You Do Not Know Me

You cannot see me.

Some do not know I am here.

Some fear me.

Some wish to embrace me.

But I am here, waiting. Until I have to come. Until you must be taken, whether I want to or not.

My dear Abrina, for example. She cries for me, nightly. Lying on her bed, carpet, or cold, hard tiles. I listen, though she does not know. I cry for her, covering my face, lest anyone see. I have a reputation, one which mortals have taken and run with. I am often pictured, hard and terrifying, seen as something to push away. I understand why.

“Abrina, are you sure you’re alright?” It is morning, and Abrina’s mom is going through the daily ritual of waking her up for school. I am watching her again. I know I should not, I am not supposed to be focused on one mortal at a time.

“I’m fine, mom,” Abrina answers, not convincingly. Her voice cracks, and unbeknownst to her, tear stains show on her cheeks. She did it again last night. Called for me, called to get away from her friends at school. The ones who ignore her, cuss at her, and are so oblivious to her that no one notices her tears. What she does not know is how much everyone else loves her. Adored by teachers, loved by her mother and father. It is unfair how often the best people get paired with the worst.

Cafeteria. Breakfast. The table is full. Hundreds of kids are screaming. One little leg, bouncing up and down, hidden under the table covered in crumbs and sticky spots. “Did you hear-” Bounce. “Be so for real!” Bounce. “Shut up!” Bounce. “This loser!” Bounce.

“What time is it?” Abrina asks her friend, Mariska, the one who always has a watch. She is in the middle of a conversation, but pauses to look at Abrina. She rolls her eyes, just barely noticeable, but Abrina notices everything.

Mariska lifts up her sleeve, “8:10,” she says simply. Then she turns back, and continues her conversation, like Abrina never existed. Abrina goes back to staring at the table. Ten more minutes. Ten more and I can go to class and act like they’re not there.

Choir, the only class Abrina feels fully comfortable in, and thankfully for her, the last class of the day. “Can you go get my binder?” Mariska asks, slathering pink lip gloss on her heart shaped lips. Abrina stays silent, choosing to just nod.

Abrina arrives back, two binders full of music in tow, to Mariska now looking at herself in a handheld mirror. Man, that girl has some vanity issues. “Thanks!” Mariska says in a fake cheerful tone.

“Alright, settle down.” Mr. Rocke projects across the classroom in his smooth, bass voice.“Let’s run ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’ first, then we’ll do some technical work.” He sets himself up on the piano, and begins the intro to the first song. I know what is coming, I have spied on Abrina enough. It is time for her solo, the real reason I peek in this time of day.

Abrina hears her cue to breathe, as she glances at Mariska, who’s staring daggers at Abrina. It is enough to frazzle her, and soon her starting cue has come and gone. She realizes what happened, and she stares like a deer in headlights, as she whips her head back to Mr. Rocke, who has stopped playing. “That’s alright, that’s why we practice,” he says in a clear, soothing tone. Years of teaching high schoolers is evident in his impeccable composure.

But it is too late. I wince when I look back to Abrina, and see tears flowing down her face. Mr. Rocke continues class like normal, but at this point everyone is staring at her. The class does not fall back into its normal rhythm again that day.

Abrina manages to control herself long enough to get to her car, before she begins to cry again. I know how she feels. Choir is the one place where she is important. The one class where everyone (students especially) approves of her and genuinely enjoys her company. To lose that security, mixed with the betrayal of Mariska, is heartbreaking for her. She turns on the car, still crying, and begins to drive. I am a little scared, since I know her vision is obstructed by tears, but I put it out of my mind. I decide to watch her until she gets home like an overprotective father.

Abrina is getting on the highway, only a couple minutes away from the school, when I see something she does not. A car, going too fast for her to merge, but she is already moving. Her mind is too frazzled for trivial thoughts such as checking her blind spot. I yell her name, attempting to warn her, but I know she cannot hear me. As if in slow motion, I see the car crash into her, she gives a small gasp, and the feed goes out. I am now in the dark, nothingness void that I am subjected to live in.

“No, no. Abrina? No!” I yell. If I cannot see her, that can mean two things, she is seriously injured, and unconscious, or that crash was fatal. How about we go with the first one, I do not want to collect her.

Tears are in my eyes, but I work hard to keep them at bay. I cannot let anyone see me like that, caring for a random mortal girl as much as I do. I wipe my eyes with my hands, and when I put them down, Abrina is standing ten feet in front of me. I flinch, distraught. This can only mean one thing, and it is not that she is unconscious.

She is looking around, frantically. She is breathing fast, trying to find something solid to keep her mind steady. She is facing away from me, so all she can see is black.

