Soren

End of Part Six

2010-01-10T15:21:00.000-08:00

Thursday, November 21.
I asked Peter if he visited Harry in the graveyard ever, to say good bye.
He told me that he used to go almost every day the summer after his death, but now he only goes every couple of weeks or so. Peter also said that he doesn’t go to say good bye, he goes to say hello.
I think that it’d be better if I went to say hello to Harry, rather than if I went to say good bye. Saying hi is a lot easier than saying bye.

Friday, November 22.
I don’t know why, but I’ve really been missing Harry. There’s too much stuff I want to tell him, even though I never told him anything even when he was alive. I want to tell him about Peter and about Maya Rose and about creative writing and going to the bookstore. I want to tell him about Gene Wilder and Eloise and watching people pray. Those are the types of things that Harry should know, and I know that I wouldn’t get a response or anything, but I’d just want him to know.
I think I’ll go visit Harry tomorrow.

Saturday, November 23.
I remembered perfectly where Harry’s grave was, even though I’d only gone twice. I just sat down on the freezing cold ground and told him about everything in my life until my voice got suffocated by my tears and I started choking on the sadness. I told him about Blink 182 and about the polar bears and Peter’s rain boots. I told him about becoming a vegetarian and about The Beatles, even though I knew he’d disapprove of both. I told him about everything that came to my mind until I went numb from pain and then I just numbed up and leaned against his grave. I stared into space and felt nothing, just blank, empty sadness. I think I fell asleep eventually, because I feel like I dreamed that Harry had his warm arms wrapped around me and I was perfect. But when I came to, I was just alone in the darkness of night, shivering against my brother’s cold headstone. And I could only wonder why I came, because as I walked away from his grave, I had to say good bye to Harry anyway.

Monday, November 25.
I didn’t feel like going to school today. I told my mum I was sick, but truthfully I just wanted to curl up on the couch in my pajamas and watch movies. Today is just one of those days when school doesn’t even feel like an option.
My mother made me hot chocolate and I watched Barney with Maya Rose who rolled around on the floor playing with toys and handing me books to read to her. She’s growing hair and eyebrows now. She’s a perfect little sister, she really is.
It’s nice to sit at home with my mother and sister and feel like family again. It was one of the best days I’ve had in a while, because I haven’t felt this warm and friendly inside for a long time. Sometimes you forget how much you miss a certain feeling, after it’s been absent from your emotions for so long.

Tuesday, November 26.
It’s snowing for the first time yet this season! I’ve always liked the snow. Harry and I used to build snowmen and go sledding and make snow angels this time of year. We both loved the snow. I really like the hot chocolate part too, with all of the marshmallows. My father dressed Maya Rose up in her one piece snow suit and brought her outside to see the snow. She really loves it and she looks so pretty with the snowflakes falling on her long eyelashes and making her dark eyes sparkle.
I really hope that there’s snow in heaven. I like to imagine Harry laughing and playing in the snow, making snow angels and having snow ball fights. That’s how I’d like to think of Harry right now.

Thursday, November 28.
I’ve never really liked Thanksgiving. I mean, I like the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade and the cranberry sauce, but other than that it doesn’t really interest me. It’s a lonely holiday. I’m not even sure why. There’s just something very empty and alone about it.
I used to hang out with Harry during Thanksgiving. I don’t have a large extended family and we were always the only kids. Since there’s no candy to eat and no new presents to play with, there’s not much to do in between meals. Unless, of course, you want to listen to a bunch of middle aged family members talk politics. But without Harry, I just sit with my family and listen to them complain about the economy and their jobs. It’s really depressing. It honestly is. I couldn’t even get up and watch a movie because I was too exhausted and too sad about Thanksgivings past to move.

Friday, November 29.
I just remembered the other good thing about Thanksgiving, besides the parade and cranberry sauce. It’s taking the Christmas decorations out the day after! It’s snowing a little bit, so I’ve been inside going through boxes of twinkle lights, reindeer stuffed animals, Christmas CDs, and Santa statues. It really is great, even though it’s what Harry and I used to do together. But my parents are both home and Maya Rose is home, so I’m decorating with them and it’s not so lonely.

Saturday, November 30.
Today Peter asked me if I went to say hi to Harry the other day, like I told him I might. I just nodded. I don’t know why he brought it up, but I didn’t want him to. I didn’t want to think about Harry and his grave right now. I think Peter realized this, but he kept pushing me anyways. He asked me about what I told Harry, and I told him some of things I let Harry know, though honestly I wanted to keep most of them to myself. They were secrets between just Harry and me, now. A lump in my throat was forming and I was choking on each sentence that managed its way out of my mouth. I didn’t really want to remember that day when it hurt so badly, because it would just bring that hurt back to the surface. My eyes were burning from the tears that were forming and I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to say another thing without sobbing. But Peter kept questioning me about my visit to Harry, and I think I know why. Eventually I told him, “I don’t really want to talk about Harry anymore.” And it was the truth.
Peter just look at me real thoughtfully and brushed lightly at my cheek. I could feel his deep blue eyes staring into mine, but I looked at the floor because I didn’t want him to see my eyes watering. I was determined to keep the tears from falling this time.
“It’s always okay to cry,” Peter whispered, still stroking my cheek. And I was tired of battling with my tears and I was suffocating from keeping everything locked in, and so I cried. And Peter just wiped away my tears with his soft fingers. And, like so many other things in life, Peter was right about one more: It’s always okay to cry.

update soon, in the meantime

2010-01-02T23:47:00.000-08:00

Hello friends,

I'm sorry for the lack of updates. Late November/early-mid December was spent revising for finals. Then the holidays came. But I am back and in full steam - my insomnia proves that!

I've been editing some old bits of the story, improving. There's one bit that I changed quite a bit - Peter's story in part three. I think I was feeling very emotional and very dramatic when I first wrote it, as it sounded like a soap opera or a Nicholas Sparks novel. So click here to read August 10th, the proper version.

Thanks very much, I hope people will remember this and continue to read, even though it's been almost a month since I've updated. It's almost 2 in the morning, I went to bed two hours ago but insomnia and some disturbing sounds off in the distance (aka from my neighbours') have kept me wide awake. Any tips on falling asleep?

Thanks guys,
xx Chloe

Part Six Begins, thanks for all the lovely feedback

2009-11-14T15:24:00.001-08:00

Thursday, October 31.
I went trick or treating with Peter and some of his friends tonight. Some people think that you’re too old to trick or treat once when you’re in high school, but I don’t see what the problem is, honestly. Why do people always want kids to grow up so fast?
We ran into Alison and Andrew and some of their friends, so Peter and I split off with them. Peter really does try to be friends with Alison and Andrew, because he knows that they’re my friends…but Alison and Andrew are still really mean to him. Sometimes I doubt their friendship, but then I think about how long I’ve known them and all the memories I have, and it’s just plain obvious how good of friends we are.
After trick or treating we went back to Andrew’s house and watched Young Frankenstein. That movie is really just hilarious and I think you should watch it if you haven't already. I’ve always quite liked Gene Wilder. I really have.

Saturday, November 2.
Today Peter came to pick me up at my house. We were going to go see a movie. He went to sit with Maya Rose in the kitchen while I brushed my teeth. He likes to talk to Maya Rose about the weather and other things she knows nothing about. It’s funny to watch.
When I came back down, they were both sitting there looking up at the ceiling, moving their heads all over the place but in unison with each other. I looked up and tried to move with them, but I had no idea what they were doing. So I cleared my throat rather loudly and Peter looked over at me. Maya Rose kept looking all over above her head, though.
“There’s a fly riding on an invisible roller coaster around your kitchen,” he said beaming at me.
I went over and sat next to Maya Rose. I could hear the fly buzzing all over, and I just smiled and was happy that I had a little sister and a good friend.

Sunday, November 3.
Sometimes I watch people when they pray. I don’t think you’re supposed to, but it’s interesting. I don’t know the rules to praying, I don’t know how to pray. So I watch others pray, while I’m praying.

Wednesday, November 6.
I wonder if polar bears are happy in the zoos…Or if they’d rather be out in the arctic, going extinct with the others.

Friday, November 8.
I got my essay back in creative writing, the one I was writing about myself and my family. The teacher wants me to see the school guidance counselor now. I think that maybe it would be beneficial for you to read my paper, because then you can have your own opinion and experience something before judging it. But you can read that later, because I’m not sure if I’m quite ready to explain it yet.

Saturday, November 9.
I’m thinking about the first day that Peter and I met. It was at the coffee shop, wasn’t it? Sometimes I try really hard to remember him from when he was friends with Harry. Just from a birthday or anything. Peter said they’d been friends since Kindergarten. It’s weird that I cannot remember him. I can’t remember much about Harry, I honestly can’t. The feeling of pain can really block out a lot of the past, even the parts you want to remember.

Sunday, November 10.
I guess you can read my essay now. The one that I wrote about myself and my family. The one that made my teacher worried enough to want me to see the guidance counselor. I guess sometimes things are better to just keep to yourself.

