What’s in Rick’s Notebook.

I had thought, with all the sunflowers and shiny, pretty blue skies, the whistling neighbors as they picked up their mail, that it would all be okay. For some reason, my mind was ready to positively plant this idea into my head. And now, it’s been hard to get it out.

But that’s good, right? It’s good that it’s so hard to let go of the idea of everything or even something being okay. I knew it once I saw where I had lived, and when I saw the conditions of this place. Nowhere else that I had gone to had such life, such glimmering hope. Things still went wrong, and things were still a mess at times, but at least the outside commercial for everyone’s abnormal lives was still intact.

For us, it wasn’t a commercial. The typical happy and content american family. Only a few times had we crossed the line, but I was in a highly-rated high school now, with a predetermined middle school 3.7 GPA, one of the highest marks in my class.

After middle school, I never really knew what I wanted to do. I had some ideas, but one that stuck to me was being a writer. I loved stories, fictional and non fictional, and I knew it was something I’d enjoy doing, and something that was more or less lucrative.

Freshman year was a staple in everyone’s lives, a milestone, even. Something about it said, “You’re new here, and you’re in a new place.” Perhaps it was the name, “Freshman year”, that had planted the idea of being a fresh, new soul in such an old body.

The first days were filled with the usual, lectures about how boring the classes are and what we’ll do and how the boring stuff will all tie in. But what I wasn’t prepared for, was her. The way she walked. The way she smiled. The way she had looked over at me, noticing me locking my eyes with hers. I quickly looked away, feeling some embarrassment.

I was never good at the whole girl thing. In middle school, I dabbled with it. But I had never done anything beyond looking at somebody. Maybe something was wrong in my head, my muscles, anywhere. I never really tried to even fathom it, though, until she looked at me. I could gaze for hours, get lost in her eyes.

The seating chart conveniently placed us next to each other. I was so embarrassed and nothing had even happened yet.

“Hey,” she said to me. I looked over to my left, and there she was, smiles and all. She reminded me of home. She reminded me of the sweet, innate life in which I’d been sheltered. In fact, I may have been isolated by it. But she gave something to it, that made it feel otherwise.

“Hi,” I said awkwardly.

“How was summer for you?”

“It was good, hot,” I said.

“Yeah, got up to nearly a hundred degrees.” I smiled and nodded at her. Then, the bell rang, the teacher lectured, the day was over before I even knew it had begun. And all that time with her I cherished. For some reason, I found myself falling in love.

On the homefront, my father and mother were still together, unlike most of the other kids. They mostly just stayed together for me, as they fought nearly every night.

I never listened to them, and I never wanted to. And something always told me something was terribly wrong with them. I just never wanted to dig in and pick out what, I would just let them hash it out.

Two days later, I got to see her again.

“Hey,” she said to me.

“Hi,” I said, “Never caught your name.”

“It’s Hannah,” she said.

“That’s a lovely name,” I told her, “Mine’s Rick.” She smiled, her cheeks blushing.

“Thank you. It’s nice to meet you, Rick” I smiled at her.

“You as well, Hannah.” We worked together quite well. The class we had was science. I had never seen her anywhere else, which made this time special to me. She had become special to me, so special. I didn’t even know what I was feeling, I didn’t comprehend it.

“What did you learn today?” My father asked me, as always, as soon as my feet hit the door. Today, my mother was in a mood, and my father talked in a more aggressive tone. Then Jolene, my mother, walked in, looking at me, up and down, hands on her hips. She then turned towards my father Gregory.

“I burnt dinner,” she said, “But you’re welcome to pick at the charred remains, if you wish.”

“Thanks, Jo, thanks a lot,” my father said. “After a whole day at work, that’s what I want.”

“Oh, what you want?” she exclaimed. I quickly ran over to my room and grabbed my headphones. I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want it. I didn’t. I didn’t.

I plugged them in anxiously and blasted some nice and soft music. Think of the sun. Think of the sun. Hannah had popped into my mind. Oh, she was so sweet, like a mandolin. She had the eyes of the sun, and the gaze of a thousand more.

I thought about her until the day was over, and until my parents had made up. The next morning, I still felt the same, I felt happy. I knew I was falling in love, but I was willing to declare that, I was willing to see it. But at the same time, my mother and father had been slowly slipping away, again and again. I worried for them, more than I could care for them.

