Trinity

Ironic, isn’t it, how my mother named me Trinity, yet solitude is all I know? With a name implying unity, or more specifically, a group of three, you’d think I’d have more dynamism or character to my personality. Something that would make people flock in my presence. But no, I’ve always been more of a party of one than anything else. A name like Isle or Solitaire would be better suited for someone like me.

When I first moved into this Malibu neighborhood, everyone judged me for buying the house that sits squarely on top of the hill. But what other choice did I have? To live down there among them, the very people who squawk at my being single and childless and utterly alone? To buy a house in between two families, where I’d have to bolt my windows shut to drown out the noises of their shrieking children?

No, I had more options than that when I came into this neighborhood. I have money, after all. And thank god I do. Otherwise, I would most likely be exiled from society altogether.

I stare out my window into the night sky then look down at the streetlamps, shining life onto the freshly mowed lawns and shiny new cars of all my neighbors. I don’t know any of their names, but I know their general income bracket, daily routines, and who gardens their hydrangeas. My agent says she’s worried for me, that I should at least try to get to know my neighbors if I’m going to be working entirely from home. But despite having only lived here for a month, I feel like I already know everything there is to know about my neighbors, without needing to invite them over for brunch of high-noon tea.

The song Malibu by Miley Cyrus starts playing over the radio. I’m pretty sure they are trying to make it the official Malibu anthem or something, because it’s their fifth time playing it today. It’s actually a nice song – if it weren’t for the incessant repetition of next to you in Malibu. I try to enjoy its sweet melodic rhythm anyway, but the romantic undertones of the lyrics seep into my skin. They seem to have to turn everything into a love song these days. Feeling disconnected from the lyrics, I shut it off. I am not standing next to anyone in Malibu. Maybe I’ll write my own version of the song and title it Alone in Malibu.

I turn on a random episode of Grey’s Anatomy, sit back in my recliner chair and close my eyes. Lately, I’ve been finding it comforting to fall asleep to the lulling sound of a TV show; to familiar characters reciting predictable lines in an old, familiar rhythm. To fill the silence that being alone brings – without the hassle of having to respond to anyone, or carry on any sort of conversation whatsoever. Just voices, filling up the void around you, demanding nothing in return.

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I wake to the sound of loud, crackling thunder. The air is cold against my skin but I get up anyway, feet anchored to the floor. I walk until I reach my wall calendar, where I have crossed off in red the next two days. I know this because yesterday was November fifth, and now November sixth and seventh have big, red X’s drawn over them. My hand moves as though it has a mind of its own, crossing off what I instinctively know to be today’s date, November eighth. I feel a jolt of electricity shoot through me as I mark down what I know to be the final X, and something in me telling me that this is the final day – of what, I do not know.

Suddenly, the thunder roars and the floor beneath me crumbles, opening up and swallowing me whole. I am catapulted into a dark tunnel, a black hole of nothingness, forever trapped in an empty void, all alone. I’m not sure where I am, but I feel an overwhelming sense of finality, a point of no return.

I look around. Total darkness. I am surrounded by nothing and no one. Not even the silence bears its usual whispers of comfort. Is this what death feels like?

I thought I was alone before, but this is alone. This is utterly alone.

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I open my eyes and spring out of bed for what feels like a second time. I try to shake off the coldness of the pit I just managed to escape, but I can’t. Whatever that was, it must’ve been a dream. An eerily vivid dream… that felt more like a premonition than a nightmare.

I walk to my calendar and sigh in relief, no days have been crossed off – yet. It is still November sixth, as expected. But what does this dream mean? Is something going to happen in two days, on the eighth of November?

I shudder as I remember the stark sense of finality from my dream. Never have I felt the end so clearly, or at least what I would imagine it to feel like. I look down as I wriggle my hands and feet, finding myself overcome with the ecstasy of being alive. Like I have just received a second chance at awakening to the world, but for the very first time.

I turn to face myself in my vanity mirror and pose in my mind the question I’ve been dreading to ask myself since the moment I woke up this morning: What if I really am dead in three days?

I’m usually not one to believe in anything too esoteric or out there, but this time feels different. The now very real possibility of death hovers over my head like a question mark and parks itself there, making it feel more like an obligation than some silly, fleeting thought.

