Stephen and Sharpies ~ Watty Awards 2012

Chapter Fourteen

    “As I said before, you cannot see her right now. Only family can see her out of visiting hours. She,” the nurse says pointing to Abigail, “could see her if she was sixteen.” The nurse looks at me and sighs. “I am sorry. You’re going to wait until tomorrow, when we are letting visitors in.”

    I roll my eyes. “Fine.”

    Turning around I sit back down in the chair. I pick up the box and find the next Sharpie and letter. I haven’t read any letter since last night before I fell asleep. I have been waiting for six hours now and I still haven’t seen Stephen. They say you have to be immediate relative and you have to be sixteen. So many rules and restrictions.

    I glance down at the page and I can feel my lungs feeling crushed. I never knew that three words could take the breath out of me as easily as a punch to the stomach. I take a moment to get over the words. After the initial reaction, I realize this letter is something I need to read. I have to read this letter. It will be hard, it will also be worth it, maybe…I hope.

-Alec

    First off, I’m sorry for this Sharpie, that’s all I have to say. This Sharpie is about you, your dad, and that silver pocket watch you carry with you everywhere. I want you to know that I have always been here for you and will be forever. If you hate me after reading this letter, you can stop reading. In fact if you hate me at all don’t continue after this letter; you might feel worse. Again I am sorry, so sorry. Now let’s begin. Take a moment and ready yourself for this story, ready?

    Good.   

    It was on a day when the clouds let out their water and fell onto the ground. I was sitting outside, getting drenched. It was one of the only times you joined me in the rain. I didn’t question you at first and then my curiosity got a hold of me.

    “Why are you out here?”

    You looked at me and smiled. “I want to be out here.”

    “That’s not a good enough answer.” I glared playfully and then laughed lightly.

    “Fine, I want to be out here because you’re out here.” You paused and I remember my heart pumping hard and fast. I thought you were done talking, but then you continued. “You’re the only one still talking to me.”

    I frowned for a moment. “Oh, why isn’t anyone talking to you?”

    “I haven’t been in the greatest mood lately. I guess I have been a jerk to everyone.”

    “Why are you not in a good mood?” I asked biting my bottom lip. I do that too much; a horrible habit.

    “Well I got something for my sixteenth birthday.” You didn’t improvise on what your gift was. You left it at that.

    “What was the gift?” I cocked my head so I could look into your eyes.

    “It was a pocket watch.”

    “A pocket watch?”

    “My dad’s pocket watch.”

    “Oh.”

    “Yeah.” You turned your head away and just looked into the rain. It looked as if you were looking for someone in the rain. You were hoping someone would be standing there waving, but they weren’t.

    It was another five minutes before you said anything. “He kept it in his pocket everyday. It was his father’s before it was his. He had it on him the day he died. Ma kept it since, waiting for my sixteenth birthday. She said he would have wanted me to have it.” Without another word you pulled out the silver pocket watch. Engraved was the initials E.C., G.C., and then A.C..

    “It’s beautiful.”

    “Edward Casey my grandfather bought it when he married my grandma. George Casey, my father got it on his sixteenth birthday. Then Alec Casey, I received it on my sixteenth birthday.” You fell silent, you had choked on your father’s name.

    “I’m sorry.”

    The bell rang just then and you grabbed my trash. You put the pocket watch back into your pocket and left without a single goodbye. I watched you walk inside with your hand clutching the watch in your pocket.

    I wipe away the single tear reaching out of my eye. Stupid letter. I look down at the paper and see that there is still something more written on the paper. I try to calm it, the pain, it is resurfacing. I need this, I have to make it through this letter. It has to mean something.

    The story is done, but I’m not. It’s been nine years now, don’t let him go, but don’t let him rule your emotions. On his anniversary go to his grave and talk to him. Take someone, because when you’re done you have to go have fun. Go to Poppa Al’s and have milkshakes. Go Putt-Putt, do something that will make you laugh. Don’t stay sullen forever. You have to heal someday, I don’t want you to forget him. I want you to live. I care about you, I want you to be ok. Don’t make it a problem, you’ll regret it. I am sure I am making little sense so let me clear it up.

    Live. Remember. Love. Smile. Heal.

-Stephen

    I understood it all at once. She had repeated it to me many times in this one paragraph and I got it. I have to remember him the way he would want me to. To remember him on his anniversary and then live my life. I have to move on. It only took nine years to figure it out. I know exactly how to live to.

    I have to tell Stephen exactly the way I feel. I take another moment to  think over everything. I pull out another piece of paper.

    The next Sharpie is orange and the letter is short. I think back on the previous letters. I recall the moments that seemed to rip my heart out and then the moment that made my heart. I finally am close to the girl of my dreams. I still have time to waste, so her letters will have to do for now.