My home, my prison, is constant darkness, no beginning and no end. No floor, and no ceiling. Just a pit of nothingness. But it always feels like you are standing on something solid, which can be pretty jarring for a 16 year old girl who was in her car ten seconds ago.

Abrina has spotted me now, and has whirled around to face me. She seems mesmerized by me, most are. “Hello, dear one,” I say. I put all of my effort into keeping my voice calming and melodic like it should be, instead of the hysterical mess it was moments ago. Abrina is staring at me, still occasionally darting glances around at her environment.

“You look… like a guy from Pinterest,” Abrina says insightfully. She walks closer to me, and stops three feet away.

“Do I?” I say, amused. I look down, and see what I always see. The stereotypical long black cloak, white, sallow skin. I look undead. Everytime mortals see me, they tell me who I look like, but I always just see me, my natural state. “Is there any chance you might have, what do they say, a crush, on this guy from Pinterest?” I ask Abrina.

She looks surprised, not scared, just taken aback. “Yes,” she says simply, “How’d you know that?”

“Love and death have always had much in common,” I answer her, “Many people who love think it is death, and many people who die think it is for love. For without love or death there is no grief, and with love and death you have chances to live. I am often seen as whoever the person in front of me loves, most commonly romantically.” Abrina nods, but has such a look of concentration it looks like she is solving a puzzle. I can almost see her brain working.

“Death…” she says to herself. I hold my breath, scared of the realization that is about to come. “You mean, I’m not dreaming?” she asks me, understanding evident in her gaze.

“Check your pulse.”

Abrina is obedient. She puts her index and middle fingers together behind her left ear, searching for a pulse. None is forthcoming. She moves them to her wrist, still nothing. As a last ditch effort, she puts both of her hands over the left area of her chest. No beating heart. “So, I’m, I’m-” She’s getting scared, hyperventilating.

“I know it is scary, but that is why I am here,” I say in the soothing tone I started the conversation with. I reach toward her, attempting comfort.

“Who even are you?!” Abrina yells. I let my hands drop, surprised by her sudden outburst. She steps back, defensively.

“I am Death,” I say bluntly, “I am confused, I thought you wanted this? All those nights spent crying for me? I thought you wanted to die.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Abrina bursts out again. “Or, it is what I meant. I don’t know. I guess I needed to get my emotions out somehow. I couldn’t take them out on my friends, or mom and dad. The only other way was on myself.” She is less defensive, but she is still standing farther back than I would like. I do not push her. “I never actually wanted to die. I was never going to do anything, I swear.” This time, her voice comes out like a whimper. I am not sure what to do, so I stay silent. She crouches down, hiding her face with her hands. I allow her time to recoup, and when she puts her head up, I am surprised to see the lack of tears flowing.

“Why me?” Abrina asks.

“What?” I am confused by her question. Why her? Why not her?

“Why pick me? You’re Death, right? Haven’t, like, ten people died since we started talking? Why haven’t you talked to any of them?” she asks.

“Well…” it is a hard question to answer, to admit how much I have enjoyed watching her. “I hear every time someone talks to me, or prays I guess you could say. I heard you the first night, and decided to check up on you. I do that with most that pray to me. When I saw you that first night, I took a liking to you and I have continued to check on you to make sure you are okay. When I find someone I like, I make special plans to see them right after they die. Being a major deity does come with its perks, and all of my employees help to move everyone else,” I answer her.

“So, you like me, and chose to see me,” she says, trying out the words. “I didn’t realize anyone cared that much about me.”

“Many people do, my dear Abrina. If only you could hear the thoughts and hidden conversations of your parents and teachers.” Abrina stands up, and recovers the distance between the two of us.

“That doesn’t do much about my friends,” she says, scowling.

“Who cares about them now? They are behind you,” I tell her. She pauses, at a loss for what to say next.

“So, what now?” she asks me after a moment.

“Well, if you are ready, it is my job to move you to the next stage.” She nods, but then the all too familiar fear returns to her eyes.

“What will happen to me now?”

“Technically, I am not supposed to say, but I would not be worried,” I tell her with a sly grin. She looks more relieved, and I praise myself.

I hold out my elbow, and she steps forward and holds onto my arm. She adjusts slightly, and gives me a small nod.

I lead her into the dark nothingness, down a path that I know well. We chatter all the way, until I am forced to give her up. We have arrived at a place that I cannot go, a place flooded with light. Abrina knows I can go no further, so she lets go of my arm. She turns toward me, and I attempt a reassuring smile, but the last of me she sees is a tear rolling down my left cheek.