Things That Fade

Day Three

When I arrived the next day, the first thing I noticed was the silence. I quickly ran up to his room only to find him soundly sleeping in his bed, with his pill case in his hand. Often times, I’d find myself smiling whenever I would look at him, and whenever I’d be near him, I’d feel happy; content. But now, I’d look at this boy who quietly slept under a fortress of pillows, and feel so much more; tinges of anxiousness and apprehension here and there. Everything seemed more unstable; unsure, and that made it all the more unbearable. I sat beside him and ran my fingers through his hair, just to make sure that he’s still there; that he hasn’t slipped away, not yet. As I did so, I couldn’t help but think back to the time when he surprised me by showing up in France. I was sitting on a ledge on the rooftop of my apartment; it was something that I enjoyed, sitting on ledges. There was just something about being on the edge; something about the uncertainty of falling, that made me more aware. I had just come back from my vacation, one that I spent with an old friend of mine back home, and I wanted to spend some time to myself. Going to school in France… it wasn’t any easier than it was back home. People still look at you with judging eyes all because you were different. People still took pleasure in hurting other people. I was often a target of those said people. They would insult me for being anti-social and, for some reason; they would also insult my appearance, particularly my hair. I didn’t see what was wrong with it; I didn’t see what was wrong with anything I was doing. I didn’t speak to them for a simple reason; because I was, and still am, under the impression that idiocy is contagious. I was alone; and I was okay with it. I was content with being alone. It didn’t necessarily mean I was lonely, it just meant that there was nobody who could hurt me; nobody who could break me, other than myself. Despite being severely underrated, solitude is one of the best things life has to offer.

            I thought I was better off than most people. I thought that if you commit yourself even the slightest bit to someone; if you cave in and leave yourself open to anyone, then you’d be making a mistake. I thought I was never going to be happier than I already was. I thought wrong. That day, I learned the importance of the little things in life. I was sitting on the ledge, looking down at the road, and thinking about falling. I thought about how good it would probably feel to freely fall down that building. I wasn’t suicidal; it wasn’t like I wanted to die, but the very thought of falling; the euphoric feeling that comes with letting go and letting the universe and gravity have its way with you… it was a hell of a thought. My imagination was suddenly derailed though, by a breeze that swept past me, carrying the aroma of freshly baked bread and coffee. Giving in to my lesser desires, I grabbed my wallet, and ran all the way to the elevator. Unfortunately, the doors slid shut a few seconds before I could reach them, which shouldn’t really come as a surprise to me, considering my luck. Seeing no other way to get to the first floor other than by taking the express trip off the ledge, I took to the stairs, albeit hesitantly. When I finally made it down to the lobby, I rushed through the revolving doors and into the sidewalk. As I was about to cross the street though, yet another breeze rolled past me and blew my scarf in my face, and that’s when it hit me; like a 120 pound boy going 15 miles an hour. When I woke up, I was in the emergency room of a hospital, and I couldn’t for the life of me remember what just happened. Wouldn’t you know it though, sitting right beside the hospital bed was Catchy, and from there, things just took off.

            It’s so easy to imagine the ‘what if’s’. What if I decided to stay on the ledge instead of indulging myself? What if I had made it to the elevator in time? I would have reached the lobby a couple of minutes sooner, and that bike messenger might have never run into me. He might not have been able to take me to the hospital. Or what if, right there on that sidewalk, the wind hadn’t blown my scarf in my face. I would have walked across the street safely. Would he have seen me? Wherever he was, would he have stopped and looked around, only to find me gingerly walking my way to that coffee shop? It was the little things that count; the little things pile up without you even noticing and before you know it, your life’s changed more than you could imagine.

            That day seemed so long ago. Those days seemed so far away. I wish there was a way to know that you’re in ‘the good old days’ before you’re out of it; before it’s come and gone. I ran my hand through his hair, just to make sure that he was still there. He wasn’t smiling, he wasn’t laughing, he wasn’t being his usual goofy self; he was just ‘still there’, and yet ‘still there’ was a comfort in of itself. Without meaning to, my hand brushed against the deep scar he had on the back of his neck. He stirred a bit, but then sank back into his deep sleep, something that he rarely had the pleasure of enjoying. I never did ask him about how he got the scar; it was the one and only scar on his body that I knew nothing of, and he had plenty of them. The deep gash on his back; he was in grade school. The upperclassmen were bullying him again. He fought back, and they all ganged up on him. When they were done with him, the largest in their group lifted him up and slammed him down on the trashbags. They didn’t know; they didn’t know that the day before, the other upperclassmen that were horsing around in their classroom broke a window, and that all the broken glass hadn’t been properly disposed of yet. I remember the smile on his face when he told me about it; ‘Getting slashed and stabbed doesn’t hurt’ he said to me. ‘It’s picking out the shards that sting, especially the little ones’.

            The maul scar on his left thigh; one day his classmates decided to pull a prank on him. During lunch break, they beat him and tied his arms to the wooden beam behind the cafeteria. The place was filthy; it was where they dumped the trash and where they fed all the leftovers to the guard dogs. All the other boys let the guard dogs loose, and then ran. They left him there, helpless, without even giving him the chance to defend himself.

            He had plenty of other scars; they riddled his entire frame, scattered all over his light skin. And I knew the story behind each and every one of them, except for that one on his neck. ‘I’d ask him” I thought to myself. When he wakes up, I’d ask him. Without another word, I decided to lie down beside him. I could feel my exhaustion slowly taking over my body; I could feel myself slipping out of consciousness. It had been a long day; I had gone home to pack my toothbrush and my clothes when I found that letter sitting so nonchalantly in my mailbox. ‘I’ll tell him about it’ I thought to myself; when he wakes up.

            I hope he wakes up.