Stephen and Sharpies ~ Watty Awards 2012

Chapter Nine

     I can hear voices downstairs, Gretchen’s is the loudest. I continue to sit on my bed, watching the news. Taylor is lying on the floor, fidgeting. Something is bugging her and I have a feeling she won’t tell me what she is worried about.

    “Tay, what’s wrong?” I nudge her with my foot to make sure she hears me.

    “Alec, I am worried, really worried.” She turns to me and I can see tears rimming her eyes.

    “Stephen will be fine, don’t worry Taylor.” I don’t even believe my own words, but I try anyways.

    “It’s not her, it’s you.”

    “Me?” I am confused, there is no reason for her to be worried about me. Stephen, yes, but me, there’s none.

    “Yeah, Alec there’s something you don’t know about Stephen’s disappearance.”

    “Taylor, what is it, what don’t I know?” She’s gotten me worried now, and it takes more than one thing to get me worried.

    “I saw her when she dropped off the box,” she says in a whisper barely audible.

    “You did, what did you see?” I’m surprised and confused with my sister.

    “She walked up to the door, looked through the window a little and then ran off. I tried to stop her by opening the door, but she only stopped long enough to point to the box. Something about that box is important.” She stands up and lays on my bed, curling up against me. She is scared, terrified actually.

    I stare at the TV and wait for them to announce that they’ve found Stephen, but it’s just wishful thinking. Taylor has fallen asleep on my arm, my arm is starting to tingle. Looking around I find the box. I can’t seem to pull my eyes away from the cardboard cube.

     It lies open on the floor in front of me. Every thing is the same as it was before. I can see the next number for the new letter. I pick up the letter and then search for the Sharpie with a number nine written on the bottom of it. The Sharpie is green, my favorite color.

-Alec

    Your favorite color is green, the same color as the Sharpie you're holding. There isn’t much that goes along with this Sharpie. I don’t even think there is a story for this Sharpie. It represents more than really a story. I know a lot about you. However I am not the only one who is responsible for this, you’ve told me a few things all on your own. Alec, I’m not blaming you just enjoying the fact.

    I remember one time, it was sometime early last year. It was a day that the sun actually came out for a while. You came and sat down right next to me. You offered me a can of soda, I accepted. As I opened the can you began to talk.

    Your voice was low and sad that day. You talked in one tone, no excitement, no tears, nothing. You just sat and stared off into space as you talked. “He died this day eight years ago. Did you know my dad was dead?” You had turned to look at me and then continued. “I guess you wouldn’t, I don’t think anyone knows.

    “I am so sorry Alec. What happened, how’d he die?” The moment I said it I knew I shouldn’t have asked, but it was too late.

    “It was a car accident. He was driving home and it was raining really hard. Another car swerved into the wrong lane. Dad swerved to miss it and he spun out and crashed into a tree. He was pinned up against the steering wheel for two hours before the ambulance showed up. By the time they got him to a hospital he was dead.” You sighed and then say, “He was going to teach me how to hunt that fall.”

    “Alec-”

    “No, I don’t need your sympathy; I just had to tell someone.” As the last word dropped from your lips the bell rang. You picked up my trash and threw it away. I didn’t see you at all the rest of the day.

    That night I baked brownies. I gave some to Abigail for lunch and then I packed two for me and two for you. I went to school and sat through all the morning classes. I sat outside in my usual spot and you followed behind me a few seconds later. You sat down and began playing with the grass. I opened my lunch bag and handed you two brownies. You smiled with gratitude and ate them.

    As you finished you started talking, “Thanks for listening.” I nodded. “It’s always hard for me on the anniversary of his death. No one has ever been willing to listen.” You began to play with my fingers, it was natural. It may sound weird to anyone else that you, my friend, was playing with my fingers. It’s not, it is a comforting action that’s it.

    I wonder do you even remember those two days?

    I do. I remember touching her hand and feeling a jolt, my heart beat just a bit faster at the touch of her hand, and I ignored it.

    You’ve also told me about your mom and your friends. I know about your plans on the weekend and how you want to go to Willamette Universe. I know that you sing to Aerosmith, your favorite band. You hate math and science, but love English. I know more, however there is no point in telling you about things you already know.

-Stephen

    I sat the letter down and frown, my dad. I haven’t thought about since his anniversary last month. I take a moment to think of him and then brush it off. I have to focus on getting Stephen back. I take a breath and search for the next letter. There must be some sort of clue in these letters, I hope. Before starting the next letter I glance at the clock, 8 o’clock. Ten more hours have past. I shake my head and then turn my eyes back to the letters in front of me.