A Chance to Reappear

Chapter 4

Dear Connor Murphy,

Today is your first day being Evan Hansen's "friend." It feels like a chore, sure, but maybe something good can come out of it. You have several classes together. You're both in art together. Today will try to be a good day (because I don't feel confident telling you it will be a good day because yesterday wasn't good, but at least it wasn't bad).

C.M.

"Why do you make them so short?" Mom asks. I shrug and pour the rest of the milk in my cereal, drowning my Frosted Mini-Wheats. "I feel like they're hollow sometimes."

"I just don't have much to say," I answer with my mouth full. A lie: I have a lot to say, but not if she's reading it. I have my own revised version in a personal notebook:

Dear Connor Murphy,

Today won't be a good day. It's your second day back to school and now you have to fake a friendship with some anxious weirdo. Granted, he can be nice, but you don't like people. You don't let them in. You don't want to let them in. On top of that, even though you have a week, you have no idea what you're going to do. It's fucking stupid to decide a topic nearly a year before the project... Okay, it's not stupid, but I hate that I have to lock into one thing already. Mom is being super doting, almost too much so. She cries all the time and every decision I make comes with some sort of caution on her end. It's like I actually died to her. Zoe is just ignoring me for the most part, which is fine, but... I wish she would care. I wish Larry would care, too.

Maybe Evan will care.

C.M.

"I think I write just enough," I grumble. "It's not hollow."

Lying. Lying. Lying.

"Oh, no, no," Mom frantically backtracks. "I didn't mean it like that... I just mean..."

"We aren't seeing any progress, Connor," Larry says, giving me a stern look.

"It's been three days!" I shout, pushing up from the table too fast and sending my chair crashing to the ground. "And only three days home! I'm not going to magically get better after some time in the fucking nuthouse!"

"Larry!" Mom snaps. "That is not what I meant! Connor, I promise I don't want to rush you, change takes time! We have a therapy appointment today!"

"We have to take the kid gloves off, Cynthia."

"I'm doing the best I can!" Mom shouts.

"I'm trying, too!" I yell. "It's not fucking easy!"

"That's why I do things the hard way!" Larry rises to his feet, squaring up.

"Doing it the hard way is what got me here!"

Everyone silences. My face is hot with rage all the way to my ears.

"I'll be in the fucking car," I state. "Don't make me wait, Zoe."

I wait for a response, for her to fight back, but nothing happens. She just puts her glass of orange juice down, looks me square in the eyes, and says, "I'll get there when I get there, Connor. But I won't be long."

I clear my bowl from the table and launch it into the sink. The ceramic breaks into several large chunks with smaller shrapnel spraying all around. Everyone in the room stares at me: Mom in sadness, Dad amused, Zoe in fear. I storm out to the car, alone in my anger and pain.

"Fuck!" I shout to myself, kicking the dashboard hard enough to leave a clear boot print. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuuuuuck!"

I rip out my notebook and immediately start scratching out another shitty fucking note.