There are five people in my family, despite what people say. There’s my mother and my father, my baby sister, my brother, even if he doesn’t live on this earth anymore, and there is me. Each one of them is different and each one of them makes me feel different things. My father is tough but nice and always away on business. My mother is the softest person on earth who always tries to do the perfect thing. I haven’t met my little sister Maya Rose yet, but I’m sure she’s the most angelic little baby. Then there’s Harry. Harry is unlike any person you could ever meet and I learn more stuff about him everyday. And lastly there’s me, a person who lives a contradictory existence.
My father is the type of person who always wanted the perfect son to play baseball with, to teach his hobbies to, and to show off to his work colleagues at all of his fancy dinner parties. I don’t even know my father that well. The only things I learn from him are from his vibes, which are stiff and empty, lonely and lost. We used to be close and I used to know him quite well. But people change over time and people separate over time. And that’s just what happened. The one definite thing I can say about my father is this; my father has a balaclava. Sometimes he wears it just to annoy me. I think that this reveals a lot about my father, who usually is wearing a suit and traveling across the world for business. He didn’t used to travel a lot, when he had the perfect family. A family he could bring to picnics and take to the lake. A family who would build snowmen with him in the winter, a family that could make him laugh. I used to know a lot about my father, but people change as time goes on and I don’t know a lot about him anymore.
My brother was the perfect son. Harry died last year some night on some day in some month. It’s funny because he had so much potential and so much meaning to his life, and it’s weird that God would take my brother when there were so many other people out on that road that he could have taken up to heaven. Harry could make everyone laugh. He had the most infectious smile you could ever come upon. The kind that, even from a photo, reaches up to you and makes you feel warm. Harry had the best anecdotes and the nicest friends. He was popular and loved my parents and they loved him back. He loved nearly everyone he’d ever met and he made a good job of letting everyone know so. Sometimes I wish I could’ve been blessed with some knowledge of his love, and I know that it must have been down there somewhere, but it was hard to reach and is now even more difficult to remember. My brother was everyone’s favourite person in the world and sometimes I wonder why it couldn’t have been me who died. My brother left me with unintended guilt and too large of shoes to fill when he died that one night on that one day in that one month.
My mother has one of the softest, warmest personalities. She radiates niceness and always knows the perfect thing to do in every situation. She is good with manipulating the emotions of people with food and laughter and conversations. My mother has an obsession with paint colours named after food. She loves the summer because it reminds her of my brother’s smile and because he could always make her laugh. My mother has the most beautiful laugh in the world and it’s one of those things that I’ll always miss hearing.
I haven’t met my little sister yet, but her name is Maya Rose and I think that’s beautiful already. My sister has been lonely and unwanted her whole life, but once she comes to live with my family I hope that she will no longer live a lonely existence. My sister is the only thing missing from a perfect family, and I look forward to her bringing us all back together again so I can hear my mother’s laugh and get to know my father again.
Lastly there is me, Soren. I don’t know how to describe myself because I don’t know that much about myself. My friend calls me morbid, but also innocent, which to me is very contradictory. So I guess I am an oxymoron, which I don’t mind being. Sometimes I think too much and sometimes I cry too much, but in the end I’m still just Soren and I always will be.
My family is still growing and still coming together. We’ve been through too much for such a small family, but we still always make it through the end of the day and that’s the best thing a family can do.

I don’t know if you can see why my teacher wants me to see the guidance counselor now, but I honestly was only trying to be truthful. I wrote down what I thought, even if it was emotional and even if it hurt to write those things down. I wish I hadn’t turned it in because now I have to see the counselor this Tuesday.

Tuesday, November 12.
I ditched the meeting with the guidance counselor today, I honestly did. When I told Peter about how I had a meeting, he got very frustrated. When he’s frustrated he always gets this harsh look on his face and his eyes get hard…actually, his entire face stiffens. Peter looks like he’s made of ice when he makes that face. He looks quite beautiful like that. He really does. Anyways, he told me that he used to have to see the guidance counselor and advised me not to go. We ditched the rest of school and went to the used bookstore. The used bookstore is the type of place Peter would bring anyone when ditching school. It’s the perfect place to go. It really is.

Wednesday, November 13.
Unfortunately the counselor called my house when I didn’t show up. I erased the message before either of my parents heard it, though. I wouldn’t want them to know that I had to see the counselor. It’s just one of those things that you don’t want your parents to know.

Friday, November 15.
I have another creative writing assignment due on Monday. I have to write about a photographer in a fancy French restaurant late at night who feels like giving up, because those are the cards I just happened to draw. Each card had different things on it, like characters and settings and emotions.
Anyways, I wrote my story and I think I like it. I named the characters Bryton and Maps. I don’t know why, I just like original names. When Peter read the story he laughed at their names and reminded me how weird I was. But he said it in a nice way, because Peter wouldn’t ever purposefully hurt me. Besides, there’s usually nothing wrong with being weird. Anyways, I hope I do well on this assignment and the teacher doesn’t ask me to go see the guidance counselor. I’m glad this story doesn’t have to be about me, because sometimes writing about yourself ends up being worse than you could ever imagine.

Monday, November 18.
The school found out that Peter and I ditched the end of school the other day when he didn’t want me to go to my meeting. We have detention now, but that is all. I think an afternoon of detention is worth it for spending an afternoon at the bookstore with Peter. It really is.

Tuesday, November 19.
I’ve been thinking about visiting Harry’s grave recently. I’d never really wanted to go before, but sometimes I just want to have the opportunity to say good bye, alone. I think I’d want to go before it gets cold and frosty out, because those kinds of things can really distract you from your good byes. Plus, I’d be afraid Harry couldn’t hear me with Jack Frost making all of his racket, painting the graveyard in snow. It’s weird to think of saying good bye to your brother in a graveyard, when you still expect to see him when you go home.

End of Part Five

2009-10-20T19:41:00.000-07:00

I know that I usually do each part in 3 posts. I just wanted to get the rest of part five out of me. I think that this is one of by favourite bits in the story. By the way, if you've been reading this, I always appreciate knowing. I like to read your comments and to know that the world is listening. Ask questions, criticize, appreciate, laugh, relate, stop and think about everything going on around you. And now, without further hesitation, part five...

Thursday, October 1.
Maya Rose isn’t exactly the cutest little baby ever. I know you’re not supposed to care about those kinds of things because they’re innocent little babies who are a gift from God. But I expected her to be different. They don’t take good care of the babies in the orphanages in China and so she’s thin and has no hair. Her skin is waxy and she can still only drink formula.
My father is taking this week off of work for the first time since Harry died (actually, after Harry died he put in for more hours). My mother spends her time in Maya Rose’s key lime pie room, singing and cooing. The house is warm and happy again and my parents aren’t mad and there’s a feeling of family that has been absent for so long. I know that I’ll be able to love Maya Rose like I tried so hard to love Harry, but this time I know it will be easier because I know what it feels like to have regret. Maya Rose is a fresh start for me and I love her for that already.

Friday, October 2.
Sometimes I look at photos of people smiling and I wonder why that person is smiling. Or I’ll see a photo of myself where I’m smiling and I’ll think to myself “Soren, why are you smiling?” I can never remember why, I really can’t.
A few days ago I was reading something about Yoko Ono, who was married to one of The Beatles. The interviewer asked her about smiling in photos and I don’t remember the exact quote, but she said she thought it was foolish and undignified to smile in photos. I don’t know if I agree with her, but I know that not smiling in photos would save me from a lot of confusion and wonder.
I’ve been listening to Yoko Ono’s music, lately.

Monday, October 5.
We’ve been reading The Catcher in the Rye for school. I was talking with Alison about it and I told her how much I related to Holden Caulfield, the main character.
“A lot of psycho murderer-stalkers identified with that book too,” was all that she said.
And she was right, too. I looked it up online and a lot of people were carrying around the book when they murdered people or were stalking someone. Mark David Chapman, the man who assassinated John Lennon, was carrying around the book, and that makes me concerned.
I wish that Alison had never pointed this out to me.

Tuesday, October 6.
Peter finally returned to school today. He just told me that he’d been sick and couldn’t talk. He told me he was sorry for not calling. He gave me a hug and didn’t mention the Katie/faggot incident. I didn’t either. I also decided not to tell Peter about visiting his house and talking to his brother.

Thursday, October 8.
Peter has been very tired lately. I can tell because of how he acts and how he moves and how he reacts. He moves very slow and talks very quiet. He always has bags under his eyes and reacts to everything very slowly. He reminds me of a fish who jumped out of its tank and is now flapping around, drying out, looking for water.
“I just keep hitting the snooze button on my alarm,” he told me today when he was late for school. He looked like he’d just woken up. He probably had. We were in the bathroom at school. I sat on the bench as he fixed his hair and tried to tidy himself up for class. He said that he just woke up, put on a pair of jeans, and left the house because he was so late. I felt bad for him.
“Sometimes I wonder who invented the snooze button,” I said as I watched him. It was truly what I was wondering at that moment. It really was. Peter turned around and smiled at me, very slowly. He walked over to me (in only two steps – he has very long legs) and tousled my hair. I felt very young at that moment.
“Sometimes I wonder what goes on in your head,” he said as he turned back to the sink and finished patting down his hair. He really does have quite scruffy hair when he doesn’t brush it in the morning.
But the thing was, I honestly was wondering who invented the snooze button on alarms.

Saturday, October 10.
I forgot to mention that we were having a party today, so all our friends could welcome Maya Rose. We had it outside because it was still nice out and all of our friends and family came. Even Andrew and Alison stopped by to say hello to Maya Rose. Peter was there for a long time, to keep me company. I think that he tries not to like Maya Rose too much, but she’s pretty easy to fall for. I think he tries not to like her because he wishes Harry could be there instead of him, to meet his sister. But I don’t know, sometimes he’s hard to read.
But it was fun, and everyone liked Maya Rose and brought her presents. I didn’t even know we had that much family but a lot of people dropped by and ate and talked and were happy for us for the first time in a long time. It was a nice change for people to be congratulating us. It used to be that everyone was sorry for us because we lost Harry and everyone pitied our broken family.
I think that Maya Rose is good for our entire extended family, too. We’ve lost a lot of people over the years – grandmothers, cousins, uncles, Harry. A family can only pick itself up and heal so many times. After Harry, everyone gave up and let the wounds stay open, bleeding. I hope that Maya Rose can lift us all back up again and let my family heal.

