The Sapphic Christmas

November 30

Sophie

A month ago, I visited Brighton and my life changed completely after the trip. Let's go back in time, while I lay in bed with the One and can't sleep because of my memories.

It's a cloudy day, so my thoughts are pretty sad, I would even call it pathetic. At the moment I should be in my apartment, and I shouldn't solve problems for my brother. Why am I doing it? My family sure that I have depression. Here's the deal: I can admit that I'm not alright for some time now. I don't really know what to do with my life, I sort of stake. However, I don't like them talking about it. First, it's none of their business, second: their arguments are just stupid. "You have depression, because you don't spend time with us. Do you hate us? Why don't you have a job like your brother." Why should I? Like, man, I don't want to sound like a teen who complains about their parents... I do, right? Forget it, it's hard to explain. The point: I'm in Brighton. I take some papers from William's office (yep, there's a fax, but they wanted me to go) and give the secretary notes from my brother. He's broken his leg, so he can't work. Still, they do have phones, computers, so I'm sure my mom just wanted me to leave my apartment.

I don't have any other plans for the day, so I decide to go to the beach. I wasn't going to do anything in Brighton, because I'm little tired after a drive here, but cold breeze from ocean has changed my mind. However, I'm not dressed for the weather: old jeans, jacket and my t-short in paint, that I wear at home. My hair looks like Beetlejuice's with blonde short curls. I have stopped even trying to fix it. To be honest, I don't remember when was the last time when I looked at the mirror. I don't pay attention on my reflection anymore.

Even I realize that there're more "coins" than "pros", but I decide to go to the beach. I want to see the ocean. I've imagined it calm. It turns out to be completely different. In reality, powerful waves rase, run to the bank, as if it's threatening to submerge the city in a cart, and the next second it breaks on the pier. It looks so poetic. Despite the cold, I don't want to leave. The thought of getting back to my car and driving home seems disgusting to me. It's not warm there, there's wild wind. However, I don't want to go home at the moment. Maybe I should stay here for a few hours. I'll take a walk, look at the city or sit in a cafe somewhere close to the ocean. Yes, the latter is the most suitable, because I'll be able look at the water, which calms my nerves.

Over the past few months, I've gotten out of the habit of going to public places, and in general, somewhere further than art classes or a store. Now I'm anxious when I come into a small, nice café. There're only a few girls behind the counter. I'm uncomfortable to be the only customer there, so I want to turn around and leave, never returning to this charming place again. The bell that hangs above the door twitches, I'm no longer the only guest. So, I decide to stay. It seems silly. Nothing terrible would have happened even if I'd been the only guest to the cafe. I wasn't always like this, but at the end of November of the year it's my reality.

I order tea and cheesecake and find the perfect spot: next to the beach. I can see the ocean, strangers. It looks like they aren't cold at all, but maybe for Brighton it's normal weather. Nevertheless, the city stands on the ocean, such weather is quite understandable.

Watching the waves, I haven't noticed how my order has been brought to me and I feel little ashamed that I haven't thank them for it.

I don't want to leave the café ever. It's not the right day to walk in Brighton. So as soon as I finish the cheesecake I have to go home. At the same moment I get that I can stay in the city anyway. I have enough money to rent a hotel suite. Tomorrow, perhaps, I'll return home. I'm still not used to the fact that spontaneous decisions aren't bad. Maybe I should go shopping and buy myself some new clothes. I'd be way more comfortable in something new.

As I'm finishing my tea, I'm considering whether I should warn my family members about my little trip. Then I decide that I'm old enough not to report about my every step. In addition, there's a possibility that they won't even notice it.

I haven't been in Brighton for a long time, but everything seems to be exactly the same. The last time I was here, I was fourteen, which means seven years have passed since that time. Seven years, wow.

By that time, I'd already spent more than four hours in Brighton, I've booked a hotel room. I've lost track of time. I'm sitting on the beach watching some clouds are floating above me. It's time for sunset, but I can't see it because of the cloudy weather. I don't know why, but this makes me sad. I know it's stupid and pointless, but I still can't help feeling a bit empty. Another day goes by and I still haven't done anything productive. This has been going on for weeks, maybe months. It's like I'm frozen in some kind of cocoon, everyone around me is in a hurry and continues to move, but I can't do anything. My fucking ego says every time that I should become someone important, that I must leave a mark about my lifetime on Earth.

I don't know what is so outstanding, special, impressive in me. What can I do to be remembered by people. Isn't there a limit of human egoism? I'm sure the line for the universe is someone's wish to be remembered, but not knowing exactly why. Maybe it's just the loneliness in me that says so.

The sky has grown quite dark, but the lanterns are bright enough to light the paths. The streets are already decorated for the upcoming holidays. Honestly, I don't feel excited about the holidays.

Turning around, I notice a girl who is looking at the water. I can say she isn't local: she's wearing a warm, big jacket, a huge scarf that covers her face so much that only her eyes can be seen a little, and a hat with a large pom-pom. In her hands she holds a small camera and films herself, sometimes I hear her voice, but I don't get what she's saying.

I understand that I've been looking at her for a long time, which is why I immediately turn away. I hope she hasn't noticed. I don't want anyone to feel uncomfortable because of me. Who is she? YouTuber? Journalist? Or it's not her job, but hobby.

I don't want to sound like a maniac, but I turn my head to look at her again. The girl doesn't notice me. However, this's not surprising. I rarely get people's attention. To be honest, I'm very happy about it. I've never wanted to be the center of attention. Now I want her to notice me, even for a second, and at the same time I'm scared.

After a few minutes, the girl begins to move, and I understand that she's cold. Her arms wrap around her body, and she shifts from one foot to the other. She looks as if she knows she has to go, but she doesn't feel like it at all. Yet, she turns away from the sea and goes to the buildings.

I should go too. I hope there're some open clothes stores. I still think I should change my clothes and stay in Brighton for at least one more day, maybe longer. I have a laptop with me, which means I can continue to work here. Plus, I have a lot of time before the art classes.