truth

I sit by the school I’m attending, listening to the laughter and joys of the
children nearby. I go to a park, recollecting memories of the times that I had
been "down in the dumps." The laughter of the children fills the air,
expressing happiness to a level that I hadn’t felt in a long time. Too long.
It’s been about one year since we first met, and that year that had been given
some air of lightness, a certain aura of comfort. I still try to keep that lightness,
that comfort around me, but it’s been much harder since then.

The laughter of children rings out into the air once more.

I had always kept to myself. It was easier that way. I didn’t have to rely
on anyone to do anything for me. I would do it myself. I stood alone, because
a wise man doesn’t need anyone to think with him; I didn’t need anyone to feel
with me. Nobody really cared for me, not really anyway. Maybe a "Are you
okay?" or "Ya need anything?" here and there, but nothing to
any real meaning. It started with just a simple "Hello" or "Hi",
maybe sometimes saying "Hey," and then grew into something else, something
I had never tried before, something out of my daily routine.

Sometimes, I would be sitting in the shade of the curb, staring off into space,
or so it might seem from the outside. During those times, I would be contemplating
my next story idea. She would be sitting on the other side of the curb, sometimes,
and invite a seat next to her, to "share in the warmth of the sunlight."
I would complain that I was too tanned to stay in the sun for long, without
increasing the damage of my already damaged skin. "How else do you get
your vitamin D?" she would say. I would settle for that. So we would sit
there, next to each other in the sunlight, not saying anything, as if we could
mentally understand each other. Sometimes, she would come over to the shaded
area.

We began to speak more often, even learning each others’ names. Now, not only
would we speak on the curb, but in the school hallways, while on the road to
class, in class, or sitting down in the hallways. I began to open up more and
more often.

The first time that happened, for the first time in my life, I cried that night.

She would say that I was always looking at something blankly, as if I were
staring off into my own little world. She would joke that that stare could make
or break lives. She would say that I looked sad often, too often.

And now she’s gone. I won’t divulge how or why, but the simple fact is that
she’s gone.

You taught me that life is important and to make the most of it. You taught
me to look to the future, and to sit on the bright side, in the sun.

I stand up and cross the street.