So The World Sees You.

 So The World Sees You. 

Ulises Vargas

October 17, 2024. 

To Sophia. 

Chapter 1. 

Wrecked Spirit. 

“If you ask me, I’ll behave.”

The last words he heard before the crash; before two racing-fast vehicles slammed into each other. Another tragedy on the highway; Another couple of young drivers, dead. 

He didn’t think it would end like this. How could he have? Things were just getting good. He had cleaned up his filthy life, fixed his ways. And for what? For it all to be over in a flash? At least, he had one thing to comfort him. Life had been a time well spent. Time lulled and swayed while he was with her. Lifetimes passed along her side. With that, he could die happy. There was not a regret that came to mind. It all worked out. 

As well as it could have, that is, given the circumstances. 

The tumbling behemoths of tons of metal had crashed so quickly that the noise took a  second to hit the other drivers. There was havoc; mayhem. Other crashes. More casualties.  Traffic slowed to a stop to admire the disaster with their ounce of respect for the dead thrown out as they grabbed their phones to record. Flicked up, their phones, and on, their flashlights. The thick night gave beautiful brilliance to the flames. 

Flames, instantly engulfing the couple, dead on impact, in their crumpled cars. Her arm was leaning over onto him. She had grabbed the steering wheel. Someone was to blame for the crash, and it was her. 

But why?

Things were so perfect. Life had seemed to wrap up just as everyone said it would. Things got better. 

And yet she pulled the steering wheel. Like Eve, she had introduced evil. Temptation came from somewhere. But where?

There were so many questions to answer. So many thoughts he couldn't quite mend. HIs spirit was a wreck. As good as the literal wreck in front of him. No car moved now. It would be hours until emergency responders showed up. Even longer for the wreckage to be removed. Until then, the road was clogged and no one could access the bodies. 

That was, except for the helicopter. A news helicopter, to be exact. They had shown up to record the fire. Smoke. Flames. Burning. All that and some fast cars. Good enough for the news. Newsworthy stuff, really. Whirring helicopter blades overlaid the music blasting from select vehicles and the scattered honking of horns.

Something about how life is short, tell your loved ones to avoid the highway, and wear a seatbelt. More meaningless traffic jargon clogging up the 24-hour news cycle. But they did mention the names of two of the deceased: Villa and Gallery. 

Villa was the one driving. Gallery had pulled the steering wheel. 

Nothing on the news mattered now to Villa anyway. He was away from earthly holdings now. Nothing to tie him down, but his love for a woman. His spirit ached to know if his tragic early death was all the accident it seemed to be. So long as he held this grudge, this yearning to know, his soul would be stuck in limbo forever.

 Phasing through the invisible heat radiating off of the car wreck, he investigated the bodies. Horribly mangled and burned, Gallery’s body had flown and hit the front window. Villa’s own body was folded over the dashboard. Like springs, his arms had crumpled down inward and shattered. 

On the inside, Villa cried with the new stoicism which death had afforded him. A metaphorical tear ran its way down from his heart and through his soul. Though his heart had now stopped, it seemed the emotions had not left him. A wrecked spirit, just as wrecked as it ever was. 

Horrific, the sight of the bodies. Horrific, how it ended. 

It seemed his memory had come to him all at once with death. Every moment that had passed by in life was now available in full clarity, regardless of whether he had forgotten the memory in life or not. 

Taking a stroll down memory lane, he figured there’s nothing left to do now but look back at how it all ended. To retrace his steps and verify if it was all it really seemed. See if anyone would remember him. See the impact he had. What she did to him. 

So the world sees her. 

Chapter 2.

Ice Breaker. 

Lingering in the air sat the pungent scent of an aromatic, fruity, flowery, drifting perfume. A perfume of allurance. A sensual, seductive, passionate scent. It was coming from the girl next to him, both sat in the lecture hall now. Villa was half-listening and half-ignoring the monotonous ramble of his professor, pretending to take notes on unimportant things while missing the important things. 

Villa at present was reading up on the latest psychology news. Something about school shooters and the process they undergo as their violent thoughts start to form. It seemed many school shooters’ violent thoughts started as an infestation in their minds, an obsession, from the repeated and intense bullying and ostracization of their peers. 

He concentrated on his research. The threat of a shooting at any school now is higher than it used to be and people have gone crazy about it. Schools employ reinforced doors and windows before implementing more counselors or reaching out to at-risk students. The solution seemed obvious to Villa. 