I told Hannah about my mother, how she treated my father. She thought it was awful. At the end of class, I walked over to her and put on my sunglasses, the ones I had gotten for my fourteenth birthday.

“Wow, those look nice on you,” she told me.

“Can you see your reflection in them?” I asked her.

“Yeah, actually,” she said, “Lemme fix my hair.” She placed her right hand over her bangs, moving the back of her hair with her left hand. She smiled as she did, looking right at me, into my eyes.

“I guess it’s a win-win,” I said to her.

“How so?” she asked.

“Well, you get to fix your hair, and I get something pretty to look at.” She giggled slightly, bursting to laughter and blushing.

“That’s so sweet!” she said to me loudly. I smiled more than I smiled in my life.

At the end of that day, I was happy again. Happier than I was this morning. I didn’t think it was possible to get happier. But something about her had an effect on me, some sort of infectious look of hers, some aura around her. I would never forget it.

But this time, when I came home, my father didn’t ask me what I had learned. He had just sat there, on the couch, not even reading the paper, or writing, or anything. I walked past him to get to my room, but he held my arm next to him.

“Sit down,” he told me, in a lower tone. I walked over across from him and sat down on the other couch. He sighed deeply.

“You know, I haven’t had a drink in years,” he said, holding up his glass of water to emphasize the point, “But your mother, oh boy, don’t get me started. Today I came home expecting something, anything to be made. She had burnt two pieces of toast and slapped some cheese inside. I don’t force her to cook for me, but she has been doing it for many, many years. I expect it after a long day of slaving to pay for all this.

“Rick, when you love someone, you care for them. Today, I had to make my own sandwich, got a couple buns, some deli meat, and some cheddar, put it together and ate it. That’s when I knew. I knew that no one can take care of you other than yourself. That’s what I learned when I had to make my own sandwich.”

I nodded my head. I didn’t smile at him anymore. I had stopped when he grabbed my arm.

“Anyway,” he said, “You won’t have to worry about that for a while now, so rest easy.”

That night, I didn’t rest easy. I didn’t sleep at all. Mother and father had agreed the next day to divorce. After a single night of nothing but fighting, it was probably for the best.

I always told people, believe or not, that my parents loved each other, so much. That, at one time, they had cherished each other more than anyone could ever imagine. Maybe not now, but at one point in time.

When I saw Hannah again, she saw my sadness.

“Are you okay?” she asked me. I nodded.

“Yeah,” I lied, “Just tired.” She knew it wasn’t true. She grabbed her pen and wrote something on a scratch piece of paper, handing it to me.

“Here,” she said, “Call me at that number if you ever want to talk. I’ll be there for you.” She held my hand firmly. I had never known what it was like to touch a woman, to feel anyone else’s skin other than my own. Her skin felt like paper, everlastingly soft and delicate to the touch. She looked at me and smiled warmly.

That night, I called her. Voicemail. She texted me.

“Who’s this?” she asked.

“Rick,” I said, “From class.”

“Oh! Sorry, I had no idea, how are you?”

“It’s fine, I’m okay, just thinking about my parents, their divorce.”

“Are they fighting right now?”

“No. But I just worry about my Dad. He kind of infects me with his depression, I don’t know, it’s stupid.”

“No, I get what you mean. I remember when my parents split up when I was nine. You always have to know it’s not because of you.”

“Well, what if it is because of me? I’m their only child, I’m growing up now, falling in love, you know, they think they don’t have to stay together anymore.”

“Trust me, that is not the way to think. And who are you falling in love with?”

Oh no, I thought. This is definitely not good, not a good thing at all. Oh, why did I say that? What should I say now? Who am I falling in love with? How will she react if I say it’s her? No, that’s a bad idea, do not do it, do not do it, do not--

“I’m falling in love with you,” I said. “I know, it’s stupid.”

“No, it’s fine,” she said. “I kinda figured you had some sort of feeling towards me.”

“How do you feel?”

“Not the same. I would just like us to be friends.”

“Okay, I’m sorry.”

“It’s perfectly okay, I’m glad you told me at least.”

“You still want to talk?”

“I’m getting tired, I’ll see you tomorrow.” I turned off my phone. I was so screwed, I thought. And once again, I was awake for the rest of the night. I thought about what I had just done, telling Hannah I loved her. What was even worse was her not even feeling the same way. I felt like crying, but I also didn’t want to. I still wanted to be happy. More and more each day that montra was slipping from me.

