Listen Before You Speak

Chapter 7

The battery on my phone has long since died, and beside that the rain has started falling, and I had no idea where I was. I know I was somewhere in an orchid. I have no idea how I got here, but I have this crazy idea that without knowing I was looking for the hill where Blake had brought me the night of the motorcycle ride. All I know for certain is that I am lost and hungry and that it is dark and raining. That, and I know there is like a hundred messages on my phone that I have ignored and now my battery died so I can’t even read them.

“And it’s not even apple season,” I sigh as I keep on walking, not sure which way to go or which direction I should take. From here on the ground everything just kind of looks the same generally. Especially if you are stuck in an apple orchid somewhere out of town with trees making sure you can’t see the Southern Cross. Not that I would probably be able to find it up in the night sky while clouds are blocking it out, but still.

I know that moss grows on trees and it’s supposed to tell you which way is North; or is that South? But then I don’t even know if the town was on the North or the South side of me. For all I know it could be in the West or East.

I can’t help it. I can feel the tears stinging. I know I will have to find some place to sleep tonight. I can’t get much further while it’s dark and raining. I have no idea where I am, and no way to contact anybody for help. All I have is my school bag with a bunch of books, and no way to even turn that into a quick blazing fire that will either curl up and disappear instantly, or just die from the rain falling through the leaves of the trees.

Gawd! How stupid could I be? Why didn’t I just go back and see Blake at the tree behind the school and ask him up front what his issue is? Why didn’t I just tell him what on earth Alice said to me in that empty classroom so that I could listen to either a real truth or a well-covered lie? I could have done everything differently, and no matter what the outcome, I would’ve now been in my bed, warm and comfortable. Maybe eating a pizza or some of the left-over macaroni and cheese from last night. I could have been singing to My Chemical Romance without anybody hearing my voice over the loud sound. Even dad could have been kept out of my room if I remembered to lock my door before I went to sleep. Yes, if only I wasn’t this damn stupid.

I sat down against the nearest tree. I could feel the roughness of it even through my hoodie and I shuddered. Outside was not the right place to be for me, but still I found the side of the tree that was almost dry and there I curled myself up before allowing myself to search for my journal in my bag. Like every single time before I open my journal I slowly feel over the cover where I have carved the words “Emotional Amnesia” in block letters with an old blade. Wishing I had remembered to stop at home and get a blade to cut myself with I open up the journal. Getting ready to make an entry. Maybe just one of many to come, but maybe something would happen here and I would never be found, making it possibly my very last entry ever. I had to make this one count. It can’t just be another poem. It has to be something deeper. Something that people can remember me by.

After searching for a pen I begin writing in the almost non-existing light.

Dear Cruel World, (yes, I know that is cliché)

Where do I even begin with what is going on in my life?

I’m broken. Just broken. And I don’t think that I will ever be fixed ever again. No Blake, not even you can work that kind of miracle. Not even you can draw out the evil I have seen in my life. It is mine to live with forever.

I always believed that one day when I’m done with school I would move far away. I have actually been saving up for that. There’s a box under my bed where I keep all my most valuable stuff. My pet hamster Bubbles used to live in it for a while before I got her a cage. The two holes in it is because of her, but don’t worry about that. I always thought it was kind of cute, until she died and I cried my eyes out over those two holes. I guess I kept the box to remind me that she was here on earth once. That she could not just be forgotten. That she was valuable to me, even if she didn’t mean anything to anybody else in the world. And there, where my fondest memory of the only living thing I have ever truly loved lies, there I hide my dreams. My dreams of going away from this place. Getting on a bus and heading for the city and making it big. I’m not sure what kind of big I would be making, but I know that it wouldn’t be with a black cross over my mouth. I would sing out loud so that everybody could hear my voice. Finally free to say what I want. And my black clothing? That would be left behind me as well. I have always liked red and blue; even green. I like color. It just doesn’t represent who I am at the moment. I’m to broken to be a color that stands out in the crowd. I need to be hidden somewhere out of sight where nobody could see me.