Sunday, October 11.
Sometimes I go to church, like I did today. I really enjoy going and listening to the songs being sung and listening to the pastors give sermons and read from the bible. I really do. I go alone because church is where you can be alone without really feeling alone.
We always pray as a congregation for different things, but we always pray for members of the church who are very sick. None of the names ever register with me, except for this one: Eloise. I just always remember that name among all the others, because I’ve been hearing it for as long as I can remember. I don’t know who Eloise is, but I think about her a lot. I wonder what she’s sick with, how old she is. Is Eloise married? What kind of life did she live? I always think about Eloise and I always like hearing her name during prayer. It means that she’s still alive and God is still keeping her with us and I like that. I always listen for Eloise’s name.

Tuesday, October 13.
Peter and I are in chemistry together this semester. We were lab partners today and I was lighting the burner. I don’t really like flames or fire very much because I’m always afraid that I will get burned, I really am. The chemistry teacher doesn’t really like me and so of course she was criticizing me for being afraid to light the burner.
“Don’t be shy,” she said when I was trying to work the lighter.
“Just let your feelings roll on by,” Peter echoed. I’m not sure if the chemistry teacher got this, but Peter was quoting a Cat Steven’s song. I really don’t think she got it because I started laughing like crazy while trying to light the burner and she just gave Peter a horrible look.
Chemistry isn’t a time for joking, especially not when playing with fire.

Thursday, October 15.
My parents went to put flowers by Harry’s grave today. They didn’t take Maya Rose along and they didn’t ask if I wanted to come. I don’t think I would’ve anyways. I only went once, right after Harry died and it was still sinking in. But now I think it’s sunk in too far and going to see his grave would just rip it out into the open and I’d have to do all that healing all over again.
I have to babysit Maya Rose, anyways.

Friday, October 16.
Peter and I are having a movie night, tonight. He’s agreed to watch my favourite French Indies with me. I think Peter will like them, I honestly do. He’s just the French Indie type of guy, I guess.

Sunday, October 18.
I meant to go to church today, I really did, but I got up too late. These kind of things make you feel guilty….things like missing church.
I’ve decided to paint all day. Sometimes you just wake up and all you want to do is paint. I’ve found a whole bunch of old water colours and acrylics in a closet. I don’t know what I want to paint, but these kinds of things usually just come to you once when you sit down with all the paint and brushes and paper and you just stare at all the colours.

Tuesday, October 20.
Today I read an article about the tallest man in the world. He is 8 foot 1 inch, which is really quite tall! They interviewed him in the article, and he said that he would like to find a girl and get married. Actually, he said that he would just like to find a girlfriend, since he’s never had one because he usually scares all the girls away with his height. I felt really bad for him because honestly, even if you could say you were the tallest man in the world, it would still suck to be 8 feet tall without a girlfriend.
Part of me hoped that I would never end up like this guy. Not the tall part, I mean – there’s no hope of that happening. But the loneliness thing. I hope that I will have had even just one girlfriend by the time I’m 39, which is how old he is. I hope that maybe I’m even married by the time I’m 39. I really wouldn’t mind that. I wouldn’t mind being a dad and driving to California with my kids and my wife, walking on the beach wearing cargo shorts and flip flops. I think that would be quite nice, actually. I hope I’m never as lonely as the world’s tallest man.

Friday, October 23.
In the news today there was a short blurb about an elderly woman whose husband, while sleeping, rolled over on top of her and died. She lied under her dead, decaying husband for three days until a mailman heard her calling out for help.
I thought about the story for a long time and showed it to everyone who I thought would care. Peter just laughed. Sometimes he can be like that. My mother just got sad. I really hope that something like that never happens to me.

Friday, October 25.
I figure it might be worth it to mention Maya Rose, since I never do. I don’t want to come off as not liking her or something – because I really do like her, honest. She’s very cute and tiny. Maya Rose wears soft little onesies with ducks and other animals on them. It’s pretty easy to love her. She and I watch TV together in the morning and in the evening before she goes to bed, I dance around the living room with her in my arms. I think she’ll be a very good dancer some day. I think she will be a ballerina or maybe just the next Ginger Rogers.

Wednesday, October 30.
I feel like sometimes I just have nothing to say and life goes too fast to be able to keep on top of it. I don’t write fast enough to keep up with the speed of life. Sometimes things just need to slow down.

P.S. I think I might have a title :)

Part Five Begins

2009-10-11T14:49:00.000-07:00

Monday, September 21.
My parents left for China today. My aunt was supposed to be staying with me, but something came up at the last minute and she can’t, so I’m just alone now.
My parents were angry when they found out I was suspended and they think it was stupid of me to react like that. I tried to explain it to them but I guess no one will ever really understand.
That’s part of the reason that I’m staying back home alone – they would’ve forced me to go stay at Peter’s except for some reason they’re partially blaming him for my suspension, which makes me extremely upset because that’s so unfair to Peter. They would force me to stay with Andrew except since I’m suspended I cannot go to school and it’d be rude for me to just hang out at his house all day.
My parents were sort of pissed at me when they left. I think they think I’m acting out because of Maya Rose, but I’m not. It just happened and it was just coincidental. I’m not angry that they’re getting another child and I’m getting another sibling. I’m just angry that half the school thinks Peter is gay and that there is something wrong with that.
Anyways, I guess my punishment is loneliness. For Harry, this type of punishment would’ve worked, but for me it is just life and I feel like I’m no longer effected by the feeling of loneliness. But my parents were very strict about when I had to be home and how often I could go out. They said they would call everyday to see how I was. They also said I wasn’t allowed to have friends over. They said “friends” even though I know and they know that I only have one real friend. I guess that sometimes I don’t realize how much my parents wish I was Harry.

Thursday, September 24.
I think that I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be lonely. You know that feeling when everything seems so foreign to you – my whole house seems unwelcoming and cold. Even my custard coloured walls won’t do anything for me. The only place in my house where I don’t feel alone is in Harry’s room. I don’t remember the last time anyone was in his room and I’m not sure if my parents would want me in it. Most of the time that I’m in his room, I just sit on the floor looking around at all the posters and all the things that were left just as they were before he died. That really is all I do. We never cleaned out his room. I think it was because everyone was hoping he would still come back. Or maybe they were just thinking that it’d be more like home if Harry’s room was still there. But now that I sometimes miss Harry and now that I don’t remember him so much, I’m glad that his room is there and that it is comforting me.

Friday, September 25.
Peter isn’t answering his phone. Andrew called to talk because I think he knows that I get lonely. I’ve known Andrew since 6th grade. We considered each other best friends, but after Harry died and everything changed, Andrew and I didn’t really talk or hang out. I’m glad he called though. I’m glad I made some sort of contact with the outside world. Anyways, he said that Peter hadn’t been at school this week. He also said that Katie had broken her arm.

Monday, September 28.
I’m back at school, though Peter isn’t. He still isn’t answering his phone and no one knows where he is. Since I’m now free, I’m going over to his house after school. I sit with Andrew and Alison at lunch, and all of their friends, too. Their friends don’t like me because I pushed Katie and they liked Katie, and because they think Peter is a fag, too. None of them said this to me, but it’s just one of those things that you know.

Tuesday, September 29.
Peter’s brother answered the door yesterday when I went after school. I think it was Charlie who answered the door. Peter and his brother look nothing alike. I’d never met any of Peter’s family and I think I was expecting them all to have icy blue eyes. His brother had dull brown eyes and greasy brown hair that flopped around in front of his glasses. I didn’t like him and he didn’t like me because he told me Peter was just sick and it wasn’t a big deal. After that he closed the door before I could say anything else, so I just went home and waited for my parents to come back with Maya Rose. They get back tomorrow. They called when I was over at Peter’s and left me a message. They’re still angry, but now that they have Maya Rose and are parents again, they’re happier.

End of Part Four

2009-09-17T18:53:00.000-07:00

Sunday, September 13.
When I cannot sleep I like to lay upside down, with my feet on the pillows, and stare up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling. I don’t know if they even make those anymore and I really do not remember putting them up there. But they’ve been on my ceiling forever, always glowing for me as I lay awake and fading as I drift into unconsciousness.
One day I would like to have a ballroom, with huge windows and a really high ceiling. And I would stick those glow-in-the-dark stars all over the ceiling. Or have someone else do it for me, because I’m not sure about heights. But they would be there and at night my girl and I could get all dressed up and dance around the ballroom with those stars shining down on us.
I might be dreaming about this because I just watched The Beauty and the Beast. But I really do think it’s a wonderful idea and I think I would really like it to be this way someday.

Wednesday, September 16.
Apparently Peter told Angela he couldn’t bring her to homecoming because he wasn’t going. He thinks it would be boring, and he’s probably right. Which is why I’m not going either. Peter wants to have a movie night that night, anyways. He told me that he’d rather spend the evening with me than the ever-intense Angela, so I guess that’s good. He asked if I wanted to go to homecoming with him, but I said no. It costs a lot of money and I’d rather if it was just Peter and I together, not Peter and I and the whole school. He seemed pleased with this.
Peter has been very quiet since Friday. Every time I look at him he seems to be off thinking about something. Peter thinks to himself a lot, but he just seems different lately. And when I ask him if anything’s wrong, he just gives me his sad smile and says, “Yes Soren, something is always wrong, but there’s not anything you or I can do about it.”
What is it with people always thinking that there’s never anything they can do about things?

Friday, September 18.
I got suspended from school today.
In the hallway between classes, a senior named Katie yelled down the hall at Peter. She yelled profanity, and it went like this, “Hey Peter, you faggot, suck any guy’s cock lately?” Everyone turned to Peter and laughed and he just stood there, exposed, defenseless, staring. He looked a little shocked at first, but then Peter’s face began to melt, taking his beautiful blue eyes with the sadness. I don’t think I’ve ever felt angrier in my life. I really don’t.
So I ran at Katie, pushing her into her locker. Then I grabbed a chunk of her hair and dragged her over to the top of the stairwell and I pushed her down a flight of stairs.
Now I’m suspended.
When I got home I just went up to my custard-colored room and cried. I didn’t cry because of what Katie said. I didn’t cry because I had pushed a girl down a flight of stairs. I didn’t cry because everyone laughed at what she’d yelled at Peter. I didn’t cry because of what punishment my parents were going to give me. I cried because seeing Peter’s face so hurt like that had ripped a giant hole in my heart and crying seemed like the only way to stop the bleeding.
After school, Peter came over. He came up to my room and curled up on my bed, wrapping his arms around me. And he just let me cry and I just let him hold me and I think he may have cried, too, but my heart was bleeding too hard to tell.