There were too many thoughts in my head, so I started writing them in a notebook. Freeing them was a way to express my inner writer, to tell a story in order to keep the sadness from washing me down. I finally put it to use.

Passing out amid the night, I had written two pages of dribble. A story of someone falling in love, and getting their heart broken, but it’s all going to work out in the end. At least, that’s what I planned.

Tomorrow, we saw each other. She was smiling, as usual, all perky and cute. I smiled instantly, too, seeing her walk back from picking up today’s work papers.

“How are you doing today?” she asked me as we sat down.

“Good,” I said, “Managing, for the most part.” She nodded. I hope she knew I meant I was managing with my parent’s divorce, not with her feelings towards me. A part of me was micromanaging everything she did, everything she said, just in case I messed something up, or she gave me a sign she didn’t want to talk to me. I had read into it on a tabloid level. I felt more and more isolated as the period went by.

After school, I met with my friend Darin. He was older than me, but he had been in the same group in science class. He was one of those ultra “bad boys” with horrible facial piercings and tattoos and a motorcycle. Wasn’t exactly my type of guy, but since he was part of my group and I felt I knew him, I wanted to ask him some advice.

“You ever fall in love, Darin?” I asked him. He took an inhale from his cigarette. He laughed as he exhaled.

“What do you mean, ‘fall in love’?” he said. I sighed. “Wanna smoke?”

“No, I’m fine,” I told him, “I mean fall in love as in really really like another girl, a lot.”

“You’re in a different time, man, it don’t work like that,” he said to me, “No matter what, you gotta own your feelings, if a bitch ain’t about it, then they’re not worth it. If she don’t love you, she don’t love you. There ain’t nothing you can do about it.”

“But I’m still gonna love her. No matter how much she doesn’t,” I said.

“Well, lemme tell you one thing, don’t let anyone ever make you feel as if you don’t deserve what you want. If you think she’s worth all the trouble, then go for it. But if it doesn’t work both ways, you won’t have anything man. Sometimes, we gotta live with that. I’ve been living with it for years. Knew a girl, fell in love, she kinda liked me too, so we started dating. Had sex with her, she moved onto college, she also moved onto heroin. Two months into her first semester, she had an overdose. I wasn’t there, I was out, couldn’t be there for her. If I had made it in time, she might still be here with you and me right now. But that’s the way I live my life. Sometimes life moves on without you man. Own your feelings, but don’t let them take control of you. Don’t ever give up control.”

A lot of what he said made sense to me. But another part of me was anxious to see if she truly loved me. Or if she was ready for anything more at least later down the line. I decided it was good to keep talking to her, to keep communicating. Then maybe one day, she’d appreciate it.

My father, nowadays, thought love was “stupid” and a ridiculous feeling that we only feel just because we need something or want something from someone else. He said it was like a drug, or a curse, and he felt that love was the only thing truly capable of destroying another human being. That since we can’t or couldn’t understand it, that we should stop trying to mess with it and ruin ourselves over it.

To me, love hadn’t felt like some sort of drug, it felt like some sort of curse over me. I couldn’t stop thinking about her and I double checked everything she had texted me, trying to make sure I didn’t say the wrong thing, trying to make sure she thought I was the person she was looking for.

“Hey,” I texted her one night.

“Hey,” she said back.

“How was your day?”

“Boring, how was yours?”

“Mine was pretty good,” I lied.

“That’s good.”

“You still think of us as pretty good friends?”

“Yeah,” she said, “of course.”

“Look, I have a lot of things to say, and I don’t really know how to say them, so I’m just gonna go for it, is that okay?”

“Yeah sure, tell me whatever.”

“Alright, bare with me here. I really, really cannot stop thinking about you. Like, I know you don’t feel the same way about me, but I just want to let you know that I love you, a lot, and I can’t really stop thinking about it, and, I don’t know, I just wanted to stay honest with you, and I’m sorry, if it makes me say some things sometimes, some weird things, and I hope it doesn’t make it awkward or anything, but, yeah, that’s what I wanted to tell you, and that’s just how it is.”

“Well, I really appreciate that. You’re really sweet and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, and it’s perfectly okay if you want to feel that way, I understand, you don’t have to worry about saying different things or being different, because I know now, and you know how I feel and we’re pretty good friends right now, so we don’t have to make it worse, and we don’t need to take it in that other direction, and I’m glad we can both appreciate that.”

