Epiphany

They say you shouldn't use dating apps. But they didn't say anything about Buzzfeed quizzes.

I decided to walk home. I stormed down the sidewalk. If a forecast could predict me, there'd be a bunch of tornadoes and hail and crap.

I felt like I was in one of those movie scenes where a bunch of voices play over an echoing filter. These voices could be altered versions of previous ones or direct quotes from other characters. The point: they're powerful.

Austin had called me…likable. Me. Likable? Okay, Austin, I think we're going overboard here. (Although I'm not sure what throwing a person off a ship would have to do with a far-fetched comment.)

Shut up, I told my tiny person. I needed to focus. What else…

Are you okay? Three words to my parents led to an array of shock: a dropped object and a therapy session with the worst therapist known to man. I was showing a spark of normality that was too much for the balance of the universe.

Me. Normal?

That's not possible.

I'm sorry. I'd made her spill hot coffee all over her legs for corn's sake. But Julia…she had snapped too. Julia was reacting like my parents now. Except, she didn't think there was something wrong with me. That's got to mean something.

Whispers. Behind my back. Every day.

Dr. White no longer attempted extra communication. If I wanted to leave early, he let me. He wasn't supposed to let me leave. He was supposed to tell me things I didn't care about and trick me into listening. Now, I almost did care.

ARE you high?

I'm not on drugs, I assured Tiny Person.

Yet…

Everyone around me seemed persuaded I had changed in some way. Not like a change of clothes by a group of mean girls so the local high school thinks you're cool. No. This was a vampire-demigod-post-war-games-causing-hunger change that you can't go back from.

I didn't see it. Why do they all see me different? What was up with Julia's reaction to one decent, humanizing question:

How are you?

What could be so "drop a cup" worthy about that? I can be nice and mean it.

My feet stuttered against the crosswalk as my tiny person firmed on another question: Is that something I would have done a month…a week…even a few days ago?

I shook my head. My hair bounced on a breeze. Of course, I would have apologized, if I was motivated. But I wasn't being encouraged towards politeness by anyone I knew six months ago. Not my therapist. Not Ed. Not Kyle. Certainly not my parents. Yet, since therapy…

BEEP!!! BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP.

Pro-tip: DON'T stop in the middle of a crosswalk. I leapt for the concrete.

Ben's got a crush.

Willie's such a weed. (It grows without use and you can't cut it down and other metaphor stuff.)

It's so obvious that Ben's got a crush.

That didn't make any sense. My brother had plenty of girls locked in his room at night, and he swore he'd never loved any one of them. My parents said they were just starting to understand love, thirty (or whatever) years into marriage. How could I sit here (well, walk here) and claim that after a few personal conversations and a saved life…

Give me a witty comment and I'll bury a hole and die in it.

I was starting to regret my decision not to wait for Ed. He was supposed to take me home, right?

My feet hurt.

I needed to get home, watch some YouTube, and read controversial comments. Now. But I had to watch the ground pass beneath me for what seemed like a lifetime before I stopped in front of the familiar driveway.

Yellow grass had grown widely out of proportions since the last time I looked at it. I fisted it from the root and tossed it to the wind. Shreds sprinkled the empty driveway. Good. Maybe I'd have some time to sort all of this out.

Sort what out, you ask? As weird as it sounds, I just couldn't get Willie's words out of my head.

Ben's got a crush.

There was only one possible candidate here. Sure, we like to butt heads (including calling each other buttheads), but even I must admit we've always had some sort of connection since that day at the fountain. I'd said it just today. I feel like I know her, and I can tell her things I would never dare tell anyone else. Even Kyle.

But a crush? A brand of soda middle schoolers use to describe their feelings? Pa!

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

Ha ha.

Still, I had to be sure. I turned to the only source on such the subject I had: Online quizzes. I settled with my chocolate chip waffle before I jumped in front of my computer. If I'm going to use the internet, I might as well go to the extreme.

Am. I. In. Love. Quiz.

I realized that I forgot to open a private window, and I had to start all over again. The screen filled with links I'm sure were completely valid. When the first links read "Am I in love with him quiz," I decided to further-specify my results.

My mouse flipped over the first link with a left click. Or was it my trap pad? Guess it doesn't matter.