Then, the girl with passively disengaging perfume–the scent that could only mean good times–touched his desk delicately with her small and ring-studded hands. Villa felt no shock come to him. He was unaffected, engaged in his research. She wrapped her hand on the table once more and caught his attention as he turned his head to face her. 

He had never really looked at her before. Villa only ever saw her in his peripherals, literally and metaphorically. He did not see her, until now. Flawless, her lily white skin. It seemed you could hit the slopes off her sides. Love handles like a king’s chalice. Sharp and diamond-cutting, her jawline. She wore a pink crop top with gray joggers, both branded with Gap. She was caught on an off-day, dressed looking like she had stumbled onto campus. But regardless, her objective beauty seemed to shine through and overlight the shammy dressings. Like Rapunzel, her flowing brown hair hung low to her waist like a horse’s tail clinging from her head. Her cute button nose was adorned with thick-rimmed but translucent clear glasses. Strikingly, her earthy green eyes were framed by these glasses which seemed to make her gleaming eyes pop as she looked him in the eye and he looked back. 

“What did Professor Longrun just say?” And she takes a moment to laugh to herself the most subtle, charismatic, and infectious laugh, “I didn’t hear a word he said, I was disassociating.”

Villa had to stop himself from laughing back at her. He immediately wanted to match her energy. “I don’t know either.” He said, and they both chuckled at that. “This class is boring as hell. I’m just trying to catch some shut eye at this point. “

She gave him an inquisitive look as if he were suddenly some old timer, “Did you just say ‘catch some shut eye?’ What are you, 60?” And she couldn’t help but giggle at her own joke as Villa sat there looking at her. 

“No, matter of fact, I’m 24, and I’m frankly insulted.” Villa joked, pitching his voice to obviously reflect so. “If you don’t stop bullying me, I’ll have to raise my hand and tell Professor Longrun. And you don’t need a second lecture.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms as if he had won this “discourse.”

“More long run-on sentences from Professor Longrun?” She managed to cackle out, “I’d rather kill myself.”

“Me too.”

And just like that, Villa knew he could trust her. Through playful banter, they had found that they were one in the same. Similar humors, similar dislike of school, it was the most basic foundation. Her petite body shook with every laugh, like she laughed with her whole body. Her smile crossed her face like a ravine opening, showing her pristine porcelain teeth. It was a friendly smile, one that ensured good times. 

Almost like an idiot, Villa had to ask, had to know, “What’s your name?” 

“Wowww we’ve been sitting next to each other all semester and you don’t even know my name. How inconsiderate of you.” And she gave him a dirty glare, one feigned from innocence, “My name’s Gallery. And you, my good sir, are Villa. Like Pancho Villa, right?” 

“Well, nice to meet you, Gallery. And yes, like Pancho Villa. My parents are really into our heritage. I hate to ask, but are you much of an artist? You know, given the name?” 

“Aren’t you so creative. I bet it took you all of two seconds to come up with that one.” She bit back, maintaining eye contact and shaking her head in disappointment. 

“Aren’t you so squirrely. Are you gonna answer the question or not?” 

Thinking to herself for a second, she pondered her response. Was she creative? “I don’t color much. I used to draw a lot in middle school, you know, and I was really good.” And she looked away, as if embarrassed to reveal some long buried secret. 

At that, Villa’s ears perked up. In his notebook laid flat in front of him, he turned to a blank page beyond his notes and grabbed a metal mechanical pencil. He dropped the pencil on the blank sheet and placed the notebook on her desk adjacent. 

“I have an idea.” Villa announced as he flashed a smile at Gallery, glancing back and forth from the notebook at her. “You get what I’m getting at?”

Gallery had the widest, giddiest shock of expression. It was cute. “You’re really putting me on the spot right now?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“That’s bold. I’ll do it.” As she adjusted the notebook’s positioning, the most obvious question which everyone has asked themselves comes to her, “What should I draw?” And a curious perplexion crossed her face as she looked around the room sourcing inspiration. It was the artist’s dilemma to find creativity in seemingly nothing. 

Villa lifted his arms and moved them up and down along his sides as if presenting himself, “I got your subject right here.”

She couldn’t help but burst out laughing. They had spoken quietly til now and she had just blown their cover. Professor Longrun had been lecturing, but now the whole room had fallen silent to stare at Gallery. A million eyes facing her, it felt like. 

“What’s so funny?” Booms Professor Longrun from the podium up front, standing there silently and wistfully. “Do we need to leave the lecture hall?” 

Villa begins, embarrassed, “I didn’t mean t-”

“Yes, we’d like to leave.” Gallery blurts out and storms off towards the door. 

