Elizabeth_r - Sonder-Final Draft lyrics

As Spencer stepped outside of her apartment complex, she instantly felt comforted as she felt the California sun cascade down her face. She took a deep breath while observing the familiar bustle of people walking in each and every direction at all of their differing speeds. Having a considerable amount of time to k** before she needed to head towards campus that day, Spencer gripped her backpack straps with both hands and headed towards downtown Berkeley. Being downtown never failed to boost her mood, and she figured she might as well reward herself now for conquering her upcoming cla**es. First on her list was Berkeley Espresso, a quaint coffee shop located on Shattuck Avenue. The temperature outside was comfortable, typical for the time of year, making her walk all the more enjoyable. She loved the feeling of being engulfed in people as she walked past rows of small, familiar shops.. As she made her walk, she heard the sweet twang of an acoustic guitar accompanied by a man singing with a pa**ionate fervor. A man was set up outside the staircase leading down to the BART station, strumming his guitar with the case out in hopes of donations. Spencer dug out the spare change from her back pocket, earning a smile of gratitude from the man as she dropped it in. As with the entire Bay Area, hills were an accepted part of the residents' daily treks--and Berkeley was no exception. As Spencer eyed the approaching hill with weary, she pa**ed a flower vendor on the street, and just taking them all in instantly lifted her mood. If only she was not living on the budget of a college student; she settled instead for picking a few of the wild daisies that grew in patches in every open area of gra**. As she approached the coffee shop, she was greeted by name by the boy working behind the counter. “Can't ever get enough of us, huh?” he asked, a twinkle in his eye. Spencer laughed, “Unfortunately for my wallet, I don't think I'll ever get my fix.” The boy smiled at her as he made her regular order, Spencer was already pulling out the exact amount of money to cover it. “Have a good one, Spencer!” he said cheerfully as he took her money. “You too,” she said warmly as she made her way out. Spencer didn't feel that she knew a surplus of people in Berkeley that she considered to be close friends, but cheerful interactions such as the one that took place at the coffee shop made her feel more at ease. She decided to go to Half Price Books to see if they had added anything new to the poetry section since the last time she had visited. She sipped her coffee as she walked, dodging between people who must have been on their way to far more important places than she. Still, though everyone seemed busy, no one ever was rude to her in the quaint college town. Can't say the same for the other side of the Bay, her thought dripping with sarcasm. Spencer knew that she appeared as absolute nothing other than what a typical undergraduate student would be. But doesn't everyone appear to be average on the surface? Sure, there are the exceptions of those who seem off as soon as your eyes meet theirs, or those who have their interesting quirks that help them to stand apart from the rest right off the bat. And although it sort of sounded like an inspirational quote that had been hastily found on a search engine, Spencer firmly believed that you could not unearth a single substantial fact about someone until scratching their surface away. She had a weird fascination with people, although she couldn't be sure if it was completely weird or not because she never took the time to ask anyone else if they experienced it on the same level as she. When she was surrounded by people (which she preferred to be, so most always), and had the time to engage in the process, she pictured each of their individual lives to the fullest extent. Where were they going on the BART, or the Amtrak? Did they have families to go home to? Significant others? How difficult were their jobs? Did they attend school? Do they drink their coffee black, freshly brewed in the morning? Or do they go to Starbucks in the middle of the afternoon for a sugary fix? The possibilities each person held were endless. And then she got to wondering if they were good people or bad, what their philosophies were, how much empathy their hearts held, and so on. One night she tried her darndest to find a word that summarized this feeling, leading her to various web pages that may or may not have been considered credible. They all offered the same word: sonder. Even if it's not in the dictionary yet, it has a nice ring to it she remembered thinking to herself. Her hair was naturally a deep brown, but the sun's rays intertwined a rich auburn throughout it. It curled just enough that she could wear it down each day and receive compliments, but it was always unruly in nature. Her eyes were an even mix of green and blue, and those in combination with her prominent brows made it easy for others to notice her. She wore makeup but kept it minimal, and the clothes she generally chose to wear were trendy, but in a subtle manner. Each day, she wore the same opal necklace. It was set in silver, a inheritance given to her by her grandmother at a young age. Absent-mindedly, Spencer traced her fingertips around the opal of her necklace as she walked back to campus before her first cla**. Even though she was already beginning her soph*more year, she was undecided as to what way of life she would find herself living down the road. She had ideas of what she would like to do in the future, but hated giving herself high hopes only to have them dashed shortly thereafter. Spencer learned early on that she needed to protect herself from all possible odds to ensure that she was never blindsided. This also applied to