Becoming Jasmine Star 15 Just One Person

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As soon as the phone ended the call the information that I couldn't process at all earlier rushed through my head, simultaneously giving me a headache. The statement, "My name is Samantha Smith..." rang through my head.

And the feeling of being the b.u.t.t of some joke, that was only funny to the Universe induced the complicated mix of shame and betrayal.

"How come you're so easy to fool?"

"Many people have online persona's."

The rational part of my brain started to defend.

"But how many people have their persona as her name?"

"I don't know. There could be dozens, millions."

It's true, There are many people who share the same name, people aren't born with names only unique to themselves. Names were found everywhere. In books, online, or from a relative. That's normal.

"It's completely normal..."

My head hurt from all the rational and Irrational thoughts that swirled in it and I slouched deeper into my sofa. The little green leaves in my lap poked my stomach as I did. Reminding me that it was still in my lap.

"Sorry, I forgot you were there."

I fiddled with it's leaves for a while, before turning off my lights and heading to bed.

Sat.u.r.day, March 28, 2015

I had a hard time sleeping last night.

Trying to puzzle together what I was feeling, "work through it". Like my psychologists told me to do many times before. I worked though it.

Why was I bothered by this?

Why did I feel betrayed?

Why does the fact that she isn't Jasmine disappoint me? I knew from the beginning. I knew, but I still held on to that tiny slimmer of a hope that "Just maybe" gave me just enough to hold on to.

Jasmines last name wasn't even Star. It was Grant. Jasmi- Samantha isn't at fault.

I am.

The realization that she wasn't who I wanted her to be shattered the new safe world I was building around myself. Bringing me back to reality. There was no Jasmine. Just Samantha. Just a person online who just so happened to be close by when not even my family wanted to be near me. Just one person, who isn't Jasmine. But somehow became important to my survival. She was just there at the right time. Completely by chance. She had become a important part of my new life, and I didn't think I could let it go.

The thought of her not being online with her odd 'What-ifs' when I couldn't sleep has become a unfathomable thought to me.

'Write a message'

The thought appeared in my head and I sat up, grabbing my phone off the nightstand.

It was 3:00 a.m.

I finally understood why she would write such random stuff to me early in the morning. I stared at the message box. The bright light s.h.i.+ning directly into my eyes and I stared back at it.

What do I tell a her?

The insecurity that I didn't know her as much as I thought I did surfaced.

I shook my head trying to release the thought from my head.

"Just read the messages that she sent you and you'll know what to say."

I did that.

I started from the beginning, and worked my way down. With each message I started to realize that I really didn't know her as much as I thought I did.

I was greeted by the small signs she laced into our conversations, signs that showed that she was troubled. The ones I either didn't notice or ignored thinking it was just weird before. The way she spoke about herself. Berating in a light manner, as if she was telling a joke. Saying that n.o.body cared so she just ate in her room alone. She loved playing 'what-if' like she was a child, trying to find a safe world to hide in, and the fact that she had a whole breakdown over the phone about something as simple as a name. Was it just that?

We both had our secrets.

Her's was just slightly well kept then mine.

The courage I was trying to build up crumbled. Looking at the words she typed made me feel uncomfortable.

"What do I say to her?"

I didn't know anymore.

I turned off my phone and laid back down. Samantha Smith was completely different from the Jasmine Star I was used to.

Tuesday, June 30, 2015

I think of messaging her sometimes. When I'm on commute to work, or when I'm just plain bored. But I don't.

Time makes things awkward like that. I lost my timing. That s.h.i.+p has sailed, though I want to deny it. I still can't bring myself to do anything.

Time will only make it worse.

The best part is that she didn't contact me either. The feeling of mutual discomfort lingers, and I try to avoid it. I distract myself with my plants. They take up a whole counter in the kitchen now. They're all green and thriving.

I also cook now. As messed up as my cooking skills were at the beginning of the year, I find it nice to discover new recipes and try them out. Though the dishes are far from perfect.

I even bought a Bloomsbury Dictionary. I've read a few pages and it surprises me how someone could like something so boring.

It's been on my nightstand since. It's a nice way to put me to sleep when I can't.

My world has become quiet.

Something I wanted for a longtime. A simple peaceful life. But it's different now. It's been a year and a half since Jasmine died. Though some days I feel weighed to my bed, I get up. The love of my life was taken from me before we both even made it to the hospital. Someone called an ambulance when they saw her laying motionless in a alleyway. She was stabbed five times. Her bag and phone were gone. Which made police a.s.sume it was an "armed robbery gone wrong"

I could remember asking " Then why didn't they take her rings?" Her bag was a DIY tie dye canvas bag, and her phone wasn't even worth a hundred dollars.

I could remember asking in my torn up frame of mind. "Why did they not take the rings?" She loved those things. Though they were both worth significantly less than a single engagement ring her friends had, she refused to let them go. The doctors had to pry her cold hands open to figure out what she was holding.

"Just thank G.o.d this isn't another type of case son." One of the officers told me. Seemingly mistaking my questions meaning. His dumb remark earned a stern glare from his partner, who was more empathetic. He carefully pressed the two rings into my hand. "She must've loved them very much." I shook my head silently. I didn't even notice when her family came rus.h.i.+ng in. Just her father coming up to me and starting to shake the seemingly lifeless me.

"I told her to not marry trash like you! You couldn't even protect her! You killed her!" Everything became a blur. I just remember someone dragging me off that old man. He never liked me since High school. But I always tolerated him. He was holding his nose and I faintly could see blood starting to drip from it. "You'll never see my daughter's burial!"

"Are you sure you want to be saying these things to me right now Mr.Wright? I'm your daughter's next of kin. Not you."

I watched as her parent's faces changed to a deathly white at my insinuation.

"You bas-

"Stop it Ben! Just stop... both of you."

With that Mrs. Wright collapsed into her husbands arms and desperately cried for the loss of her child. I walked into the small room where she was laying, still and lifeless.

***

The next few months Mrs. Wright and I made arrangements for her funeral. By June 2013 I was watching Jasmine Grant, age 23. Getting lowered into the ground. To where I could never see her again.

Friday, September , 2016

Life moves on. Though sometimes we wish that some things could stay the same, most times they just don't. There are just some people who enter your life and somehow changes the course of what you thought was your fate. For me I thought I was destined to meet Jasmine and I was. But I wasn't supposed to stay with her until we grew old and watch our grandchildren from the porch, as they played. She wasn't supposed to be permanent, not physically at least. And I hate that. Some people are just there long enough to teach you whatever lesson you haven't learned yet. What lesson did I learn?

I still have no clue.

Maybe the world just likes f.u.c.king with people and there are no lessons. But I try to be positive. I just didn't figure the lesson out yet.

I filled in all the pages of my journal today. I never thought I could write that much about myself. Somehow, I feel accomplished when I look at the filled book. 'That chapter of my life has ended.' is what it feels like it's saying. 'Life does move on.' Maybe I'll go out and watch as the mall staff start setting up the shopping district for Christmas. Fuel this new hobby and buy a new journal, Maybe I'll go to that seside town and take another cla.s.s at that florist shop. I don't know.

Although today may not feel no different than yesterday, It is just me, comfortably but not silently alone, today is still a day to remember.