Saturday, September 19.
Sometimes I like to pretend. I like to pretend that everything is alright. I like to pretend that haters are gone and the world is filled with harmony and lullabies. I don’t pretend that everyone is perfect and everyone is happy. I just pretend that everything will be alright in the end and no one bothers over bad words or differences or even war. Sometimes I pretend that I’ll just wake up tomorrow and it’ll be like that, like there’s just a bandage for the world and all of its people that makes everything fine. Sometimes I like to pretend that it’s all just that easy. But usually I get the air knocked out of me by reality and I realize that no matter how much I pretend and how much I daydream, the earth has been around for billions of years. And through those billions of years, there’s always been the same hate, the same war, the same differences and no pretending will ever cover that up.

Middle of Part 4

2009-09-11T19:40:00.000-07:00

Sunday, September 6.
I’d forgotten how depressing weekends were. Yesterday was Saturday, when you try to have all the fun you can. It goes by so fast. And today is Sunday, which is for homework and you’re back to school on Monday. Life gets very repetitive during the school year.
Yesterday, I went and bought Reed a plant for his fish tank. He likes hiding behind the plant. We play peek-a-boo while I’m doing homework.

Monday, September 7.
I got my creative writing assignment handed back to me today with some “notes” on it by the teacher.
For what I’d written about my father, she had scribbled “relevancy?” next to it. For what I’d written about my mother she’d underlined “paint colors” and put an obnoxiously large question mark over it. There was something silent about the way she’d skipped over my phrase about my brother and I was sure I knew why. She underlined the bit about Maya Rose when I’d said I’d never met her before. There was a question mark there, too.
At the end of the entire thing she had written “Your descriptions are vague and unrelated, revealing little about who your family members – and you – truly are.”
I don’t really understand that. I wanted to walk up to her and yell. I wanted to rip my paper up, scream in her face, and stomp out of the room. But I didn’t, I just put my graffitied paper in my binder. This was creative writing where you were supposed to be creative and expressive in how you write. That was what I was doing and all I got was criticism. If she didn’t want them to be vague, maybe she should’ve given us more than a sentence or two for each person.
This is oddly typical of a high school teacher. It really is.

Tuesday, September 8.
People still notice me at school a lot. It was like that last year too, when I was a freshman. They’d watch me and I know that all they could do was compare me to Harry and wonder how I felt and if I was stable. I thought that it wouldn’t happen anymore, but it still does. People still become silent when they move past me, giving me worried looks. Sometimes people give me a sympathetic smile and sometimes they just avoid eye contact all together. Harry was loved and they feel awkward not loving me.
I don’t mind though, because I have Peter. He walks with me to whatever classes he can and we always eat lunch together. Peter introduces me to his friends. Peter isn’t popular. In fact most people in school don’t like him. I don’t know why they don’t like him…maybe it’s because they’re scared of his eyes, like I used to be and like Andrew and Alison still are. (Sometimes Alison and Andrew sit with Peter and me at lunch, by the way.) Either way, most of the students act odd around Peter and some of them are even rude to him. Sometimes he gets called stupid names in the halls, but he doesn’t mind so I don’t mind either. He just smiles to himself as if it’s a joke.
I asked Peter if he minded getting called names, in case you were wondering, because I was a bit angry at first when people were being rude. But he just laughed and told me no, he didn’t have time to listen to what everyone was saying anyways. I felt a lot better after he told me this, so I no longer worry.

Thursday, September 10.
Today a girl sat next to me in Algebra II. I usually sit alone in that class and I don’t even mind, but today Angela sat next to me.
She looked me straight in the eye and said “Hello Soren, I’m Angela. I used to be friends with Harry.”
I must admit that I was stunned at first, because I didn’t expect anyone to be so direct about introducing themselves to me, and also because she knew my name. Angela has dark, perfect skin and brown eyes. There’s nothing special about her eyes; they’re just brown. But I could see why she was once friends with Harry – my brother seemed to collect attractive people for friends. It’s kind of materialistic, but that’s just how Harry was.
Anyways, I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded. She already knew my name, so what was I to tell her?
“You’re friends with Peter, right?” she asked almost immediately. There was something about her that I found very interesting. Angela was very direct. She talks very fast and with authority. I liked it for some reason, probably because no one ever talked to me like this, unless it was a teacher. I suppose the fact that she was talking to me as though if I was her student is something I should’ve been annoyed by or intimidated by, but I wasn’t. I just nodded at her again.
“I used to know Peter, from hanging out with Harry,” she went on briskly. “I sort of had a thing for him, you know?” She gave me a meaningful look, her brown eyes huge and round. I smiled briefly, because I’d never even thought about Peter having girlfriends before. Apparently she saw my reaction because she suddenly looked very startled and angry.
“He doesn’t have a girlfriend, does he?” she asked sharply. She seemed very angry by the idea. I shook my head no. She breathed out deeply and smiled to herself, closing her eyes. Angela is very intense, so I guess that was just her way of cooling herself down. She opened her eyes again and smiled very deeply at me.
“Good,” she said calmly. I liked her better this way. I noticed for the first time that during this whole conversation I was sitting with my legs under the table but she was sitting facing me. She turned so that her legs were under the table also, and flipped open her notebook. I guessed that that was the end of our conversation and I hadn’t even said anything.

Friday, September 11.
Peter wore bright yellow rain boots to school today. When I asked him about them, he just smiled, shrugged, and said that he liked them. Plus, as he put it, “the hot shot weatherman on channel 11 news said there was an 80% chance of rain today”. That made me laugh. Peter looked very good in his rain boots and he got a lot of attention for them; either people loved them or people thought they were tacky. Peter didn’t seem to mind either way, and that’s just another thing to love about Peter – he never cares about what people think about him. Sometimes I wish I could do that, and sometimes I pretend that I don’t care, but deep down it seems to matter.
At lunch he nearly bounced over to my locker and just stood there grinning hugely at me.
“What?” I asked him, laughing. He tends to make me laugh, even if he doesn’t say anything. He really does.
“So apparently you told someone that I was single,” he said gleefully, still smiling. “And now this certain someone expects me to ask her to homecoming.”
“Is it Angela?”
“Yeessss,” he said. I add the extra E’s and S’s because he made them stretch out for a long time. He seemed pleased, though.
“How do you know she wants you to take her to homecoming?” I asked.
“Well because this is high school and so things get around and also because she and I were talking today and she made it totally obvious. I’m not as thick as people think I am.”
“And I’m guessing you’re happy about this?” I asked. He shrugged, his smile disappearing immediately. He suddenly seemed very bored with the subject and distracted himself by rearranging the text books in my locker. Peter has a tendency for doing stuff like that.
When we were released from school at the end of the day, it was raining. Peter decided it’d be more fun to walk home than to take the bus, so he gave me his umbrella and danced ahead of me in his yellow rain boots. Its memories like those that I wish were endless.

la la la la la la

2009-08-28T16:09:00.000-07:00

Hey everyone,

I just wanted to say a thing or two. First off, thanks so much for reading & for all the wonderful feedback I've been receiving! Someone told me that their walls were painted "cookie dough" which I find absolutely delightful and it made me smile.

Also, I've received a few comments saying stuff about how it's a rip off of The Perks of Being a Wallflower and how I'm a "wanna-be writer." Haha, thanks, you made me smile, too. I'll admit I have read Perks but I cannot see very many similarities. Yes, it's in diary format...but so are many, many, many other books. Yes, it's a coming of age story, but so is Rebel Without a Cause, Ordinary People, or The Catcher in the Rye. Would you say that Soren's story is the exact same as Charlie's, Jim's, Conrad's or Holden's? No, they're not the same at all. Soren has yet to/never will drop acid, take part in a chickie run, or enter a psychiatric hospital. Also, I do not know how I am a "wanna-be writer." I'm a writer, period. It's not a profession, it's just a hobby & a way to get things off my chest.

Anyways, I just wanted to say thanks to everyone for the smiles. I hope you're enjoying reading what I've written & put so much heart into. If you're not enjoying it, then you don't have to read it. Feedback, both positive & negative, is always appreciated. Also, I've enabled annonymous comments. :)

xx chloe

Start of Part Four

2009-08-27T19:27:00.000-07:00

Saturday, August 29.
Last night I lay in bed and it was very dark in my room. The whole house was quiet and I was breathing and wrapped in my blankets. The door to my room suddenly opened halfway and I jumped and stared into the blackness of the opening, but nothing came. I closed my eyes and waited for sleep to take over, but nothing came. I was scared to open my eyes but I did at last. And I searched my pitch black room but nothing was there. But I was scared to close my eyes and I was scared to keep them open so I just lay there staring into the darkness.
And soon I saw the ghosts. Just like how I’d always seen them from years before, tall and thin, drifting slowly into my room, moving like liquid. My breathing caught up and I wondered who they were. Harry, my grandparents, people I never knew, all come here to watch me. I didn’t feel threatened but I was scared. I knew they wouldn’t hurt me but I was uncomfortable. I moved my hand slightly down my chest. The skin that my hand had been covering now felt exposed and cold. I lay frozen, not knowing what to do. I closed my eyes, expecting someone to come.
I think I expected Harry to come, like he used to when I saw ghosts and would scream for him in the middle of the night. I knew he wouldn’t come, but deep down I truly wanted him to. I opened my eyes in panic and looked around. I could still see the white shadows floating in the darkness. I began to panic and wanted to scream out for Harry, but I knew nothing good would come from that. Only worry for my parents. The light flashed on in the backyard and I jumped. Something was moving out there. Even though I knew it was just an animal, I pretended that it was Harry coming home late one night. And then I realized that I couldn’t see my ghosts anymore and I smiled because the light had saved me.
I’ve never been one to believe in angels – ghosts and vampires, sure – but for the first time in my life I felt like there was an angel there and I knew who my angel was. And so I fell asleep thinking about Harry.

