"I want to move away." She stretched her body like a cat, sprawling herself onto the bed, ever so slightly pushing me off the bed.
"Rude," I pushed her back as I rolled on top of her, laughing with a huge smile on my face. "Face my wrath."
"Can't breathe." She squeaked and poked my side.
"Why do you want to move? Tired of me?" I teased and got up to turn the TV on. We finally hooked up Netflix to the flat screen—a dream that came true as we gazed lovingly at the red screen.
"Nah, it's not you. It's the city. I need to start over and find someplace refreshing. I've seen almost every inch of the place—daily. And it takes a toll on your excitement every day. Oh let's go to the park. You mean the same one for the past decade? I just feel...detached from the people here. We just don't click and it makes me sad because how am I supposed to make connections and acquaintances with people when I can't even say hello to them? I hear how they speak and act towards others, and I don't like that kind of stuff. I want to meet new people, write a new chapter in my life before I run out of ink."
"What are you now an octopus?" I furrowed up my brows and saw her give up on my beautiful joke.
"Gosh, you're so weird. You know what I mean."
"No, let's say that my mind couldn't comprehend such a powerful phrase and thought that you just told the world that you're an octopus. And now, I will tell you a story.
Once upon a time, there was an octopus and—"
"Are you serious?" She ran a palm across her face.
"Yes, now shush. It's storytime. Now, before I was rudely interrupted, I was saying: there was an octopus, and this octopus didn't want to spend time with other octopuses—I mean octopi? Octopodes? Anyway, this tiny octopus, every morning, swam up to the very end of her species territory. She marveled at the sight of fish swimming ever so gracefully in the depths of the sea. She wondered if the seaweed was greener on the other side of the sea. She wondered if the jellyfish glowed a peaceful pink shade. She wondered and wondered but she never made any step outside the imaginary borderline. Soon, the octopus found a mate, they started a family, and she watched her tiny octopus babies grow. She watched them float with their tiny arms helping them move around. She watched and wondered constantly—what if I had made that step forward? Would I be where I am today? And then the octopus began to age, feeling the toll of the years on her arms. When her time came, she couldn't accept it—but I haven't seen the other side of the sea, she would say. And that's the thing: she would only say. The end."
"Was this supposed to cheer me up?"
"Um, well, it was supposed to somewhat—I think—inspire you. Do NOT be that octopus. Go, venture out before you suffocate yourself with regrets in the future. Time doesn't stop for anyone, especially for octopuses according to the story but anyway, do you get it a little? I want you to make your years on this planet count. Do you want to go skydiving? Do it. Do you want to dye your hair a different color? Go, I'll help you pick out a color. Do you want to move? Sure, I'll help you find a place. Just do it when you're ready. When you know that you will be able to financially support yourself so you don't just go out there and have an adventure without realizing that you need a place to put your head down at night. I want you to be safe, okay? I want you to experience the beautiful creations of Mother Nature, but I want you to be wearing a helmet and I expect a safety kit in your backpack. I expect you to see the colorful sands of stunning beaches and I expect you to eat food on your balcony. Please? For all you know, maybe by the time you hit eighty, you could have visited all the continents! Who knows? You know what? I have an idea."
"What is it?"
I pulled out a huge map that was rolled up in my backpack for a history class, long overdue. I found some thumbtacks and plastered the map on her wall. In a tiny box, I filled it with two colors of thumbtacks. "When you have visited a place, place a blue thumbtack. Wherever you want to go, place a pink thumbtack. As you grow up, start taking down the pink ones and putting up more blue ones. Write a story about each place you have been. Write how the stars twinkle a little differently at each angle of the spinning earth.
And when you're happy and want to settle down, look at the map. Look at how many places you have impacted. Look at how you spent your life. Look and remember."
YOU ARE READING
therapy
Short Story"they told us that we needed therapy, as if medication and tainted words could fix broken toys."
