8 minute read
Whispers of a Soulmate, Anonymous
ANONYMOUS
“NOPE, nope, nope, nope, nope.” I whispered under my breath, which puffed like smoke from my lips as it clashed with the frigid air. The hood of my oversized Ole Miss sweatshirt that I had stolen from my dad enveloped my head, bits of my milk chocolate hair spilling out as I hurried to open the door of my dark blue Kia Soul. I certainly wasn’t rushing because I was anxious to get to school but solely because this was an in-and-out mission. With the cold weather setting in, I made the decision as I brushed my teeth to turn on my car ten minutes before I had to leave for school so it would be warm. Cold weather sucks. I scurried back up the stairs to my room, the tip of my button nose still a little red from the chilly morning. Alright, school starts at 8:00am. That means I have to leave by 7:30. That means I’ve got fi fteen minutes before I have to leave. I budgeted my time. I’ve always had the skill of thinking ahead, living in the future. I had already done my hair, which turned out to be running it through a straightener a few times until my loose curls turned into waves, so I just needed to throw on my cute outfi t. The previous night I had laid out a red, worn out, crew neck sweatshirt, leggings, and Vans which I promptly slipped on. Usually it would be diffi cult to avoid getting dress-coded by wearing leggings to school, but my sweatshirt reached my mid-thigh and I rarely ever got dress-coded anyway so I was confi dent nobody would notice. As I walked into Lake Oswego High School, I was bombarded by my sweet friends. “Emberlyn! How was your break?” One of them asked. “Did ya get anything cool for Christmas?” Another questioned. I laughed the laugh that many people claim to fi nd contagious and responded, “I didn’t think I’d see you guys before class started! My break was great and I, as a matter of fact, did get some cool stuff for Christmas, Mila. I’ll tell you all about it at lunch. The usual place, right?” To which everyone nodded. “Let’s head to fi rst period. Mrs. Wilson will be less than happy if we’re late. Except she’d probably let it slide for you, Em. Teachers can’t get enough of you, frickin’ golden child. How do you do that, it’s totally unfair.” My best friend, Lilac, said as she looped her arm in mine and dragged me off into the familiar halls of our high school. The door to my debate classroom was across the school, and Lilac and I babbled on about our winter breaks as we made the journey to it. However, as we turned a corner something caught my eye. It was a guy. But his gender wasn’t what made me stare, it was the fact that I hadn’t seen him before. I knew everyone at my school. I was on the welcoming committee for God’s sake! Who was this kid? He seemed so mysterious. I wanted to fi nd out more about him, but I didn’t have the time. Class would be starting soon. My day went as usual, and I quickly forgot about the unfamiliar boy in the halls. Piles of work were crowding my planner yet again and I tried to foresee how much time each assignment would take so I could budget time for it later in my night. I was planning on going to a concert for my favorite artist, Maisy Peters, that night and I wanted to make sure I had time for homework. The fi rst day back at school always goes by in a fl ash, and today was no exception. Before I knew it I was sliding my backpack off my shoulders onto the fl oor of my cozy room next to my desk. I huffed a sigh as I pulled my planner out and skimmed my to-do list, then
began working on my AP Psychology assignment. Apparently, we were beginning a new unit on soulmates and how many people hear the voice of their soulmate in their head like a phone call within a day of fi rst laying eyes on them. All the girls had been looking forward to learning about this for basically their entire lives. I mean, why not? It’s love! What’s cooler than love? She fl ipped open her textbook and read, “Psychologists have been baffl ed by this phenomena for centuries, still failing to fully understand it to this day. What they hypothesize is that, much like how many hear their own voice in their head, the brain of those who see their soulmates can hear their thoughts as well. It is possible that the sight of their partner triggers this process because their temporal lobe recognizes that face as the one of their soulmate even if the person does not know it themselves. While roughly 46% of the population experiences this phenomena, psychologists believe that the other 54% are capable of hearing their soulmates’ voices but never see them and, thus, do not trigger their temporal lobe.” Hmmm interesting, I’m sure Lilac is having a blast with this unit. I thought. Lilac is a bit love-obsessed, and trying to fi nd love and spread it to others is kind of her specialty. I don’t know how but she’s just so… present. She is always connected to what’s happening around her and feels the vibe of a room, immediately redirecting it if it is uncomfortable. After a few productive hours, I fi nished my homework and was ready to start preparing for the Maisy Peters concert. I’d been looking forward to this for months and had been brainstorming what clothes she would wear as soon as she purchased her ticket. Picking up her outfi t, which she had laid in a folded pile on top of her dresser a couple of days ago, she fought her way into a pair of ripped skinny jeans then proceeded to put on a small white cropped tank top and an unbuttoned blue fl annel shirt overtop. It was fl attering yet casual; her usual style. I quickly ran my mascara brush over her eyelashes, painting them lightly like I did every morning, and deemed myself presentable. My phone screen fl ashed on across the room, and I retrieved it, assuming it was a text from Lilac. I was right. It read, “Hey! U ready?! I’m so excited!! U can pick me up whenever btw :)”. Lilac hadn’t gotten her license yet, even though we’re juniors and she turned sixteen last May. I grabbed my keys off my desk and practically glided down the stairs out of excitement. A short, fi ve minute drive passed and Lilac was in my car, pulling down the sunvisor to look in the mirror as she applied her lip gloss. “Let’s do this! Who knows, we could meet some cute boys there!” She exclaimed. “El,” I had given her the nickname when we fi rst met in kindergarten and it stuck, “you know I don’t have time for boys. Plus, it’s not like anyone would be really into me anyways. I’m going to see Maisy, not boys. Besides, do you really think a ton of guys are even going to a Maisy Peters concert?” The artist usually directed her music to the female audience. “Ok fi ne,” she sighed, “but if I see a cute guy I’m going after him and you can’t stop me, ‘kay?” I laughed in response.
The arena wasn’t fi lled with a huge amount of people, but it surprised me how many people were there. Maisy Peters is certainly talented, yes, but it’s not like she’s as popular as Taylor Swift or anything. The concert began, and my belief that music is always better in person was confi rmed. However, partway through the performance I began thinking. I thought
about my upcoming week, what I had planned, what might happen, and what the next thing I should be excited for would be. I didn’t even realize my mind racing or that I forgot I was at a concert until Lilac shook my shoulder. “You okay?” She yelled over the music. I didn’t know how to answer. “Yeah, I’m gonna run to the restroom! I’ll be back in just a minute!” I yelled back, and she nodded. Weaving my way through the crowd, I searched for the door that we entered through, fi nally making my way to the edge of the crowd. A set of double doors invited me and I rushed through them, seeing a sign pointing me to the ladies restroom. I walked rather quickly down the hall, but as I turned the corner I collided with someone. He was only inches in front of me, stabilizing me by grabbing just below my shoulders on my arms. I looked up to see a familiar-looking guy. Where do I know him from? I wondered. “Sorry, sorry.” He sounded winded, as if he had been hurrying to get somewhere. He retracted his hands from my arms and with them some sort of warmth that they radiated. His touch seemed gentle, which was abnormal for a teenage boy. He edged his way around me and left me standing there, watching him walk down the hallway. He walked as if he was ready for whatever came and had somewhere important to be, yet he radiated the same contented, present energy that Lilac did. I realized why he seemed vaguely familiar. It was that boy from school. The one I had never seen before. As he grabbed the handle of the door to the arena, he glanced back at me and I quickly looked away so he wouldn’t think I was staring...which I guess I was.
