matter how small. I froze parts of my life and brought them here, to stay. To help me think. To help me grow.
So for now, I’ll return to life as it was before. Those doors can lock back up, because for now I’ve gotten plenty from what was past them. I’ll sit here, contemplating those thoughts and letting them remind me of a summer that never really happened. I’ll study, I’ll stream, and I’ll write with each passing month a reason to forget the rest of that summer.
And in a year, next summer, I can try again.
-/-
So, that’s everything.
Did you enjoy it?
…
…Did you fall asleep?
…
I guess it doesn’t matter.
…
…I mean, this whole story. All these writings.
I did write them for you, like I said.
But I didn’t really mind if you didn’t listen.
…
I just wanted to do something for you.
Be with you, I guess.
Even if you don’t listen, just speaking to you makes me happy.
…
I guess hearing me makes you happy too, huh?
…
Hey. When you wake up, can I ask you something?
I want you to share a story with me next time.
…
…Can you tell me the story of how you fell in love with me?
…
I’d enjoy that.
…
Goodnight, hun.
I love you.