Sunday, August 30.
There’s some political thing in town so people are protesting a lot. Protesting is interesting and when I’m older and taller and people notice me, maybe I’ll protest. But there’re also rioters. I think that the people are rioting as a form of protest, but I’m not sure why. My father says it’s because of the war but it still doesn’t make sense. The people are against war and the violence and chaos it causes…so they have to create their own violence and chaos by breaking windows and smashing police cars? Sometimes I think that people are just very confused.

Monday, August 31.
I was talking to Peter today while lying in my backyard. We talked about going back to school. He says he’s excited, and I pointed out that it is probably because he is a senior this year. But he laughed and told me he isn’t.
“I flunked last year,” he laughed. “I’m repeating junior year.”
I couldn’t believe that I hadn’t known this. I seriously couldn’t. But really, it made me happy. I’ll only have one year of high school without Peter, instead of two. I asked him how he flunked out.
“I never really felt like going…or doing the school work…or anything.” He found it quite funny, actually. But it’s really quite sad. I knew why he didn’t want to do the school work, and he did too.
“Last year, I got straight A’s,” I told him, “because I really just needed something to concentrate on, and school seemed like a good thing.”
He got serious and looked at me, giving me another one of his sad smiles. I get those smiles a lot.
“I was in and out of school a lot. I ditched for the most part. When I did go, the guidance counselor always wanted to talk to me. I got bored with everything. I didn’t really want to be anywhere or do anything.”
“I contemplated killing myself,” was all I said. And it was the truth. After Harry died, after school ended, and I just couldn’t take everything anymore. I wrote the note and had the plan but couldn’t find anything to overdose on and I couldn’t stand the idea of cutting. So I just put the note in my back pocket and told myself I’d be a better person this time tomorrow, next week, next month…next year. And I am. I’m okay now. I’m glad I couldn’t find anything to take.
Peter looked at me, shocked. It seemed very long ago that it happened, I thought, looking at the sky and into the heavens. And I was glad to be here on Earth.
“Why?” He asked at last.
“Same reason you had for not going to school.”
And Peter just understood, whether he wanted to or not.

Tuesday, September 1.
I start school tomorrow, something which I’m actually looking forward too. Summer tends to bore me because I don’t like swimming and sometimes the sun is just too bright. I went last minute back to school shopping at Target today. It was very busy and there were a lot of college kids there. I liked watching them all run around I tried to picture myself in a few years when I’d be going to college. I wondered if my roommate and I would go to Target to buy all the things we realized we forgot. But I couldn’t see myself in college, it didn’t seem like a place where I would fit it. Crowds and people tend to make me nervous so I just watched them all run around buying toilet paper and snack bars.
You know when you see a familiar face among all these unknown faces and you just can’t help but smile? Even if you cannot place who the person is, you just smile. I love when that happens. And the other person smiles because maybe you’re a familiar face for them, too. Among all these people there’re two people smiling simply because they finally see someone who they recognize from some happy past and you don’t feel quite so lost.

Thursday, September 3.
It doesn’t feel like we had a summer. I just feel like a freshman again. I guess I thought I would return to school and be all changed and completely different, but I still feel the same and look the same and I think people still see me the same way. But it’s only the second day.

Friday, September 4.
For creative writing today, we had to write a few sentences about each member of our family. Supposedly it will help us develop a longer essay about them later, but I don’t really want to write a whole paper about my family. It was hard to decide what to write that would sum up each person. The first question was “How would you best describe your father?” My father has a balaclava, I wrote. Sometimes he wears it just to annoy me. I skipped the question about my mother at first, but eventually went back and wrote, My mother manipulates the emotions of people around her by using paint colors and food. Writing about Harry was the worst, because it’s hard to remember him. My brother Harry fills me with unintended guilt, I wrote. I couldn’t think of anything more to say about him because what I’d written was the complete truth. Maya Rose was the easiest to say something about, maybe because I’ve never met her. My little sister is Maya Rose and even though I’ve never met her, I know she’s out there and has lived a lonely existence so far, but not anymore, I wrote, and I hoped that it would be true.
We also had to write a statement about ourselves. I stared at that question for so long, reading it and re-reading it over and over again; “How would you best describe yourself?” I was the last person in class to finish because I thought about this question for so long. There’s too much yet too little to describe about me, I wrote. People say I’m both morbid and innocent. I guess I am an oxymoron.

Close of Part Three

2009-08-27T18:43:00.000-07:00

Saturday, August 22.
It’s very interesting to watch old movies, or “films” as I think they used to be called. The ones from the ‘30s through the ‘50s where the leading ladies look like porcelain dolls and the men are impeccably dressed romantics. Nowadays the women looked like shiny, plastic Barbie dolls and the men are hopeless slobs who cannot keep a woman to save their life. It’s really horribly depressing. I really would’ve liked to live in the ‘40s or the ‘50s when I could wear suits everyday and charm women without a problem.

Sunday, August 23.
Sometimes Peter calls me morbid. He doesn’t mean it in a bad way, he really doesn’t, he just means it. But I think I can be morbid a lot of the time, too. But at the same time it’s simply me seeing things in an honest way. Peter thinks I have an obsession with the beauty of death. He always grins when he tells me this, and I grin, too. He grins because he knows that I know it’s true, I grin because I know he knows I know it’s true.
But I am morbid and I do have an obsession with the beauty of death. But I think I have more of an obsession with the beauty of the circle of life. I’m the type of person who understands that death happens and I’ve always been that way. When I was 5 and my grandmother died, I just understood. I’ve never related well with movies where the parents have to make up metaphors or stories about death in order for their kid to understand. And it’s probably because I’ve always understood that people come and people go and life always goes on no matter who goes and who comes and when they go and when they come.
But apparently there’s no word for what I am, so I am just morbid.

Wednesday, August 28.
I went to the pet store today to get a new plaything for Reed’s fish tank. I ended up getting a rainbow castle. It doesn’t match his red & gold scales, but I don’t care. I’d be pretty happy to get a rainbow castle, even if it didn’t match me.
When I go to the pet store I like to say hello to all the animals. I start with the rodents and watch the sleepy mice piled on top of each other. Then I say hello to the fat guinea pigs and the chinchillas. Next I go and watch the birds. They’re so delicate and little, and all different colours. I like that. After that come the fish and sea creatures. I love watching the frogs with their skinny little legs and soft bodies. And there are so many fish! You would never believe how many different kinds of fish there are and how different they all look. I love the huge, fat goldfish. Those are my favourite to watch. They’re such a beautiful gold, all over. Even the insides of their mouths are gold! Imagine having a gold tongue!

Thursday, August 27.
Sometimes I wish I had a time machine. Not so that I could go back and change anything about my life – because I wouldn’t do that – but so I could relive all the amazing things that have happened to me. I could go back to when I was young and when I would laugh. I would go back to when Harry and I would argue, and now I wouldn’t even be upset because I miss those times. I would go back to when my father never traveled and my mother wanted to bring my brother and me to the zoo everyday.
I’ve realized that sometimes you have to build your own time machine, though. And maybe it will never be perfect, but it’s enough to make you feel alive. I’ve been going back in time recently, to when I was 5 to when I was in 5th grade, to whenever I want.
Today I watched The Andy Griffith Show and was sucked back to when I was little. They’d play reruns on TV and I would watch it with my father and be happy because one of my favourite TV shows as a kid was also one of his favourites as a kid.
Then I listened to Blink 182 and remembered when Harry would blast them on the stereo. And he loved them and I loved them and he and I finally bonded over something. I turned the CD up really loud and let the lyrics and the noise take me back to before Harry died. And suddenly I was floating through each track and through each memory and I was at peace at last. And when the CD ended, I just started it back up again and I cried because I could finally remember a happy time with Harry and because I was finally at peace with my brother.

Middle of Part Three

2009-08-21T09:10:00.000-07:00

Thursday, August 6.
Every night Peter and I go to the movies or hang out at my house. It’s nice to have a friend again; someone to make me laugh or at least smile, someone to always listen to me talking about whatever I want. I think that I make Peter laugh a lot too, and that always makes me glad. I hope that he doesn’t think of me as a replacement for Harry, but I don’t think he does because Peter never seems sad around me like he does when someone mentions Harry. That’s been a sore point in our conversations, so I’ve quit bringing Harry up.
Before we say good bye, Peter always gives me a hug. Sometimes he messes with my hair, too. It’s the nicest thing, because I never get hugged by anyone but my parents. Peter’s very thoughtful and friendly like that, and it only makes me like him even more. I’ve been thinking about Peter a lot, and thinking about him makes my heart soar.

Friday, August 7.
My family has decided upon a name for my baby sister. We all got to talk about it, which made her feel more like mine, too. It was nice and very thoughtful of my parents because they listened to everything I had to say. The name we decided on is Maya Rose. I think it’s one of the most beautiful names in the world and it has no lonely letters. I wouldn’t want my sister to have a lonely name like me or my brother.
My parents are going to China to adopt Maya Rose in mid-September.