It’s funny how in moments of chaos, we are able to come up with solutions to our problems rather instantly. As though the brain is aware of how little time it has, so it speeds up the process to find an answer, any answer – logic irrelevant. My first thought: I’m going to die in three days. My next thought after that: Salina.

Salina is someone I was close to in college. Okay, we were best friends for the entire four years of it. But something happened at the end of those four years that abruptly put an end to our friendship. Something I had always felt a sliver of guilt over, but could never put my ego aside long enough to apologize for. Yet, within the near decade it’s been since graduation, I realize I haven’t thought much about her – until now. Until the moment I think I am about to die.

Having lost Salina’s phone number years ago, I race through my Facebook friends list. I notice her name has changed from Salina Avery to Salina Avery-Ledger. Married. Flashbacks of a twenty-year-old Salina making drunken promises to me in our dorm’s elevator come flooding back. I’m telling you Trinity, if you’re not my maid of honor, then no one is! Heck, I’d probably just call the whole thing off!

The memory unlocks emotions in me I didn’t know were still there, tears so old they almost taste stale. I type out a message expressing my wish to catch up and see her again, finger trembling as it lingers over send. I think back to the dream, the calendar. Three days.

I press send. I’m not expecting her to reply right away – heck, it may very well be too late by the time she does. I think of the next person I want to contact.

Idris.

I met Idris at a time in my life where I had just sworn off men, so I could focus on myself. I was so bitter from past relationships that I couldn’t care less what Idris had to offer me. Even after we agreed to be exclusive, I convinced myself he wasn’t actually into me – that he was just looking for a fun time like all the others.

So, when an ex of mine texted me out of the blue one day asking to hang out, I did exactly what so many men had done to me in the past. I took all my leftover resentment out on Idris and, behind his back, agreed to meet up with my ex. I didn’t even bother mentioning to him the fact I was in a relationship, because I knew exactly what would happen if I didn’t. Because a part of me wanted it to happen.

Turns out Idris was, and still is to this day, the only respectable man I’ve ever dated. Even after finding out about my cheating, he just quietly packed his overnight bag back up and slipped out my front door, never to be seen again. That was the day I realized what true self-respect is. Turns out, Idris had more respect for himself in our relationship than I was willing to give either one of us.

I scroll through the contacts list in my phone, landing on Idris’ name among a sea of others I barely recognize anymore. I must have hundreds of contacts saved in this thing, yet I speak to a maximum of maybe three people a month.

I dial Idris without a second thought and miraculously, he picks up on the second ring. It all comes pouring out of me; how foolish I still feel for having cheated on him, how inadequate I felt at that time in our life, for not apologizing sooner. Part of me wants to tell him I’ll be dead in three days, that this is all just part of a series of near-death revelations I am having, so don’t mind me! But I don’t. Instead, I briefly mutter something about my recent changed outlook on life.

I spend the next two days calling up old friends and family members I haven’t spoken to in ages. I open up to them in ways I never have before, letting them in on the loneliness of my lifestyle and career. This leads to them opening up to me as well and suddenly, I am learning all sorts of new things about the people who have been most pivotal to me throughout my life. Turns out I’m not the only one living with regrets, fear, or shame.

It’s funny how contagious a simple apology can be – the ripple effect it creates by allowing others the space to apologize as well, usually for things you weren’t even aware had been laying heavy on their hearts. A cousin of mine, who I hadn’t spoken to since my freshman year of college, apologized profusely for having not invited me to her wedding last year. My old best friend from high school expressed regret for having never read a single one of my books – out of slight jealousy on her part, she added somewhat bashfully. Surprisingly, this parade of apologies and regrets seem to humble me (rather than boost my ego like one might assume they would), forcing me to realize that even those I’ve been holding at a distance have been dealing with more complex problems and emotions than I may have given them credit for.

By the third day, I feel more alive than ever. To the point where I am almost okay with dying. I’ve had more heartfelt conversations in these past three days than I’ve had in this past decade alone. I am beginning to realize what true living means; it’s not about how much money you make, or how high your house sits on top of a hill – it’s about the people in your life. It always has been.