“Yeah,” I said, not knowing what else to say, “I’m glad, for us, you know? That we can push through this as friends.”

“Yeah,” she said, “Everything going okay with your family?”

“Not really. My parents are struggling to sign their papers to get divorced. Kinda makes me nervous when they fight at night.”

“Why?”

“Because I like to listen to music to try and drown it, since I don’t wanna hear it, and it sometimes makes me afraid when I hear them. I like to think that it’s all gonna be okay.”

“Sometimes, though, it’s not. Look, there’s gonna be good times, and bad times. Sometimes, there’ll be more good than bad, and more bad than good. But in the end, you gotta push through the bad and hope there’s better stuff ahead.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Of course I’m probably right.” That made me chuckle. Later on in the night, she had gotten tired, and told me she was going to bed. I told her goodnight and that I would see her soon.

I was excited to see her soon, despite the fact she hadn’t loved me. Perhaps there would be some sort of mutual friendship, but my body kept on leaping and yearning for something more than that. I kept my notebook wherever I went at this point. Everywhere I was, I’d have it, with a pen lodged into the page I was on. Sooner or later, she had seen it.

“What are you writing?” Hannah asked me.

“A story,” I said, “Something about love, I don’t really know.”

“Love makes for good stories,” she said, “I might want to read it someday.” I chuckled nervously. I was sure she didn’t want to ever see it. Not only was it almost exactly based off of our situation, but it was also incredibly raw with emotion and power, a lot of feelings I would never tell her in person.

But, like an idiot, I handed it over to her and said, “Why not read it now?” She looked through it for a little while, completely unattentive towards the teacher for a near five minutes. I smiled as she did, reacting to each word, each syllable of language used throughout the small, incohesive highschool-minded piece.

“It’s good,” she said, “Can’t wait to read the rest of it.” It was like a load off my mind. I smiled warmly at her as she passed the notebook back to me, looking up at the teacher, pretending as if she had been the whole time. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her, even as she looked to the teacher. I’d occasionally glance at her after the teacher’s corny jokes just to see her smile, her pearly eyes gazing towards me as well, in that glance. And, for some reason, as she looked at me, even in that brief instance, I felt my whole body warm up to her. She was like the starter for a fireplace, making me nice and warm and cozy with her presence. Something about her not only lit the room up, but lit me up.

And it was such a shame that all she saw me as was some weird kid hitting on her in the middle of science class, too into her to even study, too focused on gaining her affection to even know we had a test in two days.

That night, I had to text her. Something was irradiating in my mind that I had to get out. But the smarter part of my mind had kicked in, warning me to start things off slowly, and ease into the talk of emotions and feelings.

“How was your day?” I asked her typically.

“Boring,” she said, “Science seemed like it dragged, how about you?”

“Same,” I told her, “Seemed like I was gonna be in there for the whole day.”

“Right?”

“So, what’d you think of the story I showed you, like, specifically?”

“It’s very descriptive, I like the detail in not only the setting, but what the character is feeling as well.”

“Thanks, I can’t wait to finish it.”

“So, is it like based off or something or is it purely fiction?” she asked me, raising every single alarm in the particles in my body. She knew, she had to. She had to know that it was based off of my love for her, and the pain that had been caused in me from her not bearing the same feelings for me. But, of course, it’s stupid to think you can force love on someone. I only wish I knew that sooner.

“Yeah,” I said, “It’s kinda based off of real life experiences.”

“Yeah I kinda got that impression, like it was based off of something between you and me.”

“It is. I hope it, you know, doesn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s fine, I mean, I wanted to read it, and I’m glad you’re putting that energy into something positive, you know? I think, in the end, it’ll all turn out okay.”

“Yeah,” I said, “I still think about you.” No, no, no. You idiot. You absolute moron. Why bring that up when she was just beginning to understand? I slapped myself I felt so incredibly stupid and dumbfounded at my emotional reaction towards her giving a complete regard of my feelings and an honest rationale as to how to move on. But, of course, I’m an idiot.

“Look, I don’t think… we’re gonna be anything together… ever, I just don’t see ourselves going there… ever.”

The first thing I did. The first thing I did was grab my pillow. The first thing I did was grab it and weep. I wept like a child, and that was the first time I had felt truly heartbroken in my life, and the first time I’d cried in a long time. After that, crying for me was never a sign of weakness, it was a sign of the body giving up being strong for so long, despite all the pain, and finally releasing the floodgates.

