Regrets

“Don’t make the same mistake I did, ok?” I said to the boy standing to the left of my bed. The poor kid; he was wearing a colorful pink shirt, a nice little hat, a pair of khaki pants, and a goofy smile. As I said that though, the candy-striper dropped his smile, and looked me in the eyes.

“What mistake was that?” he asked, a bit of melancholy tinged with a lot of curiosity embedded in the words.

“Well, son, that’s an easy one. But, you probably won’t listen to me that easily, y’know? I’ve got to tell you how I found this out, you see. Won’t help you any without it.” He nodded, getting the gist of what I was saying. “That’s good.”
I moved up a little, my back resting slightly on the backboard, the blanket reaching my belly-button rather than my breast. He looked attentively at the whole ordeal, being the caring person he is, and almost got up to help me. “No, no. I got it. Right now, you’re my patient, so just sit back and let me finish this.” After I was done, I settled, and looked him the eyes.

“Did you believe in the boogey man? In monsters or anything when you were little?” I asked him straight out.

“Er… Yeah, I guess I did. Doesn’t everyone?”

“No. I didn’t. I figured you’d answer as much, so I decided to start with this. When I was about four, and that’s how far I can remember, I’ll tell you, I never believed in monsters. My parents teased me, but I knew they didn’t exist. D’you know why? I checked. They told me, and when night came, I got up, and checked the closet, walked in with a flashlight, and searched underneath the bed. No monsters.”

“You must’ve been very brave, sir,” the kid said.

“Nah, just curious. I can tell you’re too, I saw it in your eyes.” I straightened a little bit more. “It’s not that bad, but I’ll tell you that I wasn’t the same afterwards. I questioned my parents about it, and they told me that yes, monsters didn’t exist, and that I, like you said, was pretty brave. I figured, ‘Yeah, I’m brave!’ I was four, and didn’t know that brave and curious weren’t the same thing. So I was happy. But then I started questioning them about the Easter Bunny. About Santa Claus. And you know what?”

“Did they tell you?” the boy questioned apprehensively.

“Yeah, they did. I was happy that I was right, but when Christmas came along, you know what? I cried. I got presents, and I knew they were from my parents, but they weren’t as surprising anymore, y’know? I knew they were from my parents, and I never knew if I was good or bad that year, because I didn’t get any coal. I always got presents. I could’ve gotten coal, but only if I thought that Santa was real.” I sighed. I scratched my head and continued.

“This wasn’t that bad as compared to my friends. I got to elementary school, and was so smart, I skipped a couple of grades. Came with curious attitude, you know? But anyway, I’m in the third grade when I’m supposed to be in first. You may think this was pretty cool, right?” He nodded. “Wrong. I made friends in third grade. They were two years older than me, like they should, maybe three if they started late, and that was fine. I was a very open kid back then, sort of how you are now.

“Well, I thought they were my friends at least. We hung out, and talked, and… That’s about it. Then, one day, they asked me for my homework. Being ‘friends’, I gave it to them, thinking that I’d feel good for helping my friends. I did. But then it happened again the next day. And then for a week, it happened. Then a month. And you know what I realized? They were using me! When some kid two years younger than you gets to the same grade as you, they know you’re a genius, and know your work is better than theirs.

“This also led to some fights, because when this same kid is smarter than you, it doesn’t make you feel good. See this scar?” and I lifted up my sleeve, showing him this line going from the top of my shoulder, halfway down my bicep. “Got that scar from my so called friends. Gave it to me when we were heading for the buses. Pushed me over the curb, and I landed on another kid. Wouldn’t have hurt if the kid was messing with a pencil. Got sent straight to the ER for it, and the kids were punished. Bad. I’m sure they wouldn’t do it again. Well, maybe, but probably only to me.

“But I don’t regret it. I took advantage of my opportunities, and they didn’t. I was curious, and they feared change.” The kid was really paying attention now. He looked at me with his full attention, even afraid to look away from me if he might lose a part of the story.

“A couple years ago, my mother died. I attended church that Sunday, and realized that it wasn’t right. I listened to the sermon, to the preacher, wore my best Sunday attire, prayed, and I felt nothing. The hole I had when I found out about the Easter Bunny and Santa grew slightly bigger. I began to question religion, God, Jesus. Was it real? If it was, why is everything happening now?

“If such a benevolent and kind being is treating is creatures like this, then why does he let them ruin their lives like they are? Why does he let them ruin others’ lives? Their home? Their kids? Why not control a bit more? To me, it almost seemed like he regretted ever making us. Shunned all of those that believed in him just because of the ones that didn’t follow his rules.”

“What did you do?”

“I stopped. Church was meaningless. I couldn’t believe in such an uncaring being. People blindly follow him, and look what happens to them!” I was shouting now. “People kill their kids because they think he’ll save them! People follow other people because they claim they can tell them the word of God! And for what? A couple of dollars in a gold bowl! Why does such a benevolent being corrupt everything he stands for, and expect us to uncorrupt it? How can we live in such a confusing world?

“If I had a chance to change anything about that though, I wouldn’t. I don’t think that however I saw it, I would arrive at this eventually. I couldn’t believe. The only thing I believe in is myself, because I’ve yet to do anything to make me not believe. I’m happy, and it’s the first time in a while that I truly am. Why? I don’t know. I can follow my curiosity without worry, and without restriction, without limit. Maybe that’s it.”

He was really paying attention, but his eyes were beginning to glaze over. He was getting tired, and I can understand that.

“But anyway, enough about me. I want you to promise me one thing, since I’ve no family. You’ve been kind enough to listen to an old man ramble about his past, and I’m glad, but I won’t feel fulfilled unless you can promise me this.

“Make a choice. Continue with it. And once you make it, don’t reflect on it. Keep going. Don’t regret it. Because you can’t change it. You think you could, but you’ll just be making another unchangeable choice, that hides your first choice. Keep going. You won’t regret it, I promise, because you’ll feel happiest if you don’t think about the path you could be following. And when it comes for you to die, do it peacefully. Don’t go out with a bang, just because you want people to remember you. The most memorable are those who go peacefully and take a piece of the world with them. Make people miss you because you changed their world with your choices.

“I’m afraid, son. I’m afraid to die. I can’t change that. No seven steps or therapy will change that. But, I don’t regret being afraid. It’s just something that I am, that I do. And in the end, that will make the most of the difference.

“I want you to promise me that you’ll go on living each day, not as if it’s your last, but if it’s your first. Be curious. Live because you can, not because you won’t tomorrow. Now go on, and live without regrets.”

He got up, some tears in his eyes. He began to leave, and then looked at me one last time. I saw that he was going to take my words to heart. I don’t care if he keeps the promise, only that he thinks about it.

I’m tired.