I Don't Want to be Here

My family has noticed that broken people are drawn to me. I think maybe they see themselves in my eyes. Not my family, broken people. Trust me, this is not a gift. See, I'm an empath. I feel other people. I often feel them before they even notice me. And, sometimes they never know I'm there. Being invisible has its perks. I'm not actually invisible. This is not another take on the classic "The Invisible Man". I have discovered that people just don't notice me. And if they do notice me, they don't remember me. This can also have its perks but there are times I want ... no, I need ... to be noticed. I digress. Enough about me. For now anyway.

This time I saw her before I felt her, which is a nice change of pace. But then the emotions hit me like a dump truck on a slick highway on a cold winters day. "Not today. No, not today." I didn't want to get involved in someone else's problems. I have enough of my own. The weight on my shoulders is just too much at times. This was one of those times. "Don't look at her. Just keep walking." I didn't hear the sob as much as I felt a cold wave of emotions wash over me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her look up at me. So much pain in that one brief glance. "Well, crap, I'm not going to be able to avoid this one."

She had long dark hair that she strategically used to cover the left side of her face, as if she were trying to hide from not only others but from herself as well. Yep. Been there, done that, as the saying goes. "How do I approach her? Do I just introduce myself?" No, that's just too awkward. After all, a library is not the place to meet and make new friends. "Walk. She's staring at you. Just walk!" As I passed her, everything about and around her was yelling, "Help me. I can't do this anymore." Help? What kind of help does she need? And, what does she mean by "can't do this anymore"? What is "this"? While I was quickly thinking of options, a young man at the table beside of the dark girl got up which left me the perfect opportunity to sit down near the troubled teen. "Now what?"

As if sensing my trepidation, the girl turned to look at me. I gasped. The pain I saw in her dark, brooding eyes was almost more than I could handle. "I can't do this. I'm not a therapist. I don't have the answers. Why me?!?" I don't know why because I certainly didn't feel like it, but I smiled at her. And, she smiled back. After taking my laptop and notebook out of my backpack, I decided to jump in with both feet so I said, "Are you okay? Can I help you with something?" It was the middle of the day. Shouldn't she be in school? Is she even old enough to drive? Our little town is still living in the 20th century ... no public transportation. We recently got Wi-Fi at the library but only when the sun shines. The library sits in the middle of town. The closest houses are at least 3 miles away. Did she walk here? Is she here with someone? Did someone drop her off? The only other person I saw was the librarian, who I'm sure was a member of the Lost Colony at Roanoke. Not, not really; she's just very ... very ... old.

I was both startled and brought back to the present when I heard the girl say, "I can't do this anymore." Okay, okay; I already know that but what exactly is "this". Instead I said, "How can I help?" Uh oh, what door have I opened now. Part of me wanted to run, run away as fast as I could. But the better part of me knew I had to stay. I had to see if I could help this young girl. There was so much pain surrounding her that I was having a hard time breathing.

As she hung her head, hiding her face with the blackest hair I think I've ever seen, I heard her say, "Live. I can't live anymore." I asked, "What? What did you say?" She repeated, "I can't live anymore." Yeah, that's what I thought you said.

"May I come sit with you?" I quietly asked. When I didn't get a response, I decided to sit with her anyway. After all, what did I have to lose? Even though I had the words, I decided to let her pace this conversation. She whispered, "I'm all alone. I'm a failure. I mess up everything I touch and do. I never say the right words but I want to; I really want to. People make fun of me at school. Isn't school supposed to be a safe place? Well, it's not. The adults see what's going on but they don't do anything to help me. I'm all alone. My mom died during child birth. My dad works all the time. When he's home, he barely looks at me. I know he blames me for my mom's death; I just know it. He says he doesn't, but I know he does. I don't want to die. I just don't want to be HERE anymore. Does that make sense?"

Yes, it did make sense. When I said earlier that I had the words, I had them because I had this same conversation with someone 10 years ago because I didn't want to be HERE anymore. I mean, my mother didn't die in childbirth and my father is independently wealthy. For no apparent reason at all, I went through an uncertain time, not knowing if I wanted to live or die. In the end, I realized that I didn't want to die. I just wished that I had never been born or that I would just disappear and take every memory of me to wherever I went. The "hereafter". The "great beyond". The "other side".

I slowly reached out to take her hand. She raised her tear stained face to look at me. I covered her hand with both of my hands and said, "You are not alone. I'm here. No, you're not a failure. As long as you live each day in spite of your insecurities, you are not a failure. You're a winner! And, I'm sure your father doesn't blame you at all for your mother's death. He may not have the words to express to you how he feels." With a wink, I said, "Men sometimes have trouble using their words." She smiled and nodded.

We sat in silence for a few minutes. Her hand eventually relaxed in my hand. I soon saw the librarian putting her paperwork away in preparation to close the library for the day. I said, "My name is Shelby. What's your name?"

"Eleanora, after my mother. Elly for short."

"Well, Elly, would you like to get coffee or maybe ice cream? I can take you home later, and we can talk some more. I KNOW you are special, and I want you HERE."

Elly put her things back in her backpack, stood up and took my hand again. She softly whispered, "Thank you," as we walked past the librarian and out the library door. The sun was almost as bright as Elly's smile.

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