2

The issue with modesty was that Alfred often confused it with not deserving anything that even in the slightest way exceeded his concept of basic needs. He never treated himself to anything because he simply didn’t believe it was adequate to do so. Others, so he’d convinced himself, worked harder than him, were more generous, smiled at strangers. Others deserved good things to happen to them, whereas he himself had every positive aspect of his life come to him like rain that had been forecasted for the past few days and now steadily filled his hands that he had cupped together unwillingly, but he just couldn’t help himself.

When he sat in his office, he’d often stare at his computer screen, let his thoughts wander off into the countless streets of New York City and wait patiently for him to finally wake up in the childhood bedroom of his parents’ house in Illinois. He’d be startled awake by the alarm clock, it would be a random Wednesday and he’d go to school like usual, rapidly forgetting about the oddly realistic dream he’d just had. So far, he hadn’t woken up yet.

When he lay awake at night he’d often come to terms with his insomnia. For him, it was a persistent reminder that he didn’t deserve to sleep well, or sleep at all. In a way, that satisfied him, it was proof that his theory was correct, like you were glad about some criminal finally getting locked up after being on the run, after wrongfully enjoying freedom for much too long.

Alfred would overhear conversations on the subway he took to work. People going to a funeral, people who’d lost their job, people who seemed to absorb all the stress and anger floating through the carriage, people breaking up, fighting, screaming, whining. At first, he thought it was empathy that he felt while observing those strangers and their personal crises. However, empathy was a warm rush of silent understanding, and Alfred’s emotion was fiery and crept up to his throat. That’s how the realisation hit him that what he felt was envy. Every time he’d listen to people talk about the most awful events of their lives, he secretly wished for something equally awful to happen to him, something to put him into perspective. Some black hole to devour him, chew him up and spit him out again, and only then would he rediscover what it meant to be alive.