All the Same to Me

February 1998

Since New Years, I haven't seen Daniel. I haven't written anything, either, but that's because I haven't been inspired. And I know Stephen King says that whole inspiration thing is bullshit, but Stephen King is bullshit. While I respect his work, he fails to realize his writing methods don't work for everyone. I know I'm not really one to talk, because he has work published - unlike me - but if I forced myself to write, it turns out like shit.

For the first month of '98, I've been doing nothing but watching Australian soap operas with my grandma, and hanging out with Ben and Chris, though I haven't seen them in about two weeks. I wonder what's up with those guys. I mean, I know Daniel tends to isolate himself, but it's odd for the other two to not be around.

"Lizabet, you have friends here," Grandma calls from the kitchen, waking me up from a half-sleep. I'm one of those people who wake up and stay in bed for hours before I actually get up, hoping to fall asleep again. Or just to have genuine quiet time to myself. If people think I'm asleep, they don't bother me; the best time to be pensive.

I ignore Grandma, acting like I'm still asleep. A shallower reason for me staying in bed is for the fact it's too damn comfortable to leave, and it's nine o'clock; too early for my standards. Whoever these friends are - only a handful of people are possible - can leave and wait to catch me at around noon or anytime after.

"Good morning, Sunshine," a masculine voice that sounds too familiar greets. I turn onto my back and open my foggy blue eyes and I find Ben and Chris standing right in front of my bed. I jump up, completely alert now. By the way, Chris was the one who wished me a good morning.

"Jesus Christ! How the hell did you guys get in here?" I exclaim.

Chris replies, "Your grandmum let us in. Nice woman. I think I remember her from ten years ago."

Doesn't Grandma know that boys in a girl's room could lead to sex? I know that's not going to happen now, but any other guardian of a teenage girl would let boys go in her room, especially while the girl is semi-sleeping. Maybe if I stayed here instead of going to Scottsdale, I wouldn't be a virgin right now. "Okay. Why are you guys here? It's been, like, two weeks."

Chris raises his eyebrows. "So you missed us?"

"Don't flatter yourself."

Ben rolls his eyes at Chris, then diverts his attention to me. "Dan's doing really bad."

Newsflash, I think to myself. I'm a bitch this early in the morning, but I keep my bitchy comments to myself. "Okay," I say flatly.

"No, like, really bad. His therapist suggested he start living alone, so he got this place about a month ago, and that was the last time anyone has seen him. He won't call, answer the door. He's just completely isolated," Ben continues.

Or dead, I think, but - again - refrain from saying. I hope he's not dead. Daniel understood me like no one else, and I can't think of living knowing that the one person who understood is dead. That would make this God-awful planet worse than what it already is. People like Daniel give people like me hope. "Why are you telling me this?" I ask.

Chris replies, "We were hoping you'd, you know, try to talk to him."

Oh I see: they won't talk to me for a month, yet they come around when they need something. I'm about to tell them to go get off somewhere, but then I think of Daniel. I think of how he cares about writing, understands everything. I think about his blonde dreads, his pale blue eyes, the way he scratches his face when he gets nervous. I think about the kiss, and how he held me tight like he'd never let go and wanted me forever. "We've all tried, Liza. Nobody can get through to him, but we're hoping you will. Please, just give it a shot."