And ironically enough, only death itself has managed to reach me to this conclusion. What a sad way to go, only realizing the truth of the world mere moments before you are about to be swept away forever.

I spend all of November eighth in bed, scared to leave my house or go anywhere that might endanger my life. But what’s the use? I know I’m dying either way. If not by some head-on collision, then by a meteorite crashing through my roof. I fall asleep with this on my mind, allowing the lulling sounds of nature to drift me off to sleep this time, prepared to never wake again.

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Bing. Before I can even open my eyes, I instinctively reach for my phone. A message from Salina. For a moment I am back in our college dorm, waking up to texts from Salina as usual. It takes me a second to snap back to reality and remember the death date. Today’s date looms over the Facebook notification like a mirage. November… ninth?

November ninth. Is this really happening? Am I really not dead after all?

I open her message. She is surprised to hear from me, but willing to talk. But I’m not dying anymore.

Yet something in me is still pulling me to talk to her. I dial her number.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Salina. Thanks for agreeing to talk. I don’t even know where to begin…”

We spend the next twenty minutes catching up on our lives. Salina explains that while she was upset at the time over what happened, her feelings towards me softened over the years. At which point it was the awkwardness our strained relationship had created that made it hard to mend things, not how she felt. She had it in her mind that I was “too good for her” after college, that I was the one disinterested in remaining friends. But that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. The truth was, I simply didn’t feel good enough to remain friends with her. I felt as though I had betrayed her, and therefore lost all hope of ever being friends with her again.

When Salina and I were about to graduate, we went to the annual career fair together. Ever since she was a little girl, Salina had dreamt of being a writer. I remember seeing stacks upon stacks of notebooks underneath her desk once, which she promptly covered up with her foot as soon as I pointed them out. Salina always had a talent for writing – at least, from what little she would allow me to read. But she never fully believed in her talent. Not enough to show people her work, anyway.

Then came along, well, me. I was someone who had never once dreamt of being a writer – it didn’t exactly scream glamour to me. And yet, I found myself being pretty good at it. To pass the time in between my morning and afternoon classes, I would write for hours on end, almost robotically. I didn’t have to give a second thought to it; I would just write. First about my experiences as a freshman on campus, which later morphed into a campus fiction series – which was essentially my life, with a few added embellishments here and there. I didn’t tell Salina, or anyone, about my writing until I had completed the first three books. It didn’t feel like a big deal to me, just a way for me to pass the time and add some spice to what felt like a boring campus experience.

At the career fair, we ran into a publisher looking to hire English or creative writing graduates to do assistant work for her company – not a science student with zero direction in life. I didn’t have much interest in talking to her back then, but as a soon-to-be English grad with dozens of mysterious notebooks stored beneath her desk, Salina saw this as a major opportunity. Her time to shine, and to finally show someone her work.

But for whatever reason, the publisher was drawn to me – because of some lame joke I had made that she actually found funny, which led to her complimenting my comedic timing and way with words. And somehow, in the excitement of it all, I let it slip I had just completed my third novel. And this is where Salina turned to face me in shock. This was the moment she found out I, too, was a writer.

As soon as the words came out of me, I felt instant regret. Here Salina was, trying to work up the courage to pitch her body of work to the very first publisher willing to give her the time of day, and in a single instant, I stole it all away from her. The publisher was completely absorbed in my story after that, thrilled at the idea of an actual freshman in college writing an entire book series about a freshman in college. The realism these books will have! The authenticity! She practically ate it up right then and there.

Suffice to say, I didn’t get the job – I got a publishing deal. Not only did she love all three of my books, but she offered me a contract deal to write three more books for the series. Which later turned into a ten-book series about a freshman in college solving crimes on campus. The series quickly became a national bestseller and was even adapted into a Netflix series. Definitely not what I was anticipating when I first sat down to write on that rainy Monday morning, looking to kill time before my afternoon biology class, but that’s how life works, I guess. Anything can happen.