“Okay,” I eventually said, “That’s fine.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, “But it’s how I feel.”

“Trust me, you don’t have to apologize. I respect it, and I understand,” I lied.

“Alright,” she said, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” I told her. After turning off my phone, the room was darker in my vision than it had seemed in previous nights. The tears that had filled my eyes I had wiped away. I went over to the far side of my bedroom and grabbed my notebook, opening it as I buried myself in my bed sheets, taking the pen out of it to begin writing.

I wrote in there for what seemed like hours, and when I was done, I realized something in my body, my mind specifically, was changing. The darkness in these pages had overcome the light tone of my life in the beginning of high school. I knew the change was here, but my body didn’t catch up well enough to handle any of it. I was so in pain, and I was so in love. And that was like a drug, being in love.

I texted Darin to hang out with him after school the next day. I knew he had some things that could make me feel better. I had been losing the sight of most of my friendships, and I wanted one to stay. He was one of the only ones I had left.

“How’s high school been so far?” he asked me.

“It sucks ass,” I told him, “Girl I fell in love with broke my heart, still want to talk to her though.” He took a deep inhale of his smoke, keeping it in for a good five seconds before letting it out.

“Is there something wrong with me?” I asked him. He shook his head, smoking some more.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he told me, leaning on the hood of his car beside me, “You’re young, and your mind is still adapting, there’s gonna be a lot of shit going in there, a lotta changes. You just gotta push through and get used to them, hope there’s better stuff ahead.”

“Do you still remember your girlfriend?” I asked him. He took another smoke. I saw in his eyes the heartbreak he went through too, the sadness and the tiredness of staying up countless nights with her, and countless nights thinking of her since. I knew right then I didn’t wanna be like that in my life.

“I do,” he said, his voice lowering into sadness, “I remember her everyday.” He turned to me, looking at me seriously. I nodded my head slightly.

“But that don’t mean I can’t go through life like a normal human being. I don’t let our memories drag me down. I knew she wouldn’t want that, I knew. And that’s what you gotta do, keep moving, and at least she’s there, at least she’s with you, still wants to be your friend. Take advantage of it. And with it, the joy you feel. That’s something I can never feel with Erica ever again. After she died, and I went to that funeral, I knew things would never be the same. But you got something, don’t throw it all away.”

“Okay,” I said, nodding eagerly, “That makes a lot of sense. I hear you.”

I took a look at his rolled up cigarette, looking at him, and then back at it.

“Can I get a smoke of that cig?” I asked. He chuckled at me as he exhaled more smoke.

“This ain’t no cig,” he told me, “It’s a blunt. Weed.”

“Alright,” I said, “Whatever.” He handed it to me. I took an inhale, coughing violently afterwards. He laughed, getting up from the hood of his car.

“Come on,” he said, “Shouldn’t be doing this shit out here.” He laughed as he got in the driver’s seat of his car. My mind felt tingly, like I was sitting in a bath, swishing my head back and forth. The next few hours I spent with Darin and his friends, Taylor, Adam, and Mark. Taylor was Adam’s girlfriend. She was sweet, brunette hair, dark blue eyes. Adam was a taller man, about 6’ 4”, long, brown hair, like Darin’s, actually. Mark was the sportsmanlike character, jet black and slicked hair, tall and built. Something about him caused me to be anxious, like I was afraid he had something I didn’t, that I could never have what he had. But, at the same time, he was just a different person, someone else with a completely different set of experiences.

In the end, I had become a buyer of marijuana. Darin made it seem like a sport, like what Mark was competing in. I thought it was an unusual connection, weed and sports, but I was so off my mind I didn’t even want to try and tell the difference. When I got back home, my parents were in even darker moods than before.

My mother had finished smashing the rest of the dishes in the kitchen cupboards, my father sat there with a drink in his hand, watching as she screamed and lost her mind in the haze of her own destruction, as well as her inability to even control her own damned mind, her emotions, and her actions. It had made me sad to see, to see a woman like that, someone as strong as a bull, show they are as fragile as the things they physically and mentally destroy.

“You’re a f'ing animal!” my father yelled to her.

“Oh, I’m the animal?” she exclaimed, smashing more plates, “You’re the one who bought all this shit, who spends the money like an animal?”

I sighed as I walked past the kitchen. My father grabbed me and held me in front of him.