The first question asked me if I thought about her a lot, and I felt my Pepsi trying to climb back up my nose. She's who I consult with for every human interaction I ever have. In many ways, I was living WWJWD. (What would Julia White do?)

I had to say yes to that one.

Would you die for this person?

I was kind of living for her right now. But if she told me that I needed to die today, I'm pretty sure my body would have reflexively obeyed. Then again, Tiny Person might have found any excuse.

Do you flirt with her?

Um...what?

What attracts you to her?

This was starting to sound way too much like Animal Planet, but let's go with personality. Even if it did send me down an unforgivable path of yelling and coffee stains.

Do you really care about love?

Nooooo. But why would I be doing this if I didn't have the slightest suspicion?

If being close to her killed her, would you be able to stay away?

Huh? I'm guessing this is asking if I would ever kill The Julia White. In that case, no.

I scrolled through the quiz when the only thing left was the "Submit" button. With everything dangling from the one thread of humanity left in my bones, I clicked the button.

You are…truly in love! You really care about this girl and want her life to be the best it can possibly be. You would give anything for her…what are you bothering taking this quiz for? You're so obviously in love!

Is this some sort of conspiracy set up by my gang of miscreants? I jerked back to the search screen. This was a hoax. I could've taken this quiz about anyone and it would have said that.

The next quiz asked me about scenarios. Like what I would do if she died. (I would quite literally be dead if she didn't exist.) How I would ask if she was depressed. (I've shown I care.) What I would do if she was in love with another guy. (Well, that doesn't apply to me one bit.) Personality quizzes weren't lying when they called me passive aggressive.

Submit.

This was just getting "haha" funny.

You love her inside and out! Come on, tell her how you feel. Shout it to the rooftops! The wedding bells are ringing.

This next one had a title claim of ninety-nine percent accuracy. Questions about what I see in her and how I feel and my opinion on pickles and stuff.

Submit.

She makes your heartbeat faster. She makes your lips curl into the biggest smile the world has ever seen. You love everything about her, and her flaws make her even more special to you. So…it's time to tell her how you feel, Dude! You will never forgive yourself if you don't take this chance. This girl sounds like something special! :-)

Crap. Crap crap crap crap crap.

I slammed my computer shut. Honestly, I knew about all of this. I thought it was anxiety. I thought I was bad at socialization. (And I am.) I thought it was relating to another human being. (And it was.) I thought this was friendship. Yes. For better or for worse, it was friendship.

But if this really was a brother-sister thing, I wouldn't have cared that much when she told me about Alexander. And I did care. I know I did. This had sprung out of a begrudging gratitude jack-in-the-box.

Crap. Crap crap crap crap crap.

Look, I do like Julia. But it's not about me. She's not going to drop her life to be with some mental-fragmented psychopath with no real friends outside of mandatory therapy meetings. I hate to sound like the weak alternative love interest in a dystopian novel, but she deserves better than that.

What am I thinking that for? It's not like…oh wait.

You love her, Genius.

NO. I loathed her. I couldn't wait to annoy her and make her life miserable.

Great, now I've become like any other character in every book ever. Love to hate, hate to love. I was supposed to be the one without any relationship with another human being, ever. And now I've gone from tolerating friendship to…this?

I wasn't supposed to be able to feel any of this. That's why they stuck me on the spectrum. That's why they gave me personality disorders. That's why I need therapy. That's why I stole that bottle of water. But, what if, this whole time, Stuart was right about my worst fear? What if I was just falling into these labels because the world told me to?

I can't accept that. That would mean I've wasted seventeen years of my life being a nobody.

People in an unfamiliar environment act like diseased freaks. Once they let themselves get to a point where their hearts stop going eighty miles an hour, they can act normal in any situation. All this time, if I'd just applied myself and put myself in those uncomfortable situations, like Kyle had told me to, things could have been so different.

I was trapped in my labels.

But back to the subject at hand. I'm not…I can't…she won't…

Crap. Crap crap crap crap crap.

This is the conversation I had with myself all night. Tiny Person was in a freaking mental hospital. Tossing and turning, it was about three-fifty when I wrapped my mind around the fact that would change my life forever, yet wouldn't change it one bit.

To say it censored: All hummingbirds were about to break loose.

I had a crush on Julia White.