Gallery would really rather die than stand that second lecture. 

Villa stumbles to gather his belongings, stacking them one on the other and sliding the stack into his backpack. 

“Fuck.” Villa mutters to himself as he clambers over his fellow peers sitting down to follow Gallery. He followed her, like a dog. He was already her pet. 

Chapter 3. 

Evil Twins. 

Out in the city, car exhaust dominated her intoxicating perfume as Villa ran to catch up to Gallery. People rushed on all sides of them, busy with their own lives and dramas. Villa, uncomfortable and off-put by his sudden departure from class, subconsciously keeps looking at Gallery for comfort. Her stunning beauty made for comfort anywhere. There was never such a thing as beautiful as her. It seemed all worries ran free like dripping water as the ice melted away looking at her. 

Darn the overstimulating and hectic city. Villa’s anxieties did not matter now. He was in the presence of someone great. Someone who did their own thing. Someone who didn’t listen to those who may rain on her parade. 

Cautiously, Villa spoke so as to not offend Gallery, “Why did you leave?”

“Why did you follow me, huh? We both left. ‘Cause fuck Longrun’s bald-headed ass. He would’ve yapped until I fell asleep.” She let out angrily, “He can discount my grade however he wants, I don’t care. Just not someone telling me what I can and can’t do.”

Mentally, he took note of that. Never tell Gallery what to do. He would never see this side of her on his behalf. Never upset her. 

“Real.” He responds. How can you cool down someone who’s mad? It usually devolves that nothing can make them chilled but time. Or a fight. Seemingly, a fight resolves the victor. Maybe if she had thrown hands with Professor Longrun, she could have gotten her anger out. As this thought came to Villa, he thought it’d make for a nice joke and lighten the mood. “You should’ve run the ones with Longrun. His old self would break a hip tryna throw a punch back.”

So she giggled. And then, she caught Villa by surprise. She slowed down as he kept walking, at first imperceptibly, until he could not see her. Then, just as he notices her absence, he hears loud and fast footsteps from behind him. A sudden weight crashes into his body from behind, toppling over his shoulders. Gallery had placed her hands on his shoulders and jumped up on him. “Tackle! I gotcha!” She screamed, loud enough for everyone on the road to hear. 

Villa’s cheeks flushed red. Tomato-looking, he was shocked. What did she just do? That was so random, he couldn’t have picked that moment out of a million alternate universes. 

Villa couldn’t help but blush. He had never been “attacked” like that before. This was new to him. Already, she had broken the first barrier of contact. And it invigorated him. A rush of life came to him. 

He kept on walking as if nothing happened, chuckling back at Gallery who was laughing like a madman at her own hilarity. “Is that how you’d jump Longrun?”

“No.” She pouted, “I would get all my friends on him and beat him up. Longrun can’t survive a 6v1. I’d like to see him try. He’ll be limping back to his podium and really show his age after this knuckle sandwich.” And she makes a tight, small fist with the cutest grimace skewing her face.

“Did you just say ‘knuckle sandwich?’” And he drops his hand to hit his leg in calm defeat, “And you laughed at me for saying ‘catch some shut eye.’ Who’s the old one now, huh?”

“Oh, I get it, you’re gonna ignore my plans to beat Longrun because you agree with me.” She twisted her right middle and pointer fingers into a twist, “We’re evil twins.”

Villa does the same thing and twists his fingers, “Evil twins.” 

By now, their mindless walking had naturally led them to the park, locally known as the sanctuary, in the middle of campus. A bright fountain with lights under it shot into and pierced the air. Savory green trees, neatly trimmed, edged the sides of the pond and dotted the rest of the park. Luscious grass and bombastic flowers covered the open spaces and left a Garden of Eden of sorts for in-town college kids. Gallery led the way to a bench under a large gazebo looking over the pond. A plaque dedicated to the university’s dead founder centered the pond with the gazebo. They both sat, looking out at the gleaming pond. 

Villa grunted awkwardly without clearing his throat first, “Hey, do you still wanna draw? I’m right here.” And fetches the notebook and pencil from his backpack. 

“Well, now that you’ve asked so politely and gentlemanly.” She had been looking down and flicked her head up to smile at Villa and look him in the eye.  Butterflies stirred in Villa’s stomach at that killer glance. 

Gallery took the notebook and pencil and repositioned herself to sit with her legs curled up off the side of the bench and her body facing Villa. To a blank page, she turned, and took a long look at Villa and put pencil to paper. 

