The sounds of traffic, crying babies, and yelling float in through the windows. The noises push the curtains inwards, toward me. I stand in the middle of the room, freezing cold yet numb, not caring to close the windows or shield myself from the ravaging wind of the cold Icelandic morning. I clutch my bottle of ibuprofen like a life jacket in a storm-tossed sea.
Broken glass lies on the floor, shards of it cutting into my feet, leaving bloody footpaths behind me as I pad to the open window, curious to find the source of the sound reverberating through the air. I peer out, looking to the bus stop, where there is a lone man, who looks to be about twenty-five, singing at the top of his lungs. He errs off the path of both key and beat, yet his enthusiasm makes his horrible singing charming.
He looks up toward my window as he hears me laughing wryly. He smiles in response, singing unabashedly, but pauses after a moment of serenading me. “I’m sorry. Am I bothering you?”
I shake my head. “No, not at all. I’m just a little surprised, that’s all.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, most people aren’t as happy and open as you.”
He nods thoughtfully. “And you? Do you dance and sing in public?”
“Not anymore. I can’t find much of anything to sing about, nowadays. The world is such a horrible place; it almost makes you not want to try anymore. Admit defeat.”
“You aren’t conquered until you surrender,” he answers, frowning up at me.
“No. You are conquered, whether you admit it or not. When they’ve taken your family and burnt your village down, even if you don’t acknowledge the fact, and you stay in denial - that doesn’t change the fact that it happened. Your attitude changes nothing. Optimism, hoping that the future will be better? It’s simply a lie to help you forget the happy past and the miserable present. It’s pointless. Nothing really matters.”
He has stepped closer to the window and I am leaning out the window, both of us drawn in by the conversation. There are silent tears trekking down my face now. I am unashamed that a stranger is seeing me weep. I see realization dawn over him as he takes note of the bottle of pills in my hand. I sigh, expecting him to leave. I long ago realized that people always left, no matter if you were healthy or broken. This happy, foolish man would get on the bus and leave me here, drowning. I look to the iron sky, not wanting to see the moment when he walks away, knowing that this small defeat might be enough to push me over the edge of the windowpane, tumbling with my bottle of pills trailing behind me.
He does not move from underneath my window, and I look back down to him. He is looking for all the world as if he gives a damn if I kill myself, and for a fleeting moment, I feel a flicker of hope. I crush it quickly. Nothing matters; no one ever cares.
But he sits on the frozen ground, indifferent to the biting cold. “You can’t think of one thing that makes all of this… worth it?”
I shake my head. “I tried. It’s too hard.”
He shakes his head. “All you have to do is keep trying. One day, you’ll find someone, or something, that you love enough to keep fighting for.”
He stays and sings.
