Finding Ford

chapter seven

"I'll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife." -Hozier, Take Me To Church

 

A MONTH AFTER FORD'S DISAPPEARANCE, THE SCHOOL DECIDES to put up a memorial-type thing by the front doors of the school.

It's not exactly supposed to be a memorial for someone who's passed, or so they claim, but more so of a way for the school to give our thoughts and prayers, as well as messages encouraging for him to come home. They use a yearbook picture of Ford, which sort of irks me- it's nothing like the picture Molly used for the missing poster, not even coming close to showing off the actual beauty of Ford's smile.

There, standing outside of Ford's 'memorial', I scrunch my eyebrows. I don't know when I started thinking about the beauty of Ford's anything, but it seems the longer he's been away, the more I began to admire his features, even though I'm not there to see them in person. It's weird, but I suppose the saying is true; absence makes the heart grow fonder. 

The front foyer is even more crowded than it usually is as people try to get around to look at the memorial and write down their small messages. I don't write a message, though; I just stand in front of the desk, watching people come, write and go, like Ford isn't worth anything more than a couple of words, their signature and a smiley face. I suppose it'd be slightly selfish for me to speak up, as it would just make people feel bad and wouldn't bring Ford back, so I let myself sulk in silence, staring at his photo and trying to memorize every single detail, so I can know it by heart if the day has come that I'll never get to see it again.

Jas and James suddenly appear by my side. "A whole month," Jas says, shaking her head, brown eyes glued to Ford's photo. "Wilson, a month later, and you're still a mystery."

"He's always been a mystery," James muses beside Jas. "He was waiting for someone to unravel him."

"Now no one has the chance," I mutter.

James clicks his tongue. "More like, now we finally have the chance."

My eyebrows furrow as I turn my head to James, but his hard features' are just concentrated on Ford's photo, just as Jas' are. I sigh and let go of Jame's antics. Shouldering my backpack, I glance on last time at Ford's photo before picking up one of the pens on the table.

Wilson,

I don't really remember when our grade decided to drop your first name. It was always kind of a mystery to me. One day I heard someone call you Wilson, and from there on, 'Ford Wilson' turned into 'Wilson'. I wonder how that feels like; having a piece of your identity torn away from you in the form of words and ears. It never really seemed to bother you, but I can't help but wonder now if secretly, it actually did. 

I can't help but wonder about a lot of things now. Like, when you always talked about how much you hate our tiny town, were you already thinking of running away? Or maybe this wasn't planned at all and you're dead and we're all just kidding ourselves with this fake fantasy that somewhere you're breathing, seeing, hearing, living. 

But anyway.

I know you can't see this. But if you're still alive, I hope you come home. Cailbridge is kind of a boring-ass place to begin with, and with you gone, it doesn't help much. I need a smart aleck in my class to make me feel dumb, and that kid who wants to buy me a smaller cookie because he can't spare the extra quarter. Wilson, Ford, whatever you want to go by, I'm sure wherever you are, home is better. Home is waiting for you, right here, where it'll always be. We're all waiting.