“Look at him,” he said, “This is my male heir. You want this? You want him to be like this because of your actions?”

“Oh, f you!” she shrieked, smashing another glass onto the ground, amidst the pile of countless shards of glass, forcing some to fly upward, one in particular sheathing the fragile outer layer of my eye, penetrating further into it. Half of my vision had turned dark. Not completely black, just very, very dark red. I screamed in pain, letting myself into my father’s arms as he held me up from the floor. It wasn’t any safer down there than it was standing up.

My mother didn’t care, and that was the worst part.

“You deserved that!” she yelled after me as my father dialed an ambulance from the family landline. I always wondered why we still had one, and this was why. Neither of my parents had cell phones, but got me one just to keep my social status up and my self esteem intact. Neither had worked, or been the case.

I was taken to the ER, where they patched up my eye. Luckily, there was no internal bleeding, but my right eye had permanent blindness. Gdamn, why did she have to get my good eye? I thought, trying to get myself to at least smile in the grim situation. However, it had not worked. I thought in my head if I even still had the capacity to think about the sunshine and the green leaves and grass blowing in the wind. However, I had no capacity to even pretend I was happy anymore. None of that was sound in my world, and none of it would be the same ever again.

I thought about Hannah the next day, knowing I would miss school. My father knelt beside me in that hospital bed, holding my hand. I thought of it to be funny, like he thought I was going to die. In reality, my eye just hurt a shit ton, and I was gonna be okay. It did make me sad, however, that half of my sight was now gone, and looking at Hannah through those shades, watching her fix her hair, would never be the same again.

That thought brought a tear to my eye before I closed my eyes to rest.

Two days later, I was out of the hospital. My father moved out of the house, finally, and my mother retained possession, much to his disapproval. I was confused as to why he moved out, I thought he’d want to keep me safe after this event. However, he was just pretending to be my father when I got hurt. But as soon as I got better, I was nothing to him anymore. He was empty, a shell. It was better at this point for him to die than go on living like that, a completely artificially alive human being, no longer capable of living in this physical plane of existence.

He communicated this feeling to me early on in their divorce, just not in so many words. Half of his money was gone, and she had won the settlement to keep the house. Her lawyer was good, his wasn’t. It was just as simple as that. The quality of the suits they wear in order to determine how much pain someone must go through.

When I went back to school, everything was different. All I could think about was smoking some more weed with Darin and his friends, and I knew how much they cared about me enough to want to do that. They had booze too, and I was sinking slowly at first, then quickly into that cycle of addiction.

When Hannah first saw the eyepatch, she gasped.

“Are you okay?” she asked me as she sat down. At this point, the whole room was staring, before the teacher called their attention. Meanwhile, I had no idea as to how I should answer that question.

“It’s been a while since anyone’s asked me that,” I said, “No, I am not.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Tonight,” I said.

“Come by my place, we should talk in person,” she told me, smiling warmly as I looked at her, surprised.

“Are you sure?” I asked. She nodded eagerly.

“I’m your friend, I want to help you.”

“Thank you, so much.”

“No problem Rick,” she said. I kept writing in my notebook during the classes, keeping it all a secret. The story I had written had turned into something completely different. It was now a scribble, doodles of my mind in minor instants, as well as major ones. However, those were more graphic and more violent in regards to my feelings about myself, as well as my feelings of love, and regret. At home, I left it near some boxes in front of my room, a pencil stuck in the page I was writing on.

Later that night, I wore a leather jacket with a grey shirt underneath, sporting some blue jeans in order to meet with Hannah. This was the first time I had ever gone to a girl’s house, and I wasn’t exactly nervous, but anxious to be there.

She texted me her address, and it was within walking distance. I was excited to see that. I knew it could lead up to some more opportunities in the future. Or, maybe, it could lead to absolutely nothing. Either way, I made it there before eight o’clock. The sun had just set beneath the horizon.

I rang her doorbell. Her house was as big as mine, actually a little smaller, maybe. It was brown, so brown, with a little bit of beige outlining the windows and the door, including the garage gate. I saw her open the first door, and then the windowed door in front of it. She looked dolled up and charming, incredibly cute in the way she smiled at me, chirping a “Hello” as she hugged me.

I caught a whiff of her perfume, and I instantly remembered the first time I met her, and the time she looked at me as she fixed her hair.