Sunday, August 9.
French cinema is so unique. Everything is free and open. It seems like the directors just do whatever they want and don’t care what others think. French actors are much better than American ones because they’ll do anything, even if it’s completely ridiculous or embarrassing and even if they’re not getting paid that much to do it. And I bet that they don’t have movie critics in France, because everyone accepts art for what it is and everyone accepts a story because of what it means for the writer to get it out in the open. No one cares if people are walking around completely naked. No one cares if the camera is upside down or if the clips are moving by too fast to see what’s going on. No one is offended if there’s bad language in the film or if they smoke a hundred cigarettes in a day and have sex with five women even though the character is gay. No one cares because it’s art, it’s a story, it’s emotion, and now it’s all free.
But Americans are selfish. They’re selfish about the storyline and the acting and the filming. Production companies rule the overall feeling and outcome of the film. Critics rule the film’s destiny for popularity and potential. Americans aren’t open minded enough to deal with bad language or too much nudity. They can’t follow a vague or dreamy storyline. Americans need action and suspense, humour and a climax. They don’t let the writer and director get out the emotions and feelings that they need to get out because they criticize and leave. Americans judge too much and that’s the problem with them.
I don’t know what I will be when I grow up, but if I decide to be a movie director I think I will go to France.

Monday, August 10.
Today Peter and I were lying in the grass in a park, soaking up the sun because it’s been rather cool out lately. I was thinking about Peter and how I’d never been to his house and I’d never seen his family. I was also thinking about how he never mentioned his family, which I found rather odd. So I asked him about his mother and his father and whether or not he had any siblings.
“Ah, my family is very complicated,” he said smiling. “I don’t talk about them a lot, I know, but we’re very close.”
I just nodded and waited for him to continue.
And Peter started to tell me about how his father is an ex-alcoholic but he’s been sober for two years. He told me he has two brothers, Charlie who’s 19 and Liam who’s 23. It didn’t sound like he minded talking about his family, honestly, but then he said something surprising.
“My mother died 5 years ago,” he said.
“How did you mother die?” I asked.
“Drunk driving,” he said. He said it very simply and like it didn’t bug him very much. “She wasn’t an alcoholic or anything. She was just out for some fun with her friends, drank too much, and that was it. And then my father got really depressed and lost his job and started drinking. He really loved my mother and misses her a lot.”
He rolled over on his side to look at me. I’m pretty sure I looked awfully surprised. Peter never spoke about his family so I figured they were just average. I didn’t realize his mother was dead. He never mentioned her, but he just never really talked about his family so I assumed he simply never had anything to say about her. But Peter seemed fine with telling me. He started combing my hair, running his long fingers through it softly.
“Since my home wasn’t what it used to be,” Peter started back up again. “I would come sleep over at your house, and Harry never asked why I wanted to be away from my house so much because I think he understood.”
Peter stopped touching my hair and smiled to himself, pulling gently at the grass around us.
“But my father isn’t like that anymore,” Peter continued. He told me that his aunt moved in with them for a while and helped his dad shape up and stop drinking and get a job. “It was good and it felt more like home again, which I hadn’t thought I’d ever get back.”
“And what about your brothers?” I asked.
“Well, Charlie and I can hardly stand each other. We never have liked each other. All we’d ever do is fight and yell. He’s living at home right now because he’s unemployed. He goes to college…But still lives at home because he can’t afford campus life, which is sort of a bummer. Mais, c’est la vie.”
He smiled again. Peter’s the type of person who can smile even when thinking about a person he really does not like. I had trouble imagining him yelling, though. Even if it was at his brother.
“And my brother Liam…I like him. I always have. He’s living at home right now, too. He used to be in the army. It was what he wanted to do his entire life. Every Halloween he was a soldier and he always took it so seriously. So when he was 18, he enlisted and he was so happy. But then they sent him overseas to fight in the war and he got pretty messed up.”
Peter frowned now, rolling over on his stomach and propping himself up with his elbows. He glared into the grass, looking angry and confused.
And then Peter told me that when his brother was fighting in the war, he saved a comrade’s life. And he was given a medal and everything for it.
“But you know, war sucks, and what he saw over there and the people he had to kill…well that changed him,” Peter said, looking at me for a moment. I just nodded because I knew that the rest of the story wouldn’t be as happy as the beginning.
Peter told me about how Liam was one of the happiest people he knew. He said that his brother is a Virgo (I’m not sure what that means though, because I’m not really into astrology) and nothing could bring him down.
“He managed to still stay composed through our mother’s death. It near killed everyone else, but Liam carried us through it,” Peter said. “But when he got back from the war, he got so depressed. He thought about the lives he took and the lives he saved, and he wondered if it was really what he should’ve done. If he was playing God, if he was messing with fate.”
It made me really sad to hear the story, because Peter said that Liam would just sleep all the time or just lay in his room staring up at the ceiling. It reminded me of how my mother was after Harry died.
“He never talked to anyone, not even me,” Peter continued. “I would lay in his bed with him and remind him of old memories we had….He tried to take his life a year ago, but I found him and rushed him to the hospital.”
Peter started crying a bit while he was talking about Liam. It wasn’t full on sobbing, just a few tears.
“It really destroys you when you see your favourite person in the world, the person you’ve always looked up to, do these kinds of things to themselves. It really hurts knowing that it never had to be like this….”
And he got really upset and started crying really hard, but then all of a sudden he stopped and breathed and wiped the tears away with his sleeve. And he continued. Peter told me that Liam’s doing better now. That he goes to see someone professional to talk to, and that he isn’t silent anymore and will do things with the family and his friends.
“Sometimes he comes into my room at night and lays in bed with me, just so that we remember that we have each other…”
Peter looked the other way for a few moments. I just laid there on my side, staring at him. I didn’t know that Peter had such a tough life. His mother died and then his best friend died and then his brother tried to kill himself. I really admire Peter because he hardly ever lets that show. Maybe when he gets home he sits in his bathroom and just cries, but around everyone else, he acts like everything was okay. That’s my biggest fault – I let all my emotions out before everyone’s gone home.
“Well, that’s the story of my family,” Peter said, turning back to look at me. He smiled and rolled back over into the grass, no signs of his sorrow or the tears he just shed.

Friday, August 14.
I was out walking today and I saw the mentally retarded kid who lives a block away. I remember him perfectly from when Harry and I were kids. He would go around the neighborhood in his wheelchair with one of his parents or family members and every time he ran into Harry and me he would ask if we wanted to play. We always awkwardly declined, making up stupid excuses each time.
When I ran into him today he looked exactly the same. No different from years before. And suddenly I felt like I was five again and he would ask if I wanted to play. But he didn’t ask that. I thought maybe I should ask if he wanted to play, but he was with his father (who I don’t remember much, but he didn’t look like he’d aged either) and I was so much older. I wondered if either of them remembered who I was. Maybe they would’ve remembered Harry, maybe they wouldn’t. But I didn’t much feel like being five years old again so I left without asking and without too much remembering because what good could that do me?

Sunday, August 16.
Andrew and I hung out today. We went to the park and played soccer. Now, I’m not athletic or anything, but I like to play soccer. It’s fun to run around and just kick the ball. Afterwards we went back to his house and he played the piano and let me pick the songs to play. I love ragtime, so he played Maple Leaf Rag and The Entertainer and let me dance around even though I’m not any good.
When I was walking back from Andrews’s house, I had déjà vu, except it was as though if I had dreamed it before. In fact, I’m almost sure that it had once been a part of a dream I’d had.
I was walking along the edge of the sidewalk. I was wearing a pair of old Keds that were too tight for my feet. My legs were hurting because my belt was buckled further than it should be and also because Andrew is rough with soccer and beat my legs up pretty good. I was coming up on the busy street with a lot of traffic. The only difference was that in my dream it was dark out and someone was going to come.
Having déjà vu tends to freak me out a lot.

Thursday, August 20.
Sometimes life happens and you don’t even notice. So much goes on around you and you hear and you see and everything seems alright, but you just move through it all without fully noticing. And eventually you feel like an empty shell and you try to think and you only find that you’ve been seeing all these things and hearing all these things, but you haven’t at the same time. And so you’re left to simply think about all the things you’ve missed and to dwell on the empty feeling of you in your shell. And you can only think that everything has to be alright in the end and that, at times, everyone just walks through life without noticing and everything ends up alright because they all live and they all die and life goes on anyways.

Beginning of Part Three

2009-08-18T15:23:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, July 29.
Today I decided to write a story. I just felt like writing because my head was full of thoughts, but also because of the saying about idle hands being the devil’s plaything, and I really had nothing to do. I wrote a story about vampires. Sometimes people think that vampires are creatures of the devil and for some reason they think that garlic will scare them off. I don’t know why they think that and I don’t know if either of those things are connected, but it doesn’t really matter anymore – people don’t believe in vampires.
Halfway through typing my story on the computer, I decided to hand write it and then give it to Peter. Hand writing is much more personal than typing and I think he’d appreciate it better. Everything is typed these days.
After I finished my vampire story I went to the coffee shop because I knew Peter was working this evening. He looked glad to see me, even though I hadn’t seen him since the day he cried and even after I held him and we let our emotions free, he didn’t say much of anything to me; he just left. But when he was on his break he came over to my table to see me. Peter laughed when I told him it was a vampire story, but I don’t know why and I didn’t ask. We just sat there and watched as twilight came over us.
“Sometimes I wish that people still believed in vampires,” I said, somewhat to him, somewhat to myself, but mostly just to get it out. “And people took horses and carriages everywhere, and it would be snowing out right now. Everyone would be in their best clothes going out for dinner or rushing to the theater for a play. And no one would want to be in the streets incase the vampires were out, so inside the shops it’s crowded and cheerful. And you and I would be sitting here with all of our friends sharing stories about possible vampire sightings and just getting warm and drunk.”
When I finished saying all of this, I looked at Peter and he looked straight back at me and his eyes softened, but he didn’t laugh and he didn’t smile. He just thought and I just thought. I thought about vampires and I thought about the snow I wish could come even if it was July. But I didn’t know what Peter was thinking about, so I asked him.
“You,” was all he said, gazing straight into my eyes and smiling slightly. His voice was soft and tired, but he sounded like Peter nonetheless. I felt both flattered and confused, but I accepted it because if anyone is thinking about me, I find it very thoughtful of them. So I thought about Peter instead of the snow and the vampires, and I was soaring.