Time lulled. Everything stopped as Villa stayed perfectly still, the perfect model. Gallery took her chance to watch him with intent. 

He was handsome. A curiously settled natural black middle part, shortened to only the top of his head, framed his face like curtains. His black aviator glasses circled his oaky brown eyes like a tree’s canopy. In certain lights, his brown eyes seemed jet black. Slightly overgrown, the goatee that rested on his face like a broken wreath. Villa’s thick brown overcoat popped his brown cream skin. Under the overcoat, was a plain black T-shirt. Tight, light blue jeans hugged his legs and black and white Balenciaga Speed Runners covered his feet. They were his favorite pair of shoes to wear out. On his right pointer finger, he wore a simple black ring. Minimal was always better, so Villa thought. Effortlessly suave, it seemed Villa made for a brilliant subject. 

From Gallery’s perspective, she could see Villa with the outskirts of the pond to his left and healthy bushes and glistening flowers behind him. He had one arm up, resting on the table. Villa had turned toward her so she could miss not a single detail of his face. 

Gallery was off to the races drawing. Watching her, Villa couldn’t help but be drawn in by her creative process. In real time, he could see her thinking and pondering her art. It was like watching a master at work. Even being there in her presence seemed offensive to the pure creativity being spewed. Villa had to admire. Couldn’t stop admiring. She was beautiful, but most importantly, talented. Her inner beauty shone through in art. Regardless of the end result portrait, thought Villa, he would cherish the picture forever. Every crunch of her nose, every wrinkle in her face, every mistimed blink, Villa took note of as he watched her process. 

Only minutes passed as she worked carefully and diligently, yet with the ease and pace of a master. She was clearly very talented from her process alone. There was some untapped potential at work in that mind of hers, working away on paper. 

Furiously, she scratched the paper, switching between pencil tip and eraser, making sure to get the details just right. Methodically, she moved. In a whirlwind, she worked. Up until she stopped, and took a deep breath, holding the picture out in front of her and reflecting. A smile crossed her face like a mother seeing her newborn baby as she presented the portrait to Villa. 

Everything was exact. You could hold up the portrait to a photo and try to spot the differences. Every pore, every wrinkle, every stringy hair, captured on paper. She had missed not a single detail. There was now a still image of reality, made by pencil. 

The portrait was glorious. Villa smiled back at the smiling depiction of himself. He could not help but wonder how striking the resemblance was for any outside observer. 

“Wow… I don’t know what to say.” Villa uttered, “It’s beautiful. It’s perfect. Just, wow.”

“Well, I had a great model. Like I said, I used to draw a lot.”

“But you didn’t say all that.” He boomed as he reached for the portrait and held it in his hands. “How could I have expected this?” And he settles the notebook on the table in dismay. 

“I have a whole bag full of surprises for you, if you’re ready.”

“I think I’m ready…”

“No, you’re not.” And she held out both her palms to Villa, “Come here.”

His heart skipped a beat. 

He held her hands in his, sworn to a moment of intimacy he had not initiated. The control was out of his hands. Instantly, he had relinquished his autonomy and individuality to be in this moment with Gallery. Like a child, he had no direction with which to direct himself. Gallery told him what to do. Free-thinking wouldn’t be necessary around her. Infatuation, if he dare even say, is a flattering feeling; a dragon that he could chase the rest of his life. 

Infatuation was all he felt. It was not love, not lust, but an odd middle ground where nothing was yet determined. He could fall in love from this point. Or fall into obsession and lose himself forever. The choice was not his. Already, he had relinquished all control to Gallery. 

So they held hands. Gallery tilted her head flirtatiously and held eye contact with Villa. 

It was a spark. A shock. Villa could feel, for the first time in forever. Something made him feel alive. Like he had a soul. Like something really mattered. 

Chapter 4. 

Oblivion. 

Villa’s dorm was adorned with vibrant posters of his favorite music artists, lining the walls like an art exhibit. His favorite genre was urban latino, a blend of modernity with the sweet sounds of Spanish. Currently, speakers voiced the elegant tones of a broken-hearted singer out at Villa. Music surrounded him from all sides and beat his ears like a drum stick on drums. Bass thumped and pumped as angrily as Villa wanted it to. 

Music blasted whenever he felt alone, which happened to be all the time. Nothing could quite fill the void. From years of failed and broken relationships, he had never gotten over the pain. Regrets lingered in his mind like buzzing flies. Thoughts of what could have been marred any thoughts of happiness. 