I would probably someday cut my fringe as well. I guess I won’t need it the day that I am ready to look the world in the eyes again. Not that I would allow them to close to me. See, Blake, you are right when you say that I can be fixed. I have always believed that it can someday happen. But it cannot happen now. It has to be in a place where nobody saw me as whole and then as broken. Because no matter how hard you try, you will find that when something is fixed it just never looks the same as before it was broken. And somehow people tend to remember what you look like when you were broken, so they never give the fixed you a true chance in life again. If I went away they would only know the me that is glued back together. They would not remember a time that I was whole or broken, so being fixed would be like being whole and brand new to them, for that is all they will know.

I’m probably not making any sense right now, but this is the way that I feel and my feelings are completely out of control and confusing to me. It’s just one of those things that whoever reads this one day have to deal with.

What I’m basically trying to say is that I am very sure I might be dying. Not physically yet, but emotionally it is one slow steep downward into a dark abyss that I just don’t see myself climbing out of. I don’t know where I came from anymore. It is like I have blocked out every happy memory that has ever been, and when I think logically about it I am sure there were good times. But right now I just can’t seem to think about any of those times. Right now I can only see the ugly in the world. That and Blake’s eyes. He has a light behind them. One I must have had once, and should be having now, but it’s just not happening for me somehow. I just wish I can lead a normal life. I yearn every single day to be able to put on a red shirt and some blue skinnies and go to the movies with friend, and laugh about it and discuss the story when it’s done and we are all sitting at a place that serves coffee in the mall. In these fantasies I have a shorter fringe so that you can see the light shining behind my eyes as well. Caring for my boyfriend who sits next to me, taking my hand underneath the table and stealing a kiss while my best friend goes “aww” and fangirl’s around us.

That is the life I have always wanted, but instead I have to keep my mouth shut. I have to listen before I can speak, because if I speak before I listen I might let something slip form that fearful night that changed my life. I know where it is buried. I know that if I dig it up things for me will be fine. Well… as fine as it could be in a situation like this. But the people around me, or who was around me at that stage would come crashing down, and they would probably take me with them into the depths of hell. And that is why I cannot be fixed. Because digging up the secret that could fix me would also be breaking myself even more.

I can’t be with you Blake. I also can’t be normal. I can’t talk about everything that has happened to turn me into the way I am today. I know that my dreams will never become a reality. I will always just be the mute emo kid who tries his best to just stay out of the way and not be seen by anybody around him. That’s just who I am and no amount of glue in the world would be able to fix that. Not in this lifetime at least.

Love,

Elijah

I just can’t help the tears streaming over my face. I wonder what I did wrong in the past to deserve all of this. That my life has to account for nothing because of something that someone else did a long time ago. Life isn’t fair. That much I have been taught in the last few years. This was just the way that the world worked.

I wish that I would fall asleep and die right here under the apple tree. I remember my grandmother once telling me that apples symbolized protection, but now I don’t want to be protected at all. I want to be caught by some wild animal, or stumble and fall into a deep ditch where I could feel the life draining out of my body and seeping away into the floor of the earth. I want to die. I am ready. I am tired of living the way I am living. Would it really be so bad to be a ghost? I have been like one for years now. Making it official couldn’t be so bad, could it?

So I got up and I stumbled further into the darkness, my hands stretched before me, searching uphill through trees and bushes that still tried to shelter me from the rain pouring down from the cry, trying their best to hide the sorrow and pain leaking over my cheeks and falling down to the ground.

Not a single sound escaped my lips. Not even when a branch thought it a pleasant surprise to scratch a red streak over my cheek, or when a root allowed me to stumble and meet the ground, skinning the skin on my palms. I would never speak again. I would never hear the sound of my own laughter or the heartbreaking ache in my words as I chance Blake away to go and find someone unbroken who would suit him and be equal with him. Somebody that he would deserve to be with. Somebody he did not just have to fix and protect for the rest of his life, but would be able to do the same thing for him. That is what he truly deserved in this life.

And me? I’m not sure what I deserve, but broken people get tossed by the side of the road, discarded by life. They don’t end up living happily ever after. This is not a fairytale. Nothing just miraculously works out for the best. And I am certainly not Cinderella.