So, here's the thing about being "good." It doesn't actually stop the world from falling apart. If anything, the universe sees you trying to be a better person and decides to test just how much "goodness" you've actually got in the tank.
My parents and I have always had a relationship built on a foundation of mutual disappointment. But this week, it turned into a war zone. Long story short: the car broke down, the fridge died, and suddenly the "berating me for having no life" turned into "berating me for being a financial burden."
I'm on a gap year, which is just a fancy way of saying I'm drifting through a void while people my age are out getting degrees and internships. I have zero dollars. My bank account is a graveyard of "insufficient funds" notifications.
And then there's James.
James lives in a house his parents own. He has a room with acoustic foam on the walls and a setup that probably cost more than my father's annual salary. He doesn't have a job because he's "focusing on his sound." He goes to concerts. He buys vintage synths. He exists in a bubble of pure, unadulterated comfort.
James: Babe, I'm so sorry about the car. That sucks so much. Do you need money? I can send you whatever you need. Seriously.
I stared at the text. My skin crawled.
You ever had someone offer you a life jacket while they're sitting on a yacht, watching you drown? That's what it felt like.
Me: No, it's fine. I'll figure it out. I don't want your money.
James: Are you sure?? I have plenty. My dad just topped up my account for the month. Just tell me a number. I hate thinking of you stressed.
He was being "genuine." I knew that. He really did want to help. But he lacked a certain... logic. He didn't realize that taking money from him would be like handing him a leash and a collar. I already felt like a cardboard cutout, I didn't need to be a paid cardboard cutout.
Also, he didn't actually do anything. He didn't offer to drive over though, to be fair, he doesn't like driving in the city. He didn't look up mechanics. He just sat in his soundproofed room and offered me his dad's money through a screen.
Me: I'm sure. Let's just talk about something else.
James: Okay! Well, check this out. I just got tickets for that festival next month. Jacob and the guys are going. I'm so stoked.
And there it was. The "logic" gap. One minute he's offering to pay my rent, the next he's bragging about spending a week's worth of groceries on a festival ticket. He wasn't being mean. He was just... oblivious. He didn't understand that for me, a forty-dollar vinyl record was a sacrifice, and for him, it was a rounding error.
I couldn't complain, though. How do you complain about a guy who offered to help?
"He's so sweet," my mom said when I mentioned he offered. She was scrubing the kitchen counter like she was trying to take the top layer of skin off. "You're lucky to have a boy who cares like that. Most girls your age are dating losers."
I just nodded. I was the Lucky Girl. The girl with the Perfect Boyfriend who offered everything and understood nothing.
I went back to Maya's page. She'd posted a story of a gig she was at. She looked sweaty, messy, and like she'd paid for her own ticket. I felt a weird, twisted envy. I wanted to be her.
Not because of James, but because she looked like she belonged to herself.
I looked at my phone. James had sent me a voice note of a new beat he'd made.
"I made this thinking of you," his voice said, sounding cheerful and light. "It's a bit upbeat, because I want you to feel happy."
I listened to the repetitive, electronic thumping and felt my eyes sting. He was trying so hard to pull me into his light, and all I wanted was for someone to sit with me in the dark.