But he had a cure: Something that brought love and euphoria with a guarantee and a smile; Something inching closer to death as he lived, but that made it all worth it.

Dressed in his red plaid pajamas, Villa scooted his chair into his desk and could already feel his nerves calming. The ritual alone was enough to cause some sensation. He had done this for years now, since someone introduced him to it his freshman year in university. He could not thank the man who introduced him enough. He had met the first real love of his life, and it loved him back. 

He chased the feeling of love. He had never felt it genuinely before. 

He chased the feeling of the dragon. He had never felt happiness before. 

Villa stared for a stoic moment, and started. He fetched the burned steel spoon and poured out half of a small baggie. A fine, brown sugar-looking powder rested on the spoon now as Villa flicked his lighter and brought it under. A crackle and pop could be heard as the brown sugar smoked. He lifted his head above the spoon, and inhaled. 

Villa had just smoked heroin: Some of the best heroin he had ever had, after years of trying out different dealers. Immediately, his body went numb and his balls started to tingle. Desperately, he tried not to cum on himself. Euphoria pumped through his veins like hot chocolate, warming his mind and body. His breathing slowed, and he let it. Something peaceful was afoot. An experience that meant nothing else mattered besides the bliss which he felt in this moment. 

His thoughts started to trend towards brighter things. Like the birds outside, the vivid decorations of the dorm, and Gallery’s smile. Since earlier that day, he could not stop thinking about her. She had infested his mind. 

The feeling of heroin was one of bliss; as if one could touch god. Pressure relieved itself from all sides as his body loosened and everything let go. An unknown weight lifted from his shoulders and carried itself up and up. It was sensationless, in the sense that he had only the best sensation to feel. 

Every thought came to him slowly. He traumatized himself again and again in this way to find solace. At least this feeling, he could recognize; this feeling, he was comfortable with. It was a safe space he knew he could return to time and time again. His vision blurred and his eyelids sagged to see the world–or at least the dorm room–in front of him. He chose to live on campus because it meant he wasn’t alone, though he paid extra not to have a roommate. Despite his efforts, he found himself just as effectively alone. 

Moments like these, the Narcan in his drawer meant nothing. He couldn’t self-administer it in time to save himself if he overdosed. The high of an overdose was so good he might not want to stop it at all. If only every dose could be an overdose, he thought, then he’d be fulfilled.

But only one thought dominated his mind now: Gallery. An infection. A total infestation. How had she taken over his leisure time? They had just met that day, and he hadn’t stopped thinking about her since. She ran circles around his mind like a rampant guinea pig. 

His mind might have gone days without sleep, stuck on the thought of her and her only. Without a break, he thought of her fine lips, her curvy slopes, her elegant face, her flawless beauty. Something made him think everything of her. She could never hurt him; never ill his wills. 

Just one more day, he thought. Just one more day to see her. All he could wish for now was to be blessed with her presence yet again. If she could infest his thoughts with such magnitude, then she could make him happy daily. Villa wanted to lose himself in her, forever. 

Foolishly, he wanted to see her adorned in all the designer, in all the jewelry, and in all the lingerie. He wanted to give her the world; everything she could ever want. It was inexplicable. 

There has to be someone for everyone. Out of 8 billion people, there has to be one in eight billion for each person to love. Could it be some major coincidence that she sat right next to him in class? No, it had to be fate; destiny. Who meets the love of their life and fumbles it? Too many people fuck up their only chance. Villa vowed to not let the chance pass him up. 

Of course, he was still high on heroin. Everything he thought may very well have been drug-induced. Who knows? How genuine might any of this be? Was he really falling for her, or was he confusing the feeling of the drug for something entirely different? 

It didn’t matter now anyway; he felt good, and that’s all that mattered. So long as the high continued on, there would be no complaints. The world’s hoard of euphoria in his tainted mind. Villa was never a saint. And he could never imagine himself as one. Did she even deserve a man like him? Someone who would hurt and use her? No one deserved the pain of knowing Villa. From a young age, he was always a bad influence on his friends. 

He sat in his chair, nodding off and catching himself just as his head sagged below his knees everytime. Entirely numb, he felt at peace for the first time since his last dose. 

Chapter 5. 

Facades. 

Anxious and eager, he waited and sat in the ice cream parlor. Red and white stripes lined the walls like a candy cane’s wrapping. Soft 80s music played over the speakers set in each corner of the room. Booths followed the walls and light, black, bolted-down stools edged the serving counter. 

In his booth, he fiddled with his fingers and stared down and forward. Time passed while he stared stoically, who knows for how long.