Friday, July 31.
Today my parents are painting my new little sister’s room. They asked if I would help, so I probably will end up painting, too. Her new room will be the old guest room, not that we ever had guests. It feels weird to be giving someone the guest room when they’re meant to have it forever. Harry’s room is still how he left it though, and the guest room is the only one available. I asked my mother if they were painting the room custard. I think that I was trying to be sarcastic and bitter about it. Maybe I thought I would make her laugh like Harry used to. But she didn’t have much of a reaction.
“No, we’re painting it green,” she said. I pointed out to her that we already knew the gender of the baby, so why not pink? She just laughed and said that just because it’s a girl, the room doesn’t need to be pink. When I say she laughed, I don’t mean it was a real laugh. Not like the ones she gave to Harry. It was just a laugh and there was nothing special about it.
Later on I took a look at the cans of paint they bought. The colour green they chose was called “Key Lime Pie”. It really was. My mother has an infatuation with painting walls the colours of desserts.

Sunday, August 2.
Sometimes I wonder if people would miss me if I died. Today, tomorrow, in two months, two years. Would people look back and laugh at the memories of me? Would they all go quiet when someone asked about me or mentioned my name? Maybe when my future little sister got older, my friends would stop her on the street and say “Hey, you were Soren’s little sister, right?” I wonder what she would answer. If I died tomorrow, she would never be my little sister. If I died in two years, would she remember me? Would my friends remember me enough to ask her, or would they not even remember me at all? If someone mentioned my name to Peter, would he say “Oh yeah, I’d nearly forgotten about him” or would he start crying like in my living room? Would my parents keep my room exactly how it was before I died? Would my mother stay in bed all day on the anniversary of my death? I remembered how I never cried when Harry died…would my little sister cry for me?
Would people see my obituary in the paper and come to my funeral because they remember me, or because they remember my parents or my brother? Maybe they would just send a nice fruit basket. Maybe they would mistake me for Harry and say, “Remember him? The one who would always make everyone laugh! He had such an engaging personality, such a pity.” Would the priest at the funeral accidentally say my brother’s name instead of mine? If people came to my funeral, would they wear all black? Would my parents use a CD for the music instead of getting someone to play the piano in the background?
People worry about life after death all the time. Will they go to Heaven, will they go to Hell? Maybe they’ll become a ghost or maybe they’ll just vanish. I don’t care about that stuff. I really just don’t. I just want to know what people would think and how people would react. I wish I would have the answers to all my questions, but I also don’t. But do I really want to know the real answers to that stuff? Do I already know what the answers would be? I think I do.

Monday, August 3.
Today I asked Peter about my death.
“Would you say ‘Oh yeah, I’d nearly forgotten about him’?” I asked. “Or would you start crying? Would you not remember me at all?”
He smiled. It was a sad smile, his blue eyes melting. I waited for an answer. Was he hesitating because he didn’t want to hurt me with the truth? The silence made me anxious.
“I don’t think we need to worry about your death right now, do we?” He said at last. Peter said it slowly, not answering my question. He bit down on his nail, carefully avoiding eye contact.
“When your friends mentioned Harry, you said you’d nearly forgotten about him.” It wasn’t a question, it wasn’t a reminder. I was just saying it because it was the truth. Peter twitched slightly, his eyes flashed angrily at me and his thin lips disappeared, slipping into a hard line. I felt bad to bring it up again. It hurt me to see his reaction.
“Harry and I…had our…difficulties…in the end,” he told me. He said it slowly again, looking down, away from my eyes. It was hard for him to say it and he seemed upset with himself. He rested his chin in his hand. Peter looked thoughtful and delicate. When I looked at him there, I saw the hummingbird in the yard; so small and careful, easily hurt even after a long journey.
I had hurt Peter and that hurt me. I just nodded. Not because I understood – I didn’t – but because I didn’t want to hurt my friend anymore.

first thanks/celebration of part two

2009-08-17T19:47:00.000-07:00

Hi, I wanted to say thank you so much to everyone for reading the story and sending me great & helpful feedback! Thanks to all the people following, the kids from Fiction Press who got to read this first, my Facebook friends who got to read it next, and now to all of you guys - strangers from blogs, from Lookbook, from all over. It's really important that people hear Soren's story, even if it is fiction.

Also, I'm sorry if some of the references go right over your head. I think I might have an obscure taste in things, considering that I just watched An American in Paris and sang along to S'Wonderful, S'Marvelous (though I am more of a Fred Astaire fan, than a Gene Kelly one - but Kelly has a divine build). I'm also sorry if you've never seen the movie Harold & Maude. Not because it's mentioned several times in here, but just because it's an amazing, beautiful movie that I think you should see.

xx chloe

p.s. I don't cry at the end of Harold & Maude, either. But it's okay if you do.

p.p.s. If you see the name of "Anthony" mentioned in here, let me know. Andrew's name was originally Anthony, but after I became friends with a kid named Anthony I felt like I needed to change it. Of course I was already a hundred pages along so I might have missed a few.

End of Part Two

2009-08-17T19:46:00.000-07:00

Friday, July 24.
We both loved the Cat Stevens album, too. I think that Cat Stevens has one of the most peaceful voices I have ever heard and his lyrics are so truthful. Peter wanted to see Harold & Maude, so we watched it after dinner. I was excited to be able to share one of my favourite movies with Peter. Harry never liked the movie because he thought it was “totally creepy”, but I think it’s beautiful and Peter thought it was, too. Peter didn’t think that Maude was creeping on Harold and I think he even secretly cried at the end. I’ve never cried because I don’t think it’s sad.

Saturday, July 25.
I went to the park with Alison and Andrew again today. I told them both about Peter and how amazing he was. It felt like I talked forever and I never really talk a lot, so I think they might’ve been a bit confused. I don’t think they were really listening that hard to what I had to say. I really don’t. Both of them had seen Peter around school and around town, but neither seemed very impressed by him. Alison told me she thought his eyes were creepy and Andrew agreed. Andrew had an English class with him last year and said he was odd. Apparently he read a poem that he’d written to the class and no one understood it. I’m angry about that because Peter is the nicest person who’s ever paid any attention to me, but also because they were both judging before experiencing. I’m starting to think that maybe Alison and Andrew aren’t as best of friends with me as I thought they were.
Andrew is going on vacation tomorrow for a week. Alison wants to hang out with me a lot during this time because otherwise she’ll have nothing to do. I feel angry because that’s really selfish; I’m alone all the time and they never ask me to do anything. But I didn’t want to say no to her, so I agreed we’d spend a lot of time hanging out while Andrew is gone.

Sunday, July 26.
It’s been raining off and on today. Sometimes it’s really hot and steamy out, but then it turns nice and breezy, and then it’ll start to rain really hard. We’ve been opening and closing the windows a lot. But I like when the weather is different, because then if you want the weather to change, you don’t have to wait a day or two. If it’s raining and you want it to be sunny outside so you can go read on the deck, you know it’ll be nice out in an hour or so. If it’s steamy and gross out and you want it to cool off and rain so that you can watch reruns of The Monkees, then you know it’ll be like that in an hour or so. Right now it’s all nice and breezy. I love letting the window open and having the breeze come in and blow my hair around. My hair is getting long enough so that the breeze blows it along my eyes. It’s one of the nicest feelings I’ve ever experienced.
Earlier in the evening I went outside with my mother and we sat and talked with my neighbours. There was a humming bird flying around nearby and we would all go silent and just watch whenever he came near.
“Its amazing that they fly all the way up from Mexico,” my neighbour said.
“I know,” my mother said. “They’re so delicate and tiny.”
He even stopped to perch on a plant for a few seconds. Sitting with his wings completely still made him look a bit tougher, but not a lot. His little beak looked like it could snap off very easily. I liked the hummingbird because he’s so cute and little, it’s like he’s hardly there, yet he does so much. I wonder if hummingbirds were to be endangered or to be extinct in the next 30 years, if people would think there was something they could do to help.

Monday, July 27.
Peter came over to my house again today. Later on Alison called and wanted to come over, too. I want her to get to know Peter, so I told her she could come. I’m still upset about what she and Andrew had said about Peter, though.
When she got here, Peter and I were listening to Magical Mystery Tour again. She seemed to be some huge fan of The Beatles and started listing off all of these “interesting” facts. But really, Peter and I didn’t care; we just wanted to listen to the music. We went on a walk and got ice cream afterwards and Peter talked a lot. I love listening to Peter talk because his voice is so unique. It’s very deep and rough yet somehow very soft and quiet. Alison talked quite a bit too, but I don’t think she really liked Peter. Everything he said, she had something mean to say back, even if Peter was just saying something that was on his mind or something that he’d noticed. I felt bad for him because every time Alison said something he looked hurt.
I took a lot of photos with my new camera. My favorite is one of Peter laughing. I love it because I’ve never seen Peter’s eyes look friendlier or happier or more alive than they do in that photo.
When we got back to my house Alison left and I apologized to Peter for her. He just nodded and then shrugged. After that I excused myself to go to the bathroom.
When I got back down to our living room where I’d left Peter, he was sitting on my couch hunched over. His head was in his hands and his long fingers were digging into his skin and hair. Peter was crying. I didn’t know what to do, so I went and sat next to him. I saw that he had a photo lying on the table in front of him. It was from one of Harry’s birthday parties; Peter and Harry had their arms around each other’s shoulders and were smiling up at the camera. I had never noticed it before, even though it had probably been out on display for years. Both of them looked so happy and alive. Peter’s eyes were the same as they’d been earlier today; friendly and happy. Harry’s deep eyes were just as mischievous as they’d always been and his huge mouth was open in a half-laugh-half-smile type of way. I’d almost forgotten about how huge his mouth was and it suddenly seemed like years since I’d last even said his name, much less seen him.
Even though I was there, Peter just cried. It was weird, because I always get embarrassed when I cry around other people. But Peter didn’t seem embarrassed; he just seemed sad and confused and lost. He looked over at me for a moment as he cried. He was in pain and he looked hurt. His eyes were soft and sad and the blue ice had melted. I wrapped my hand around his arm and we just sat there and I let him cry and he let me hold him and we let our emotions free.
And for the first time, I think we both realized that I wasn’t like Harry at all, and that wasn’t a problem.

