The backdrop turned black. The scene is changing again.
This time, however, everything remained dark save for a spotlight on my younger self. I had just turned 12 then, and I was kneeling on the floor with a scissor in my hand.
"Oh. This memory." I said, more to myself than to Death. "Right. Middle school was the time I started cutting."
"You mean…?" Death looked quite unsure.
"My hair," I clarified. "Cutting my hair."
His mouth formed a small 'o'. It was rather adorable.
On cue, my younger self started snipping her long, brown hair with the scissors. The long strands of hair fell helplessly to the ground.
If Mom were there to see it, she would've been horrified. She loved my hair, after all. She took pride in my crown as if it were her own, which I found weird since we had the same hairstyle when I was young.
"Cutting my hair whenever I get sad or stressed was a reflex," I continued.
"That's better than cutting yourself." He pointed out.
I shook my head. "That I started when I got a little bit older."
Death frowned.
"Don't give me that look." I frowned back at him. "You're the personification of Death! A little self-harm from a person who committed suicide shouldn't surprise you much."
"Still—" Death tried to argue, but no words came out. "Did it ever bring you peace?—harming yourself, I mean."
I shook my head, giving the obvious answer.
"Of course, it didn't," he whispered, more to himself than to me.
"It was also in middle school when I realized I had difficulty making bonds and understanding people." I changed the topic as we watched my younger self-cut off her hair until it reached her shoulder blade.
It was a far cry from how short my hair is now, which is an overgrown bob cut. But it was a massive step for me, hairstyle-wise, growing up.
"What do you mean by that?"
"I can't explain it," I said. "But it feels like there's always this barrier between me and the people around me that makes me unable to say what I want to say, and my messages won't get through to them."
"Like a chat message that won't send because there's no WiFi?" Death suggested.
I looked at him, surprised. "I'm amazed you understood what I was trying to say."
Death gave a mirthless laugh but didn't say anything. It didn't seem like he would say anything else anytime soon, so I continued.
"I've tried initiating conversation with others. I did, yet for some reason, it seems like I can't understand what they're saying. It goes both ways. Not because they spoke in a foreign language but because their words seemed too shallow."
"Shallow?"
"Everything that people say just seems fake. I tried going out, of course. Like an average person, I try to make friends and attend parties when invited. But I always end up standing in the corner with my red cup. Soon, the invites disappeared altogether."
I crossed my arms and stared at myself, who was now looking at her brand-new hairdo in the mirror.
"I couldn't make any meaningful friendships with anyone. No matter how much I try, my bonds are superficial: they're bound to break as soon as they are forged."
"You're a wallflower," Death said.
"Yes. Yes, I am."
The memory before us ended, and it morphed into something else. The lights were back, and we found my younger self sitting on a school chair, leaning on her desk inside the classroom. There were other students there, but she—I—sat all alone in the front row.
Seeing it all playback, it was like they intentionally gave me a wide berth. It wasn't far enough, though. Their whispers were loud enough for Death and me to hear, so it shouldn't have surprised that the younger me also heard it.
"What is this?" Death looked at me curiously.
"Probably my first experience of people not learning to mind their own business," I said flatly.
"Hey, have you heard…?" There it is. The classic busybody.
"I heard her parents separated because her mother cheated!" Another replied.
A loud scoff echoed in the room. "That's disgusting!"
"What a whore."
I was visibly grimacing in my seat, squirming even, but I didn't say anything…yet. I just sat on my chair, my head bowed low as if I couldn't hear a thing. Deep inside, however, I was boiling in anger. My hands were already balled into fists, the nails digging into my palms deep enough to leave marks.
"My mom said she snitched to her dad that her mother cheated."
"If I were her, I wouldn't do that just so my family could stay intact."
"Hell, if she was shameless enough to snitch on her mom, she'll probably snitch on us to the teachers, too!"
"It's better if we stay away from her."
"They say your children mirror who you are as a parent." Death looked at them with disgust. "Their parents must've been bitches."
I guffawed.
Death raised an eyebrow.
"Sorry." I covered my lips with my hand, feeling slightly embarrassed for the obscene sound I just made. "This is just the first time I've heard you–"
Before I could finish talking, the younger me abruptly stood up from her chair, toppling it over. The classroom became deathly silent as all eyes landed on her.
My cheeks were red as I faced the gossip mongers, but my voice rang clear and steady as I admonished them. "If I were you, I'd shut my fucking mouth up."
"Oh shit, she heard us!" A classmate gasped.
"Of course, I heard you, you fucking assholes!" I taunted. "Do you even call that a whisper?!"
Death whistled, clapping his hands. "You can teach me a swear or two!"
"Believe me," I laughed, "I did much worse throughout my lifetime."
"Next time I hear you talking shit about my family, I'm gonna beat your asses up, you hear me?!" My younger self threatened them even further.
Before anybody could throw hands, though, the teacher arrived. She must've heard it all from outside the classroom because as soon as she opened the door, she looked at the younger me and asked me to step outside.
I was sent to the disciplinarian's office for alleged "violence" and was beaten up by Granma when I got home. But it didn't matter much. What mattered to me that day is I stood my ground and fought back. I don't know if I should be, but I'm damn proud of my younger self for that.
The scene ended, eaten by the darkness of the In-Between. Now, it's just Death and I standing together in silence.
I waited a few more minutes, but no other memory appeared. Was this the only notable thing in my middle school life?
I hummed. "Well, looks like that's that. I'm sorry I can't give you a much more interesting young adolescent story. Aside from Granma occasionally beating me up and starving me almost to fainting, I don't think there was anything noteworthy about middle school."
"You talk as if physical and emotional abuse is a regular part of the middle school experience." Death looked at me with puzzlement. "You may not think this part of your life was as bad as your early childhood, but it's still far from normal. You did not deserve that, Evangeline. No one does."
"Do you mean that?"
"Of course I do. The fact that you didn't give up earlier is admirable. I especially liked how you stood up for yourself to the jackasses. That took guts. Other people never grow a spine."
I found myself gushing at him. "You're so sweet, Death, I almost forgot who you were."
Death scoffed and rolled his eyes again. He probably almost saw the insides of his skull.
"I would have loved to have met you earlier," I said again. "You know, if the circumstances were different. Like, you not being Death–"
"I know." Death chuckled, sounding a bit flattered. "You don't have to spell it out to me."
"I'm not kidding!" I insisted. "If I met you instead of–"
I haven't even finished when the In-Between started changing. Another memory has yet to show itself. But the way Death looked at me, I knew he knew what name was on the tip of my tongue.