Part ONE
Empty. It’s what his eyes reflected as he walked down the street. The irises were glassy and broken. His heavy soles dragged along the pavement destroying the lonely dandelions along the way. Constantly aware of his surroundings, the boy’s lonely eyes flicked from side to side. His walk resembled that of a prisoner taking his final stride down the foreboding hallways. Though his mouth was sullen and tightly sealed, it was as if his heart was pleading desperately for an angel to come take him away. I saw him everyday and yet somehow, I never truly saw him. His ability to blend surreptitiously into the crowd became his key to survival. He saw, heard and felt everything around him and yet no one even knew he existed. Never did he falter as he walked along the decaying old side walk, step after step like a beating drum.
It occurred to me only recently, the significance of the moments when he looked at me. Those eyes…Those inexplicable eyes had a gravity all their own. They were mesmerizing, but because of my naïve ignorance I never even knew he looked my way. I never knew how he gazed at me or how his eyes took on a lively charm when they would watch me laugh. He lived through me, and therefore he knew more about me than I did. He understood me in ways that no had or ever will. It was in the days that were to transpire that I would find out just how much the broken boy really did love me and how much I loved him back.
Unspoken were the words we spoke fluently. The silence that we swam in tied us together and was deeper than any words could ever be. When our eyes met, it was if all the questions of the world had suddenly been understood. And yet more often than not, the connection we bore became more than we could bear. In our separate strings of life we absorbed all the emotions of the people around us. When our eyes finally met, the strings of our life began to weave a picture so grand neither of us could fully comprehend. Silence became a drug, because it became the one true moment in the day filled with light. I suppose our connection may be labeled destiny or perhaps fate, but whether or not this is true the link we shared did more than just exist; it saved my life.
Have you ever really looked at a scar? Most people never even acknowledge the lines that streak their bodies. Each wound upon the surface of the skin reveals a story, much like the weathered down parts of a cliff. Was the wound deep? What caused it? Your first shaky bike ride after leaving your father’s steady hold? The new cat your sister found along side of the road? Or maybe it was your mother’s razor, located just under the bathroom cupboard. Some scars never fade. They are a constant nagging reminder of the past mistakes and accidents. Other marks upon the skin end up fading away, but usually those are not self inflicted. His scars never faded. They striped his arm in every which way possible. Some were puffier than others, so they stuck out more and others were thin lines. Most were white, others were pink but some of the more angry marks were newly carved and still red from blood. The scars marred his flesh to the point where smooth skin was an unrecognized territory upon his body.
Those who were cruel called him names and the ones who feared him denied his existence. Some teachers and parents looked at him with pity while others conveniently used him as a threat to their own children.
“Michael don’t be mean to your brother, you wouldn’t want him to end up like that boy.”
Because I do not belong to either of these groups, my last option was to observe him. I was fascinated by him and I would spend countless hours imagining the circumstances behind his enticing scars. The most important question I tried to figure out was…why. Why did he do it? No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t bring my self to a clear cut answer. Every reason became muddled with more questions that were left unanswered. His pain became a dark tunnel that I was swept into, much like the curious girl who followed the rabbit.
Or maybe I was wrong. Maybe all those scars were a result of falling. Yes, perhaps he fell into broken glass, repeatedly. I quickly discarded this idea knowing it was absolutely ridiculous. Who would continually throw themselves into a pile of glass? Maybe the same person who cut themselves with a razor?
Part TWO 3-19-08
Rain drops are the pure similitude to human emotion. They may fall gently and passively bringing out the love buried deep within our hearts or recklessly and aggressively striking out on the innocent and weak. The fury behind the clouds is the darkness within our minds fueling the angry bolts to strike. I don’t remember how many times in my life I have cried. Sometimes I wonder, if the things that made me cry before would still make me cry today. Certain things wouldn’t affect me as much as they did before but there are other things that I know will always take my breath away and stab me right in the heart. Those are the life changing moments in which no one will ever be prepared to face. They are the sucker punches of fate.
I remember the first time I cried in front of him. While walking home from school one day, I found a folded lined paper note in front of my path. The curiosity got the best of me as I kneeled down and examined the letter. I was quite surprised to discover my name on the paper so I admired the beautifully sculpted letters that had become my name. Moments later, I gingerly opened the flap and finally opened the entire letter. My eyes skimmed the page and then I went back and took a second look. I read it three times in a row and could not believe what I was reading.
Thank you for smiling. It may have just been bright enough to blind me from finding my way to my father’s gun.
I looked around and saw him standing at his window. I looked into his eyes, and before I knew it the tears came pouring down my face. They were tears of absolute pain and amazement. How could this boy ever even consider taking his own life? And what was even more impossible for me to comprehend was the fact that he had accredited his change of heart to me. I had barely even spoken to him. I had remembered smiling at him, but of course he hadn’t acknowledged me so I had decided that he simply didn’t even notice. The intensity of his gaze deepened until it was as if he could see into my true heart. Tears streaming down my face I felt defenseless so I left my guard down. I could feel him reading me just as I had been reading him. The words that were spoken so clearly within our hearts suddenly became so clear to me, it seemed ridiculous that I had never considered them before. What the boy needed more than anything in the world was a friend. A person who would be there to help see the days go by and to be there when the nights alone seem to long. He needed me just as I needed him, although I would never admit it.
It wasn’t until days later that he told me his name. As we walked home from school within our silent world he suddenly stopped walking. Instinctively I stopped my pace and looked to see what had made him stop. The after noon sun was still beating strong down upon us and as the golden rays hit his skin, the rosy appearance of his scars became incredibly vibrant. Each mark stood out even more so making his arms resemble those of steamed lobster. His eyes remained void of emotion until he said,
“My name is Alex.”
I smiled at him and we continued walking along the sidewalk.