Raymond Anthony Porreca
This I Wonder Essay
On Choosing to Move Farward
I turn the gas stove on and listen to its sleepy, defiant click as I lower my head towards the blue flame, a cigarette in my mouth. Instinctively, I reach to quickly pull my hair back – it’s getting much too long, she always told me – and tuck it behind my ears, safe from the flame’s entrancing dance. As I stand upright an inhale I am greeted with clarity for the first time in weeks. That clarity, however, is fleeting and turns to emptiness as I turn and lock eyes with her.
It’s late and her pale skin is near-translucent in our dimly lit apartment. She is stunning, almost ethereal in the evening. She stands before me, silent, but her eyes tell a sad story.
I take a drag of my cigarette and want nothing more than to tell her that everything’s going to be alright. This dingy apartment, our life together, it’s all up from here. I want to make her feel safe when I myself feel nothing but fear and uncertainty. I will have to lie to her, but she will see through it. My eyes will betray me.
My brain tells my body to move closer to her; that the words I stumble over in my head will come flowing out as I reach for her delicate arm. The moment I step, however, she is no longer there, rushing past me and fading into the other room as my cigarette’s smoke rises into nothingness.
I follow her and am greeted by a home torn apart. Brown boxes have taken over the apartment, tokens of our life together packed away. There is nothing left but the barren wasteland of shattered hopes and broken promises.
Feeling helpless, I reach for the keys in my pocket and fumble with them, hoping more than anything that these small pieces of metal will inspire something courageous from me. The words never come.
She stands stock still, her small frame engulfed by the surrounding boxes and I swear, despite her tear-stained eyes, that she has never looked lovelier.
“It doesn’t have to be the end of us,” I cough out as I exhale again, hoping my words will inspire some emotion from her. “I love you.”
Gracefully, she steps towards me, quickly, assuredly. I watch, feeling like a bystander as her hand opens up and she whips it across my face. It stings in a way that I sometimes still feel, even four years later.
“You’re the one who is leaving,” she reminds me before turning and entering our bedroom.
I taste blood in my mouth and drag deeply on my cigarette.
Silence permeates my world as I sit amid the boxes. Alone now, I retreat inside my mind and examine the facts.
At twenty years old, I have come to the conclusion that I am living a finite existence. The happiness I have felt, no matter how real it is, is transitory at best. I moved to Pittsburgh to go to college; I had every intention in the world to pursue a degree in creative writing and write the next Great American Novel. The reality, however, had turned out to be anything but that.
After my first semester, my grades plummeted, and I soon found myself a college dropout. The weight of seeing my dreams come crashing down so quickly dashed my spirits and scared me away from pursuing academia ever again, and instead I retreated into my own mind, spending my days idling about, reading and researching topics that interested me while I waited for my friends to finish their classes for the day.
In honesty, I enjoyed my time at first. The world outside of the classroom began to open up and I had no schedule to dictate my life. As with all good things, however, this too came to an end.
In the months leading up to my departure, I began to feel a sense of bone-crushing anxiety that lashed out to me in every facet. At this moment, I realized I was doomed.
Despite all the good I had in my life – a small house to live in, a relationship that meant a lot to me, and a group of friends that supported me through this stage in my life, every ounce of my being suddenly screamed for a change. It was animalistic in nature, and slowly but surely I understood why I had to move on.
For as much good as my life has in it, it is still marred by failure. At twenty, I have no job, no education to speak of. My peers are moving on, destined for success in the vague reality that we refer to as the real world and they will all inevitably leave me behind. I know this to be true and I take one last drag of my cigarette.
She will do the same too, whether she knows it or not. Rather than be left to deal with the fate I am being dealt – one of despair and inevitable loneliness, I decided to make a change. Something in my bones urged me to return to my home, to start anew before it is too late. It is scary and terrible, but it is the only option that makes sense after the thought enters my mind.
As time goes on, the boxes begin to fill up. It is slow at first, but as my soul urges me on, the pace quickens. It is time to change, to grow, to become someone or something. As much as it pains me, it is the only way to ensure that I do not waste away in a life that feels free but is more chained than I can fathom.
I look back on that last night now, and remember the taste of blood in my mouth. That taste, that feeling, the notion of an important chapter closing is part of me now. I do not dwell on it, but when it comes rushing back to me, it serves as inspiration.
When this memory crawls into my mind, I find myself thinking about the life I lived and feeling so far away from it now. I am twenty-four years old and everything seems so different. I am back in school now and working harder than I ever knew was possible in order to ensure I graduate in the future. I want to write and to learn and to have the education to support my every desire. I have friends – many of whom are from that past life – who want this for me to. I have two jobs that I am passionate about and I am fortunate enough to be able to write each day. Things could not be better.
Still, when that memory of a life that feels so far away comes back, I cannot help but wonder what would have happened to me had I not left. I think I know the answer, I think that I would have been a nothing – someone who dreamed bug but never had the courage to reach for their dreams. I have not yet achieved all of those dreams, but I know that in this life – the one I chose not accepted – I can make this a reality.
Each day feels better than the last. The turmoil and anguish of the past is gone and the only taste left in my mouth is the bitter, hot coffee.