“Come in, please,” she said, smiling. I couldn’t stop smiling myself. She was the only thing, the only person that could make me smile at this moment, in this world now.

I walked into her house, which was a beautiful aura of richness and dazzled beauty. Vases, paintings, expensive rugs, large television sets, a brick fireplace in the wall, chandeliers, you name it, she had it.

“My mom’s asleep upstairs,” she said, “There’s a fire pit outside, where we can talk.”

“Sure, that sounds good,” I said, “Thanks for having me here.”

“No problem, you need something to drink, eat?” I nodded slightly.

“Water, if you may,” I said. She smiled and nodded, walking over to her kitchen, and getting a water bottle from her fridge, handing it to me as we stepped outside the slide doorway and towards the fire pit. She grabbed some accelerant nearby, dumping a couple of wooden logs into the pit, lighting the fire and positioning some chairs for us to sit.

Her and I sat next to each other, and she looked at me. Her eyes leveled me completely, and I felt like God had put an angel on Earth, just for me. It was as if we were the only two people who existed in that instant. I knew I was in love with her still.

She asked me what was wrong, and I told her. My mother had blinded my eye, and my father had moved out, leaving me with her. She kept looking at me intensely as I told her my story, and I couldn’t turn away from her. I knew no one would believe me when I said how beautiful she was.

And when I finished my story, she began.

“I think I mentioned to you before, sometimes there’ll be good and bad times. And I know right now, it seems like nothing but bad has been happening, and I am so sorry, Rick, I really am. I can’t tell you how much empathy I have for you in this situation. But just know I’m here. And I know things haven’t been great with us, but you do have friends, Rick, don’t forget that. Never feel like you’re alone, never give up in your life. Things are hard, and they’re so hard, and you’ll have bad times, but it’ll always wake you up to the good stuff you weren’t paying attention to. And those little things, the good parts, they’re the best. They may seem small, but just hold onto them, and in the end, you’ll be okay, and you’ll know how to cope. The world can’t be all sunshine, not anymore, it’s not gonna be that way. You’ll understand it, at least someday.”

“Yeah,” I said to her, “Someday. Thank you, I can’t even begin to tell you how grateful I am for your advice, Hannah, really, thank you so much.”

“No problem,” she said, “You got it, love.”

“You know, you’re a really good friend,” I told her, “This is nice, it’s working.”

“Well I’m glad it makes you happy, Rick.”

Her and I got closer and closer together. I wrapped my arm around her.

“You make me happy, Hannah.” I leaned in, my lips touching hers, so sweet in taste, but so short in enjoyment. She kissed back, then letting herself stop, as did I.

“Oh, Rick,” she said, “I think you… have the wrong idea--” I got up from my seat, grabbing her hand, interrupting her.

“Let’s go,” I said to her desperately, “Let’s--Let’s go right now.”

“I told you, my Mom is right upstairs.”

“I don’t care about her, I want you. This is real, and you know it.”

“No, Rick, I told you, I don’t--”

“Please, I love you, and I love everything about you--”

“Rick, stop, don’t do this--”

“Please, don’t make me go back home. Don’t make me go back to that place, Hannah.”

“I don’t care where you go, Rick. But I can’t have you around here, you make me too sad.”

“Okay,” I said, “Hannah--”

“You know, I’m happy, okay? You keep pushing this, and why? Why can’t you accept just us being friends? You barely know me!”

“I do know you, Hannah--”

“No, you don’t. And--and you need to leave, now.” I sighed deeply.

“Okay,” I said, looking at her for a few moments, “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t say anything. I left, walking alone back home. I felt nothing. Empty, a shell, just like my father. And as I got home, and walked up those stairs, my father was holding my notebook. The boxes I left it on were his, stuff for moving out of the house. He found my secrets, and my heart dropped to the core of the Earth.

“What’s this?” he asked me. I knew he had already looked through it.

“That’s personal, Dad.” I walked over to him, attempting to grab it from his hands. He held it up and away from me, backing up into my room’s door frame. He opened it, and flipped through the pages. I had known the pages, memorized the foundation of them. I knew what he was looking at. The pages had detailed just how much I hated myself, how much I wanted to kill myself, how much I loved Hannah, how much she didn’t love me, how much I didn’t know what love was, how much it pained me to have so much love to give and no one to give it to, how painful it was to never be able to give my love to who I am in love with.

