Celia: Introduction Story

     What felt like an eternity of awkward pleasantries had passed when the train had finally come to a stop at Cece’s hometown-- a quiet and cozy place, not unlike the one where Celia lived in, save for a larger population. 

     When she stepped off the confines of the train and beheld the town, no familiar feelings or sense of belonging came to mind. Not that she believed that she might, but Alex’s regaling of Cece’s life had instilled perhaps just the slightest expectation that she could come to feel something for this town. And still, nothing stirred. 

     Alex exited the train shortly after Celia, inhaling a breath of the brisk afternoon air as he did. “Welcome home!” he took the lead, gesturing for Celia to follow behind him. “Your house is actually really close to the train station. It should only be 10 minutes of walking ‘til we get to the gates…”

     As the two pressed on, the silence that filled the air only became louder and louder with each step that was taken. Perhaps Alex could sense that Celia felt no recollection of memories long past-- and for every glance that Celia took, quietly taking note of the town scenery that passed by, she could see Alex sneaking his own look backwards just to see if recognition sprang forth in her face. 

     If she were to arrive at Cece’s childhood home without being able to find even an ounce of familiarity within, how would Alex react? At this point, Celia almost wanted to be able to find those missing pieces of Cece herself, but she could hardly explain what it was that began to well up from within. 

     The expectation of being able to do something she was incapable of, perhaps?

     Even though Celia herself had no stake in the matter, she knew she would inevitably leave this place, and Alex would not find himself the childhood friend he was looking for. If she were able to piece together what remained of Cece’s life, could she take her place? Somewhere along the road, Celia had already discarded that option. Something prickled when she thought of it-- unexplainable as it was.

     Before long, Celia and Alex stood themselves before the fence-gate of a house sitting in front of a long stretch of woodlands. The path to the door was laid with stepping stones, and the greenery across the yard was clearly kept trim and neat. Even if it was just Cece’s mother and father living here, it was certainly well cared for.

     “And here we are.” Alex lifted a hand to point at the house, opening the gate to allow Celia inside. 

     Celia nodded, striding past the gate and towards the front door. 

     He moved to step inside as well, before stopping himself just short. “Actually…” he began to wring his wrist, his hesitation clear in his voice. 

     “I think… you should just explore by yourself. I never really went into your house that often, so I don’t know if I could really be a tour guide or anything. And it feels a little weird to intrude without your parents’ permission…

     “B-- but, they keep a spare key under the doormat, so you should be able to get in that way! Just, um… I’ll wait out here. You can let me know how it goes when you come back outside…”

     As odd as it was that Alex had insisted on accompanying her up until this moment, Celia wasn’t going to give him permission to enter the home of people she didn’t know, either. So as she approached the front door, she quietly slipped the house key from under the doormat and stepped inside, not looking back as the door closed behind her.

     The house was almost sterile, despite obviously being lived in. If there were supposed to be traces here that a couple lived here with their child for more than twenty years, it was impossible to tell just from the living room that Celia came upon first. The kitchen, dining room, and study all followed suit.

     At last, Celia stood in front of a door with dust collected on its handle, and a paper nameplate taped to the door with the name ‘Cecelia’ written in faded marker. 

     It was only when she moved to turn the handle that she noticed a strange tension gripping her body-- it was as if she resisted the idea of finding out who Cece was, and yet at the same time that very tension pulled her forth, wanting to find the truth. Since when was she so invested in this person that she had never met-- and never will?

     The door to Cece’s room swung open, revealing a tidy room that harbored the same sterility as the rest of the house, albeit with a fine coating of dust that sat atop every piece of furnishing. In the room's corner was the only sign of personality-- a desk, well-worn with its paint flaking off the edges and scuffs littering the surface. Atop it sat several little figurines sculpted in the shape of Amanita muscaria, and hidden amongst them laid an uncapped pen of red ink.

     Celia held one of the mushroom figurines in her hand, inspecting them closely-- they almost resembled the way she often dressed, with the white and red color palette they embodied. And as she traced the remainder of the desk for other knickknacks left behind by Cece, her eyes landed upon the desk’s drawer, just barely cracked open. 

     She pulled open the drawer, revealing a small journal with its covers printed with a red-and-white polka dot pattern. ‘Cecelia’s Journal’ labeled the front cover simply, with the interior side having ‘where wishes live forever’ scrawled messily. An attempt at calligraphy, perhaps. 

     This must have been Cece’s personal journal-- nothing would say otherwise, though the dearth of dust on the cover and the drawer handle where it was found suggested an inconsistency between when it was last read and when it was last written in. 

     The tension that filled Celia began to grow as she flipped the journal to its first page. It was mostly mundane thoughts: comments on school life and complaints about homework, daydreams about dream jobs and other fantasies, and mentions of Alex, whom she’d spent time with all throughout her elementary and middle school years.

     As the pages went on, she could no longer ignore what it was that gripped the back of her mind. Why was it that she hesitated more and more for each page turned, for every word of Cece’s life absorbed, for each wish that came and went? Try as she might, Celia could still not answer this question-- the main force that pulled her hand to flip yet another page. 

     She was no longer looking for Cece. She was searching for something that laid within.

     Progressing from middle school to the end of high school, Cece’s journal progressively became more and more laden with daydreams, and alongside them were complaints not about the burden of schoolwork but the weight of expectations. At times, she waxed hopeful about wanting to pursue what she wanted to do with her life-- travel the world, meet interesting people, and see astounding sights. At other times, she waned critical of her parents who expected her to pursue career and safety for as long as she lived, not accepting anything else. 

     More than anything, it highlighted her isolation. Her only confidant was a journal that could not offer consolation. Even Alex, whom she mentioned seeing occasionally in passing, seemed unaware of the turmoil beneath the surface. She was determined to bear the burden herself. 

     Before long, Celia approached the end of the journal. Two entries remained, the first of which being written just before Cece had moved out for college, leaving behind the journal which contained her wishes. It described how she had resolved herself to follow her parents’ advice, pursuing a path that would bring her the most security in her future. So long as she left behind who she wanted to be, she could compromise between her happiness and her parents’ happiness. So long as she stayed hopeful, even if it was something she didn’t hope for herself…

     Who did Cece want to be?

     Who do I want to be?

     The words that had been gnawing at the back of Celia’s head finally came to light, resounding within her mind. Did she want to be Cece? Did she want to be an imitation of someone she had never met, filling in for a community of strangers?

     Her thoughts floated back to the mundane days at the cafe, filled with a longing that she had yet to fully grasp. There was something that lay beyond the horizon that she wanted to chase after, but she had seen so little of the world that it was already an ordeal simply to imagine what was out there. Now, to have known Cece so closely through her journal entries, Celia understood she could not continue to shy away from the idea of a want. After all, it was human to want something. 

     I want to be myself.

     Was it mere coincidence that the desires that Cece once had now aligned with those that Celia had just discovered herself to harbor? Had Celia absorbed Cece’s dream without realizing, her myocelia nature taking control? Whether it was her own wishes that she harbored, or the wishes of those gone that she could carry into the present, Celia had found her answer.

     She turned the page once more, arriving at Cece’s final journal entry.