If You Read This...

And Now, I'm Broken. That's Why.

Dear Rory,

If you read this... let's be clear. I do NOT want to be here right now! There's like eighty fourth graders, and worse, Ki's here. I only came because Nia invited me, and I felt like I had to. That's not why I wrote to you, though. A few days ago, you said you needed to tell me something. What was it? I know your busy with fun afterlife stuff, but if you find the time, please come visit me. It's been eating away at me since we last talked. Plus, I really miss you.

I'll let you go now, Theo.

I sat alone in the corner of Nia's living room, desperately trying to block out the screams of all the children so I could write. I eventually just gave up and stared at the wall, letting the loud noises drown out my thoughts.

I glanced out the window and saw Rory standing in the streets. I waited until no one was within eye distance of the front door, then bolted outside.

"Rory!" I exclaimed, running towards him.

He stared blankly, as if he was seeing through me. "I miss you, Theo. Join me." His voice was extremely monotone, he looked and sounded dead, like a robot almost. I stepped back.

"You're not Rory." I mumbled, my stomach sinking.

He stepped forwards and reached out his hands. "I miss you, Theo. Join me."

"What did you do with Rory?" I kept my voice firm, even though I was starting to hyperventilate.

"Join me. Join me. Join me," he repeated himself like a broken record. I stood, frozen. My mind welled up with questions, who is this? What is this? What did he, it rather, do with Rory?

"Join me. Join me. Help me. Join me." I felt my heart skip a beat. Petrified, I turned, and ran back inside. How could I have done that?! Rory needs me! I looked out the window to see if whatever that thing was, was still there, but it wasn't.

I took a deep breath, then turned to the kitchen to inform Nia that I would be leaving soon. I paused in the doorway.

Nia, Ivy, and Ki were standing in a semi-circle holding red solo cups. I remembered a scene from about a year ago. We had thrown Rory a surprise party at Nia's house. I don't remember why, but I found myself walking towards the kitchen. And there they stood, standing in the same semi-circle, holding the same red solo cups. Only Ki wasn't standing there.

Rory was.

And that's when I let everything fall. I felt lifeless as I drifted through the halls like a ghost into Nia's bedroom. I locked the door and invited myself over to her desk. This was definitely an invasion of privacy, but that didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore, because the only thing that mattered is now gone.

I grabbed four pieces of notebook paper from her desk drawer, and four pink envelopes lined with flowers. I hated pink. And flowers. But this was too important to be ruined by insignificant details. I pulled out the pen I always keep in my pocket.

Before I could find it in me to start labeling the envelopes, I studied the pen for a while. I keep it in my pocket, always, you never know when you may need a pen. But it wasn't just some pen that I bought for school, or found on the floor, or shoved behind some desk somewhere.

My creative writing teacher, Mr. Anders, gave it to me. I came to school with a terrible attitude that day. I had found a picture from my mom and dad's wedding. It was a nice picture. They both looked amazing, and had smiles painted across their faces. There was just one thing that bothered me...

I didn't know they were married. My father had convinced me that she was just some girl he had met in a bar. They got a little too drunk and had a little too much fun. Later, she found out she was pregnant. My dad claims that he went to as many doctor's appointments as he could make and tried to be as supportive as possible; but at the end of the day, she didn't want a baby. So, she fled.

I cried when my dad told me that story. But I sobbed when I found that picture. She wasn't just some girl in a bar. They were married. Something happened between them, something bigger than just my mom not wanting a child.

Anyway, Mr. Anders assigned us a writing topic every day. We would write about it for ten minutes, then people would share what they wrote. I still remember the topic from that day, even though it was nearly two years ago: "imagine you're a snake, and you wake up with legs."

Some days the prompts were easier than others. That one was good to work with, but I couldn't focus. I just stared at my notebook, picturing my mother in that breathe taking white dress.

He must've noticed that I wasn't writing (which wasn't like me), because he poked me on the shoulder with that pen and said, "Mr. Siciliano, do you need a writing utensil?" I looked up at him with teary eyes and shaky breath.

I couldn't manage to speak, so I just nodded and took the pen.

I still didn't write anything.

At the end of class, I approached him to give it back, but he rejected it.

"Keep it," he insisted, "fight the power." He winked at me. I gave him a mere smile and trudged to my next class.

There was another teacher I loved in that school, my language arts teacher. Her name was Mrs. Peru. She scared me a lot, but she cared about me, and she wanted me to know that.

I never really told them, but they where kind of like the parents I never had. Which, I know is messed up. I'm sure you're not supposed to love your teachers like your parents. But I never had loving parents- I hardly had parents at all. And these two teachers paid attention to me. They cared about me.

But not enough to save me.

I grabbed two more papers and two more envelopes from Nia's drawer, then labeled them all: Ivy, Nia, Rory, Dad, Mr. Anders, and Mrs. Peru.

Now, I just had to write the letters.

It was much easier than I had expected, I just spoke the truth. I told them exactly how I felt, and why I was writing each letter. I signed them all the same way, "have a good life, Theo."

All except Rory's.

Rory's was the easiest to write. It was just, "see you soon, friend." I didn't even sign it. I didn't have to. I then shoved each paper into its corresponding envelope, sealed them shut, then, without even saying goodbye to Ivy or Nia, I took off.

When I got home, I set the letters up side by side in front of the chair I had pulled out, right under the rope tied to my ceiling. One for Nia, one for Ivy, one for Rory, one for Mr. Anders, one for Mrs. Peru, and one for- wait. Where's my dads letter?! I just had it! I looked around, but not for long. I refused to dedicate myself to saying goodbye to a man who wouldn't even care that I'm gone. My dad won't get a note, I'm okay with that.

I stepped up onto the chair and pulled the noose around my neck. My legs where trembling, like I was making a terrible mistake. But my arms gripped the nose with dignity and determination. The bottom half of my body was begging me to stop. But my hands weren't shaking. For the first time in forever, I felt safe. When your holding on to something that will set you free, put you face to face with your best friend again, you're not afraid. It's when you're standing on a chair, and with one jump, you're dead, that's the scary bit.

The only thing scary about what I was doing was the labels. It wasn't scary for your heart, your thoughts, and your pain to stop. It was scary to die. It wasn't scary to put yourself at peace and to rest forever. It was scary to commit suicide.

But for a second, I can push away the labels. I can see something deeper than names. The face of my best friend. His face isn't scary, it's safe. I remember telling him awhile ago, "there's life up here. I'm up here. Don't leave me alone up here." But he did. I don't like it up here anymore. I want to go down there with him.

I stepped off the chair.