people; Spencer felt that she could not simply let people into her life. She required an extensive amount of trust to exist between her and the other person before she could fully commit to being friends with them. Spencer didn't know if trustworthy people were far and few to find these days, or if she was just too picky, but she found herself feeling lonely more often than not. One day after cla**es had resumed for the day, Spencer had plans to meet up with some of the friends she had acquired whilst at Berkeley to go out to eat and to do some shopping in San Francisco. The BART ride from Berkeley to San Francisco averaged to be about thirty minutes, so she brought a book with her to do some reading in between. Once on the BART, she didn't notice anyone that looked too different from the type of people she generally saw frequenting the rail system. Men with rumpled dress shirts and leather briefcases, women who sat in pairs, mothers with their children, and a few miscellaneous younger people. She took an empty seat by the window, and was digging her book out of her bag when she noticed someone watching her in the window's reflection. It was an older woman, with white hair that was wrapped up in a silk handkerchief. Her gaze was curious, as if she couldn't quite piece together what Spencer could be doing there. She felt uncomfortable knowing that someone was observing her, so she moved her head in the direction of the woman and offered a small smile, hoping this would break her gaze. The woman smiled back, but didn't seem ashamed in the slightest that she had been caught looking. She eventually shifted her gaze down to The Bell Jar, which happened to be an old favorite of Spencer's. Throughout the remainder of the ride, she caught the woman looking her way a few more times. When she finally reached her stop, Spencer noticed that the woman was still in her seat. She couldn't help but wonder where her destination was as she walked through the sliding doors, but forgot about the woman entirely as she climbed the stairs that led to the busy city street. Spencer did not take the rail systems excessively often once the school year commenced, as her cla**es and part-time library job in addition to her social life kept her busy. One afternoon she decided she was craving La Boulange, so packed up all of her schoolwork in justification that she could make a trip to the city if she would also remain productive. As she entered the train and sat down, scanning her surroundings as she always did, she noticed the same woman that she had seen just a few weeks prior. She must live here in Berkeley, I should try talking to her sometime she thought while opening up her book. Upon feeling the woman's gaze on her, Spencer looked up and caught her eye. She fell into the routine she knew all too well, picturing what life the woman could be living. She's probably recently widowed, but has already come to terms with the fact. I can picture her sitting at an outdoor patio, surrounded by a garden. There's bu*terflies, bumblebees, and hummingbirds; she sits there with a cup of lavender tea with a book, sometimes a pen and paper. Her family doesn't come around much, but she has kept dear friends over the years that she invites over and visits from time to time. Spencer was lost in her thoughts when the intercom announced her stop, breaking her trance. As she exited, she noticed that the woman was again gently smiling at her. Spencer felt a tinge of loneliness surge through her, leading her to offer the woman a small wave. A few weeks pa**ed by, and Spencer had just ducked into Berkeley Espresso to grab a coffee before trying to tackle a particularly lengthy writing a**ignment for one of her cla**es. She was chatting with the barista while paying for her drink, when she all too familiarly had the feeling that she was being watched again. She already expected the old woman to be there as she was turning, and sure enough, there she was sitting in a chair by the window with a cup of tea perched on top table. There was a notebook in front of her that was chock-full of writing, and looked appropriately worn; as Spencer met the woman's gaze, she set the pen down and motioned her over. Oh God, she's batty. I'm never going to stop getting myself into these situations until I stop being too nice to people, Spencer thought while slowly making her way over to where the woman was seated. She was internally debating whether or not she should take a seat upon arriving at the table, but just as she was about to reach for the chair, she was interrupted by “Actually honey, would you mind taking a walk with me outside?” “Sure,” Spencer stammered, anxious bu*terflies already fluttering wildly within the realm of her stomach. “Thank you, it's a lovely day for it,” the woman smiled as she slowly rose from her seat. “By the way, my name is Leona,” she said while extending a wrinkly hand. “Spencer,” she replied while taking the soft, papery hand in her own. “After you, my dear.” As they made their way outside of the coffee shop and began walking down Shattuck Avenue, Spencer finally took the time to fully study Leona's features. She was a small woman, 5'3 at most, wearing a floral dress with a lace collar, like something you'd expect to see on a hipster. She wore little oxfords, and had no j**elry with the exception of an opal necklace. Her hair was still tied back in a silk handkerchief, but upon closer inspection, her hair was white and curly. Her eyes were a soft blue, and everything about her demeanor was gentle, placid, and caring. She was the kind of elderly woman that you would see on the streets, and wished that she was your grandmother. She intrigued Spencer entirely; she was overwhelmed with curiosity to learn about what kind of life she had lived. Spencer didn't know what to make of