“Of course, I was jealous at first,” Salina sighs. “But after some time, it hit me that it wasn’t really you I was mad at. It wasn’t you that had let me down… It was me. I was mad at myself. For never putting my work out there. For holding onto the hope that someone would just magically discover me and see me for the writer I was without ever having read a single ounce of my work… Sounds crazy, huh? But then it actually happened, right there in front of my eyes – except it wasn’t happening to me. It was happening to you.”

I let out a deep breath, finally able to release the feeling of hearing out loud words I had always known to be true. Salina had been jealous of my success, of all the opportunities she felt as though I had taken away from her. It was what I had suspected all along.

“Which made me realize something…" she continues. "If it was possible for you, then that must've meant it was possible for me, too. So, rather than hate your guts for the good fortune that had fallen into your lap, I started to see it as the Universe’s eccentric little way of showing me what was within my reach, too.”

Turns out, Salina is no longer the same person she was when we last spoke. She speaks in terms of the Universe now, and seems to know quite a bit about all its interconnecting laws, as she calls them. Something I never did stop to educate myself on, even as the topic became more popularized in the media. Admittedly, I had initially brushed it all off as fluff, a new form of religion the younger generations needed to cling onto so they could have something brand new to believe in – something that didn’t involve their grandparents’ old, traditional values or forms of thought.

But after the past three days I’ve had, I’m starting to think that anything is possible. Anything at all.

I take in another deep breath, ready to tell Salina what’s been happening to me lately, what led me to reach out to her in the first place. After all, she is the only person in my life right now who may actually believe in the whirlwind of a dream I had this week – and what it all means.

After I’m done explaining my dream – and the sudden feeling of imminent death that came along with it – Salina remains quiet as a mouse over the phone. And I can’t tell if it’s because she’s still processing everything I’ve just unloaded onto her, or if it’s because she thinks I’ve gone completely nuts.

“Oh, my god,” Salina whispers.

“What? Tell me!” And just like that, me and Salina slip effortlessly back into our old dynamic. One that is triggered by the spilling of hushed secrets, causing us to speak to each other in half-phrases, allowing our telepathic minds to fill in the blanks of what the other is saying.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I mean it’s something for sure, but nothing too crazy,” Salina says, seemingly tucking away the dramatics I could’ve sworn were dripping in her tone just moments before, probably for my own benefit. “What’s happening to you is ego death, Trinity. Well, not a complete ego death, obviously, because then you’d really be screwed...”

“What the hell is an ego death?” I let out all in one breath, desperate to get to the bottom of this.

“An ego death is an awakening of sorts. It allows you to put your ego to the side and finally see life for what it is, rather than whatever you may have built it up to be in your mind. Because that’s what the ego does! It creates stories – usually fictitious and not at all based on reality – surrounding all the people and events that have been most influential to us throughout our lives. Think of it as… your brain’s way of trying to make sense of the reality in which you are living, in a way that is most convenient to you. But oftentimes, what is most convenient to us… is not the actual truth of reality. Do you see what I mean?”

“So what you’re saying is… I’m not actually dying here? That I created the story of me dying, based on my own fictitious interpretation of my dream, because that’s what made the most sense to me?”

Salina laughs. “Yeah, something like that. But the real meaning behind all this is even bigger, Trinity. Your dream led you to believe you were dying because it knew that was what you needed to see in order for you to break down the walls of your ego. Just look at how you spent the last three days! Calling up all sorts of people your ego had led you to believe you didn’t need anymore. Do you honestly think you would have done all that had you not had this dream?”

She’s right. The only reason I spent the past three days calling up all these people – calling up anyone, in fact – was because I thought I was dying. Because my dream had sparked a sense of death within me. But perhaps I’m not dying, after all. Maybe what Salina is saying is right, maybe it was my ego that needed a kick to the curb – not me.

Once we are finished discussing all the possibilities of the Universe and what it may have in store for me, I hang up feeling more at ease than I have in a long time. Salina was always able to do that for me – making me see magic in all the places where it had never occurred to me that magic might lie.

I walk to the front door and slip on my shoes. They may have already created their own stories about me in their minds like I have with them, but the reality is – I haven’t actually met or spoken to a single one of my neighbors yet. Who’s to say my new best friend isn’t waiting for me down there? Or heck, the love of my life, even?

Because if there's anything these past three days have taught me, it is this: Anything can happen.