divine signs of the end: a journal entry
Written by Isabella DeCicco
Image courtesy of @kyarix_
She taught me to put the butter on the counter; that way, it would always be soft and easy to spread. I’d done it like that for years because of her and liked my butter better that way. Suddenly, I began to notice a strange flavor in my food until I realized its source was the softened butter on the counter. All these years of following her advice and suddenly the butter randomly began tasting foul. A few months later, our friendship ended and I couldn't help but think I should have listened to the taste of the butter.
I rearranged my room at the start of this year because a mouse was in the attic, scratching at the ceiling and keeping me awake. So, while I slept on the couch, I took the opportunity to rearrange my bedroom furniture. In the process, I took down most of my photos, including the framed photo of us. She had given it to me for my fifteenth birthday and it had hung on that wall ever since, undisturbed. I remember feeling a sense of sadness as it departed, putting something else in its place. A few months later our friendship ended and I couldn't help but think I should have foreseen the end when I took down the picture.
She always used to complain about my curtains; how I didn't have any and needed to because it was too bright in the morning. I finally got a set of blackout curtains, but she complained they were on the wrong side of the room and said I needed two sets so that both windows were dark. When I rearranged my room, I made sure that the blackout curtains were near my bed because of her, and finally, after all these years, I got a second set for the other window. She never got to see them because she hasn’t come to visit since then. A few months later, after accommodating her curtain request, our friendship ended and I couldn't help but think I shouldn’t have succumbed to the darkness she'd been itching for.
She gave me a hair mask almost two years ago and I just finished it recently. It was the best hair mask I’d ever used. My hair felt strong and healthy. But it was expensive and I debated if I should spend the money to buy it again. A few months later, our friendship ended and I couldn't help but think I should have seen the end coming when the container emptied.
I've been writing a book and the characters are inspired by us. I've been struggling to write her character, struggling to know who she really is and how she’d changed since the start of the story. In the conclusion of the book, our characters go their separate ways at the end of the day, splitting off in their own directions. Now, we've gone our separate ways and I can't help but think I manifested it when I wrote it on the paper.
About two years ago, I accidentally dropped her mirror while helping her move. It broke and shattered and I felt horrible. I never believed in the“ break a mirror, have bad luck for seven years” thing. But now, I couldn't help but think that was the beginning of our bad luck. Was it my doing when I broke her mirror? I didn't mean to.
Maybe I should have ignored the signs of our friendship ending so that we could sit in limbo for a little while longer.
But I’ve started to feel sick from ingesting spoiled, rotten butter. I’m not willing to leave it out on the counter anymore just because it’s easier to spread. Why on earth have I forced myself to keep swallowing this? Digesting this? I’ve begun to realize I’m better off with my butter solid and sweet than soft and foul.
Maybe the mouse scratching at my ceiling was trying to wake me up to reality. I’d outgrown the arrangement of my room and the photos on the walls. Why should I stay stuck in the frame of a fifteen-year-old? I’m too big to fit into it. I can’t stop myself from growing and changing because someone else might be sad to lose an old version of me. I have to grow, even if they’re not willing to stick around for who I will become.
Why should I put my curtains where someone else wants them? It’s my room. What about what I want? Why should I accommodate the needs of someone who barely spends time in my space, who distances themselves farther and farther from it? I’ve finally considered that I’d much rather wake up to the peaceful morning light telling me a new day has arrived. I don’t even like waking up in darkness, feeling like a vampire getting out of bed, feeling the immense toll it takes on my moods and my mind. I cannot allow myself to stay trapped in the darkness any longer.
While I appreciated the love and care of the hair mask when it filled the container, the container is empty. An empty container is no help when your hair is dry. Unfortunately, I can’t bear the cost of a new one. I’d rather live with dry hair than have my energy sucked dry from the anxiety of spending money I don’t have. The cost is just too hefty.
Perhaps I couldn’t write her character because I don’t know who she is anymore. And perhaps she does not know me either. Maybe I wrote our ending on paper because it was inevitably the only ending there was.
The mirror shattered for a reason. Not as a warning of what would become of us, but as a message that we were already fragile and starting to break.