everything that was unfolding. She seems nice, but she could also be incredibly senile. It's not too late to make up an excuse for somewhere else I need to be and nicely get myself out of this situation. Despite her uneasy stream of thoughts, a feeling of tranquility overpowered her, and she somehow knew that Leona needed to tell her something crucial. They kept walking until they eventually came to a park bench that Leona designated as their place to sit. “What I want to explain to you is a lot for someone to process,” Leona said. Spencer didn't know quite how to react, so she didn't. She sat with a blank stare painted upon her face as she anticipated what Leona would say next. “To put it frankly,” she said, “you have a very strong sense of intuition. My guess is that you have a knack for reading people, and that you do it often. Am I correct?” “Yeah,” Spencer replied, “I don't know if I would use the term ‘reading' though. I look at strangers and picture what types of lives they lead.” “You just do this for fun, to pa** the time?” “Well, yes. Whenever I'm put in a situation where I'm surrounded by strangers, I tend to,” Spencer replied, knowing her tone was faltering. “What if they weren't just guesses or fantasies? What if everything you thought was correct?” Again at a loss for words, Spencer just looked at Leona. She wished she had something to respond with, but her stomach was somersaulting. Leona recognized this, and all of the compa**ion she contained was evident in the look on her face. “I have an idea of how I can show you what I mean.” *** Although Spencer had mixed feelings in regard to Leona at first, she didn't think anything of it when Leona invited her over to her house for further discussion and tea. This was largely due to the fact that being around Leona took away from Spencer's near constant feelings of loneliness; she had quickly picked up on a notable amount of trustworthy qualities in the woman. The walk from the downtown area was only around seven or eight minutes, leading them quickly to a quaint house in a neighborhood that seemed to generally cater to college students. “Why don't you go ahead to the backyard and wait for me in my garden? I'll get the tea ready.” “Alright, let me know if you need any help,” Spencer replied, before letting herself in through the gate. Upon entering Leona's backyard, Spencer was overcome by a sweet fragrance. There were flowers everywhere of all different types, beautifully arranged. “I hope you like lavender tea, some find it to be an acquired taste!” Leona announced as she opened the patio door. Suddenly, it hit her. What she had pictured about Leona's life was true. I can picture her sitting at an outdoor patio, surrounded by a garden. There's bu*terflies, bumblebees, and hummingbirds; she sits there with a cup of lavender tea with a book, sometimes a pen and paper. Leona saw the recognition dawning on her face. “Is this what you saw when you looked at me?” “Yes,” Spencer answered slowly, “But how?” “Intuition. It's a gift, no one is quite sure what dictates who receives it. But you, my dear, are one of them. From the moment I first saw you I could sense that you had it.” “I'm presuming you also have this gift?” “I do,” said Leona. “I didn't realize it until I was around your age, possibly a bit older.” “Why are you telling me this? What am I supposed to do with it?” Spencer asked, with a bit of panic rising in her chest. “There are no set rules, this isn't some form of sorcery where you have to abide by a set of laws. What you choose to do with this intuition is up to you, as long as it does some general good.” As Leona spoke to her, Spencer couldn't help but notice the way she was slowly tracing her fingers across her right kneecap. This was a habit Spencer had picked up from a young age, and she found herself doing it constantly when she didn't feel secure in a situation. She wondered if Leona telling her all of this made her nervous. “There's more I need to tell you, but I haven't quite figured out how yet,” Leona continued. “My best bet is just to try and show you.” She stood up and walked back into the house briefly, and came back holding a picture frame. It was a family portrait of a young mother and father holding their children, a toddler and a baby. Spencer felt fear shoot through her as she realized that the picture was of her mother and father, the baby was her sister and the toddler was herself. “Who are you?” she asked in anger as she quickly stood up from her chair. “What are you doing, what is this?” “Spencer, please. I know how hard this will be to accept, especially with your stubbornness. I know this because I'm you.” “You're actually out of your mind. I'm sorry that I can't help you, but I need to leave.” “Do you realize how crazy I know I sound? This isn't easy for me either. Just sit down and let me try to explain, and you can do with the information what you please. You can ask me any question you want that I would know, and I will answer it to prove myself to you.” Spencer wished with her entirety that she could convince herself that Leona was mentally unstable or some sort of fraud, but she knew deep within herself that she wasn't. With hesitation she sat back down, and began to ask Leona questions about her childhood, and life up to this point, if only to provide herself with a bit more rea**urance. *** After asking Leona enough questions about herself to quench her need, Spencer sat there attempting to piece everything together. Leona was silent for a moment to let her process, before beginning to speak again. “I began noticing I had this intuitive ability around the age that you are now. About a year later, when I was twenty, I was in a horrible car accident that put me in a coma for a few days. When I woke back up and was eventually released from the