3.8 | LOSS OF WORDS
795 Words
( 3.8 ) j u d i t h
THESE THOUGHTS KEEP BOTHERING ME AND THEY'RE NOT GOING AWAY. I can't help but to think about Simon, whether he was sad or lost; whether he was crying all alone.
I have no idea why he was all teary-eyed that afternoon, all I got from him is that he was not himself anymore. But it was definite that no one can stay smiling all day every day, because at the end of the day, he's still human.
His homework at school was piling up, I might as well just do him a favor and hand it over to him. I could use that as an excuse to talk to him.
I've thought of backing away multiple times when I walked to his house, but I know what I have to do, and I'm not chickening out that easily.
Time moved undeniably fast, before I knew, I was already at his front door.
And all I have to do now is knock.
. . .
As expected, he didn't greet me at the door. Instead, his mother invited me in.
She sat me down and told me things I wish I knew about Simon. I didn't realize the fact that I don't know much about him. Positive nor negative, I didn't know much of either.
She seemed frustrated about Simon. He wasn't eating, going to school, and all he would do was wallow in his room from morning to night.
Asking why was the action that made me feel a knife impale through my heart. And everything started to click from there.
It was almost like I could see Simon's crying eyes right in front of me, but I tried not to think. His mother continued her story.
"Lucy was put to sleep yesterday."
"Simon argued with us the night before Lucy was sent to the vet."
His father's insensitive words didn't make the story sound any better.
"He should man up and stop sulking over stupid things."
"What's the big deal?"
"It was just a dog, I don't know why he's getting so worked up over it."
It was about time for me to listen to Simon for his side, his thoughts. I was here for him in the first place.
Mrs Wilkins pointed me the direction to Simon's room. I knocked on his bedroom door, calling out to him.
"Hey, it's me."
Subtle footsteps sounded from the other side of the door. Soon, a pause for all sounds.
And finally, I hear the door unlock.
. . .
I never thought I would see him like this.
. . .
My first instinct was to hold him tight.
Make him feel warn.
Make him feel loved.
His skinny hands held onto my back, fingers digging into my sweatshirt. I could feel his tear-stained cheeks next to me.
He was truly a boy with pure feelings. Crying over his dog, defending for its life until the very end. I wanted to hold him longer.
But he pushed me away.
Tears were running down his face like a running tap, he was sniffling short-breathily. I handed him the papers in my hands, although assignments were the least of his problems at the time.
"You missed out a lot at school today."
He rubs his eyes with his hands, trying to hold back his crying.
"You should come back, it's boring without you."
He moves aside to let me into his room.
The sound of the door shutting breaks the silence between us. I look over just to see a half-painted flower on canvas, thrown aside in a corner of his room.
"Simon."
He doesn't answer. I don't mind how he tries not to speak, he doesn't speak much anyways.
"Are you lonely...without Lucy?"
I struck a nerve.
He started crying again. But this time he responded with a nod.
"Was Lucy very important?"
"Yes." He finally spoke up.
He sat down next to me on the corner of his bed.
"Why?" I wanted to know more about him.
He was rubbing his eyes again. All those tears don't seem to be going away.
"Lucy was the last thing my dad left for me."
Saying that just made him tear up more.
I was confused. I just saw his dad walk pass me just now.
"But isn't your dad here?"
"My dad's dead, alright?"
He sounded pained, he even raised his voice a little. I wonder if all this really broke Simon Wilkins.
"Then who's downstairs?" I asked, only to see him cry more.
"He's my mother's boyfriend."
I should just stop asking him questions. All I need to do now is be with him, stay by his side to tell him everything is okay even when nothing is.
It didn't matter that he was crying so much; it didn't matter that his tears were soaking up my shirt sleeve.
I feel so useless for not being able to do anything, but maybe this could help, even the slightest bit.
Trying my best just to be there, I guess that's what friends are for.
: END OF SPRING :
- Writer