Yeah, he saw all of that. And he saw the horrifying scribbles of a high schooler’s fragile mind frame, as he goes through a tragic part of his life, after he endures what it means to be in high school, and learning for the first time what love means, and how much of a drug it is.

What Hannah said to me echoed throughout my head as my father read those pages, looking to me in concern. Tears stung my eyes as they did his. And for a brief moment, for a brief clarity, I could see he loved me again, and I went to hug him.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he kept repeating, I sobbed as I held him close to me, gripping onto him as if he was the last thing I would hold.

He felt bad for never talking to me, for never finding out what was in my notebook, for never finding out where in my head that came from. But in the end, none of it mattered, because it was all said and done. I had ruined the friendship between me and Hannah, I had become addicted to substances I otherwise would have never touched, and I had felt as if I caused the fracture in my parents’ relationship, causing them to be astray, and causing them to be incapable of knowing how to love me anymore.

With those thoughts, I received no sleep, and instead a whole lot of nightmares, a torture in my head. The next day, I couldn’t even go to school. I sat in my bed, asleep, a shell, a complete husk of my own demise. A missing eye and a new way of life, one that was rupturing my mindset.

Better for me to die than live like that, I thought.

Hannah had texted me and asked me where I was. I ignored it, kept sleeping in my bed. I didn’t feel like talking, I didn’t feel like getting up. I just counted the seconds in my day until my eyes gave in again and again, nightmaring the day by.

My mother had been gone all day, and my father never contacted the house. Well, at least if he did, I would never know. I figured, though, I had to call one of them and tell them to call me in sick. So, I approached the landline.

My father picked up, as I knew my mother was nowhere to be found without a cellphone. Luckily, my Dad had a phone in his room. I told him to call me in sick, and he agreed, doing it in utter sarcasm, but love for me. The sarcasm was more for him, and his situation regarding my mother.

I had even managed to leave my notebook for a day and a half, not even touching it, not even writing in it. I never even looked at it anymore.

It was hard, but it was good to learn from what Hannah said. Good times and bad times, there’ll be those. Bumps in the road, speed limit changes, all types of things.

Darin and his friends had comforted me, drank and smoked with me a few days later. My grades dropped, and the seating arrangement changed, and me and Hannah were so far away from each other now. I glanced at her a few times, but I knew things between me and her were never going to be the same. And I knew that after we kissed, she predicted I would never be okay with something less than a full blown relationship.

I was so insanely in love with her, though, that I never even looked at anyone else. And it was gonna be that way for a while, at least until my brain adapted and moved on. But for the moment, it had felt like my whole world was f'ed, and about to collide with another.

My father was the only one who saw the other side of me in my notebook, and Hannah thought she knew, but she had no idea what I was going through. But she had to know I wasn’t going to forget her for the rest of my life. But something told me she’d easily forget me.

I had to do the same thing, for the sake of myself and for the sake of my mind. It was best to move on, and in the end, I knew something was gonna turn out okay. And I knew someone was gonna be my side.

But touching her for the last time made it hard to let her go, knowing I wanted to feel it again, to feel her touch against mine, and to feel her presence in the same room as mine.

I went for a walk, weeks later, passing by her house. It gave me horrible memories. But I went farther past it, leaving it behind, and walking deeper and deeper into my neighbourhood. This was father than I had ever made it, and it was nice to see the relaxing presence of nature still in my life. No longer sunshine, now just grey and darkness. And when the sunshine was there, it had the seasonal effect of reminding me of all the bad things that had conspired in my first year of high school.

Hannah had texted me again along my walk.

“Rick,” she said, “What happened to you?”

“What do you mean?” I asked her.

“You… I don’t know, had a positive outlook, you had happiness. The sunshine, remember?” I didn’t understand where she was coming from, as she had known what happened within the past few months.

“I just can’t do all of that anymore, I don’t see how anyone is surprised by that.  I just can’t do that shit no more, you know? It was good, but now it’s time to face reality. You of all people should know that, Hannah.”

I didn’t wait for her response, I knew she knew what I meant, and I had no anxiety over it this time around. Instead, I had to let her go, if I knew I really loved her, and I had to know that her being happy made me happy. And in the end, that didn’t mean being with her. Because in the end, everything would turn out okay for me anyway. That was something I had to believe in order to learn the theory of good and bad times, stable and off the chain.

In the end, I had to do it someday. But until the end, I’ll remember her everyday.

THE END.