hospital, everything seemed fine.” She paused before continuing, “But then I started picking up more detailed aspects of these people's lives. I could see their current thoughts. I didn't think much of this at first, until I realized that I was starting to gravitate towards certain people when using my intuition. Unfortunately, that fact didn't bother me much--in fact,for many years I simply ignored it. Once I was well into my adult life, I realized a pattern that had been taking place. I would see the same men several times, read them several times, and then they would suddenly disappear. I thought they began taking different walking routes than me, took the train at a different time, or I simply stopped noticing them.” Leona's voice began to falter and a lone tear slid down her weathered cheek, as she turned her gaze away from Spencer, fixating it instead on the rosebush behind her. Spencer extended her hand towards Leona (herself?) and placed her hand on top of hers. Leona took a long, labored breath before continuing. “I realized, Spencer, that I had been set up. Some people with great amounts of power realized what I was able to do and set me up. They used me as a spy; they were able to collect every thought I gathered from another human being because of some chip that was inserted into my body after the accident. And once they learned what they wanted of the people whose thoughts I was designated to tap into, they got rid of them.” By this point she was beginning to sob, and Spencer stood up to embrace her. “Shhh, it's okay,” she said while trying to comfort her, even though her own vision was starting to blur. “It was all my fault, all those innocent people,” Leona choked out while weeping. “I couldn't figure out how to stop myself from reading--and ultimately harming them, so for a while I chose to be reclusive. After I felt that I had waited enough time for them to forget about me, I changed my name and moved to a new house. I've been safe for the time being, but you never know when they will strike again. I know I sound like I'm insane, but I hope with everything I've showed you that you believe me.” “I just want to know what you're trying to get at Leona. What's going to happen to me, why are you telling me all of this?” Spencer asked, already fearing the answer should would hear. “I can't tell you what to do with everything I've just said because it is entirely up to you. You have two options here. The first would be to just live with what I'm going to tell you, and let it naturally unfold. The second is to end it before it begins.” Spencer felt herself go cold. “What do you mean to end it before it begins?” she forced herself to ask. “To become a martyr for all of those innocent people, to never hurt them.” Is she implying that I k** myself? Spencer was sure she was going to be sick, and knew she needed to leave immediately. “I have to go, this is too much,” she said. “Just think about everything I said, you don't have to come to a decision right away!” Leona yelled as Spencer was running out the gate, down the street, as fast as she could. By some odd rush of adrenaline, Spencer ran all of the blocks back to her apartment without looking back. Once inside, she collapsed on her bed in tears. What am I supposed to do? Do I believe her? What if she's just some crazy schizophrenic woman, I learned about that. She probably doesn't know what she's talking about. But what about the mannerisms we share? What about the photograph? Do I really have to k** myself to stop this? What if I just prevent the car accident from ever taking place? How was my future self able to reach me? Did I hallucinate? Have I been hallucinating? Her mind was a galaxy of swirled thoughts numerable as stars. Everything was spinning, and her sobs came out so hard that they hurt. She cried until tears were no longer capable of being produced by her aching eyes, as she stared at her wall in defeat. Finally she drifted off into a very unpleasant sleep. She spent the entire night tossing and turning, waking up periodically in fits of anxiety. This night turned into several weeks. She would spend her days as a shell of herself, not being able to focus on anything. Every night was repetitive; she would wake herself up nearly every night in order to escape a nightmare. At the base of it all was the constant ache of her loneliness, she felt that she has no one to go to. Any one of the friends she had made while at school would think she was insane. Leona was always an option, but Spencer was afraid that her advice would be biased. After all, she would essentially going to herself for help. Thinking about the solace she had taken in Leona only added to her plight. She had tried to relinquish her lonely feelings in another, only to realize that it was actually herself. Should that make me feel foolish or give me comfort? One night she decided she had enough, and walked to her bathroom slowly. She pulled out a bottle of prescription pills, staring at the contents before uncapping the lid. Each pill glimmered invitingly at her from the depths of the orange bottle, and she brushed her fingertips over the contents as tears streamed down her face. Ending my life would prevent everything from occurring, but I could turn what should have occurred into something completely different. There has to be some other way I can live with this, some way to use what Leona told me for the betterment of others. Spencer was drowning. She could see the surface of clarity she needed to reach in order to be alright, but the overflow of her thoughts, anxieties, and loneliness continued to push her back down below any progress she attempted to make. Spencer took the bottle and hurled it at the wall as hard as she could, listening in defeat to the pitter-patter of each pill scatter across the tile.