Beginning of Part Two

2009-08-16T19:49:00.000-07:00

Friday, July 10.
I saw my friends today, Alison and Andrew. They both seem very happy in their relationship, which is good. I suppose that everything would be very awkward if they ever did break up. But I think that, if they did, I would rather be friends with Andrew than Alison. He is very funny and can always make me laugh. He really can.
We went to the park and hung out on the swings and it was very peaceful. I’m glad I got to see them again, even though I was the one who had to call them and ask to see them. Alison is always busy and she said she’d try to work it into her schedule. Really, I bet that she and Andrew were just going to do something together. But, either way, I laughed a lot today and it made me happy to see them both again.

Sunday, July 12.
I remember this one time in preschool when we watched a movie about teddy bears. And in the movie, when the kids were asleep, their teddy bears would all get together in a field under the starry sky and have a picnic or a tea party or something. And at the end of the movie, they said that all teddy bears did this, and the way you could tell was if your bear had moved slightly from when you woke up.
After that, for weeks I would set a teddy bear in the corner of my room before I went to bed. I’d memorize exactly what direction it was facing, how far it was from the walls, how its limbs were positioned, all of those important things. But when I’d wake up, it would be in the exact same position. After a while I got worried that my teddy bear was anti-social, so I put him back with my other stuffed animals. Now I realize that the whole movie was really just another lie fed to our generation.

Tuesday, July 14.
I got the strangest phone call today. When it rung, I went to pick it up, and on the caller ID it said that ‘Peter’ was calling. I suddenly remembered from years before when I’d see this number flashing on the caller ID, but it felt like a while since I’d seen it. I answered anyways.
“Hey Soren, its Peter,” a voice on the other end of the line said. I recognized it as the coffee shop boy’s voice. Had he said his name was Peter, earlier? I just nodded, forgetting that he could only hear.
“A few of us were going to a movie tonight…and I was wondering if you would like to come.”
I didn’t say anything at first. I wondered what he could want to bring me to a movie for. But in the end I agreed to go. He’s picking me up at 7’o clock and still remembers perfectly well where I live.
We never deleted the people on caller ID that Harry had put in.

Wednesday, July 15.
Hanging out with Peter and the rest of the group last night was actually sort of fun. Peter walked up to the door and said hello to my parents while he waited for me to finish brushing my teeth. He didn’t seem sad when it took my parents a moment to remember him and he didn’t seem sad when he saw the photos of Harry around our living room. When he saw me he smiled. It was a sad smile, though.
“I bought that shirt for Harry…for his birthday one year,” he said as I came downstairs. He pointed to the hand-me-down shirt I was wearing. Harry had given it to me a few years ago. I suddenly regretted wearing it.
“Harry gave it to me,” I said. His eyes were staring straight at the stripes of the shirt and he looked a bit sad. I offered to change but he said no, he liked seeing it again even though it was just a shirt and just a birthday present.
It was awkward in the car. I didn’t really know Peter and I didn’t remember anything my brother might’ve said about him. Peter looked like he was concentrating hard on his driving and I decided that conversation wasn’t needed. Sometimes I like to just relax and watch everything that’s going on around me. The windows were down because it was cool out and the radio was on, even though I wasn’t listening. I don’t think Peter was listening either.
“I remember you at the funeral,” he said finally while we waited at a stoplight. It was an especially long light. I just nodded at him, though. I knew which funeral he was talking about. “I’d forgotten that Harry had a brother. He didn’t talk about you much and you weren’t around much when I was over at your house.”
“We weren’t close,” I told him. It hurt to say those words and I didn’t even know why. Harry and I were never close, and that was the truth. Peter nodded but said nothing more. He didn’t seem sad because he was remembering Harry, he didn’t seem sad at all. Maybe he just understood how it was.
The movie was good and we all went out for ice cream afterwards. Peter bought me my ice cream even though I had money. He didn’t care. We talked for a long time and I even made them laugh a few times. I don’t remember the last time I made anyone laugh and it felt good. Maybe I make Alison and Andrew laugh sometimes, but it doesn’t feel the same way as making Harry’s friends laugh.
Peter’s eyes seemed friendlier on the way home. They used to scare me because they were so intense and blue. But when he looked at me now, they were friendly and almost happy. I was glad when he didn’t bring up Harry on the way home.

Thursday, July 16.
My mother had the day off today and made me vegetable soup with dumplings in it. Just like how I used to eat chicken noodle soup before I decided to be a vegetarian. The broth was dark brown and pieces of kale floated around in it. It tasted too green and leafy. I don’t think I will be having vegetable soup again anytime soon.

Saturday, July 18.
My father is currently out of town on business…again. He goes away for business a lot. But my mother told me that they had very exciting news that they wanted to share with me when he got back in two days. I hadn’t seen my mother this excited in months…maybe a whole year. It made me happy to see her smiling again; I tried to remember the last time I’d seen her smile like that. I thought that it was sometime before Harry died. He could always make my mother laugh and I used to be jealous because of it. I’d forgotten about that and I almost felt like Harry was in the room, telling my mother a story. Sometimes I try to remember the stories to see if they’d make me laugh, but I don’t remember any. I was too busy being bitter about how Harry could make my mother laugh than to listen to his stories. I’m sure they really were funny, though.

Sunday, July 19.
I went to the pet shop today and bought a fish. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a fish, and I thought it might be nice to get another one. He’s red and gold and absolutely beautiful. I’ve named him Reed.

Monday, July 20.
My father came home today and at dinner they announced the big news. A few years ago they signed with an adoption agency to adopt a baby from China. There’s a long waiting list even though that place is supposed to be trashed with extra kids. They finally got the news a few days ago that there was a little girl over there for us to adopt, in Mongolia. I really am happy for them and I know they’d wanted this for a long time.
My parents aren’t replacing Harry. They’d signed up for this before Harry had died. They really had. We’d all talked about it as a family, adopting a baby. And Harry was really into it and I didn’t mind. My parents always wanted more kids, they just couldn’t have anymore. My mother always wanted a little girl, a ballerina. She says it comes from watching Ginger Rogers movies, but really I think it comes from raising two boys.
Either way, I think I find it as a relief. They won’t have just me to concentrate on and they’ll finally have a little baby to make them laugh the way that Harry made them. It’s funny because I have to keep reminding myself that they aren’t replacing Harry, even though I know they aren’t. And my parents really are not too old to be parents. My father is 48 and my mother is 45. I don’t think that’s too old, really.
For some reason however, my parents seemed to think I’d be upset; they bought me presents. It’s funny how parents think that presents will help with everything when it comes to kids. They really do. Anyways, they gave me more than one present. The first one was Magical Mystery Tour by The Beatles. Apparently it’s one of my mother’s favourite albums and she thought that I would like it. I’ve heard some stuff by The Beatles but not a lot. Maybe I would like them. They also bought me a Cat Stevens album. He did the soundtrack for Harold & Maude, so I actually knew some of his stuff. My mother liked him too, and I’m starting to wonder who she didn’t like from that era. Another thing they got me was a bag of lemon drops. Lemon drops are my favourite candy, and I guess my parents remembered that. My father and I used to sit out in the summer and eat lemon drops, just talking. That was when I was little and summer nights were the most beautiful thing you could imagine. I like how lemon drops are both sour and sweet. But really, the taste is too hard to explain; you just have to experience it. Some people think it’s an old-person candy, but I think those people have just never had a lemon drop before.

My parents also bought me a digital camera. A really nice one. I don’t think they’ve ever spent that much money on me. I remember when they used to buy Harry & I each a disposable camera when we’d go on vacation. I loved taking photos of everything I saw, even if it wasn’t that interesting. I liked looking through the tiny rectangle viewfinder and hearing the snap of the picture being taken. I loved getting the film developed and seeing it all over again, in a bigger rectangle. For me, photography is a truer form of art than sculptures and maybe even paintings. My father was really excited about the camera. We hadn’t taken any photos in years. When Harry was alive, my parents would always take photos of everything we did. But I cannot remember the last time a camera was out. I guess they will want to start taking photos again. I guess I will be the one taking them.
I felt very awkward because they bought me all this stuff for no reason; I’m happy about the new baby and I’m looking forward to the new baby. I really am. We’re going to have a whole family again. I felt light and bouncy with excited happiness. And for me, that feeling is enough of a present.

Tuesday, July 21.
Peter called me today “just to talk”, as he put it. I told him about my parents adopting a baby from Mongolia. I was afraid he would think we were replacing Harry, so I made sure to let him know that we had signed with the agency before Harry had died. I think that made him feel more relieved, but it’s hard to tell over the phone. I also told him about the presents. When I told him about the Beatles record, he laughed.
“Your brother hated The Beatles,” he said, still laughing. Peter didn’t tell me why Harry didn’t like them, but I guess he didn’t know or because that was just Harry. When I put the CD on, I thought it was some of the most beautiful noise I’d ever heard. It didn’t sound like anything Harry would had ever listened to, and that was definite. It made me feel happy that my mother felt like I could respect one of her favourite albums of all time. I think that Strawberry Fields Forever is one of the most beautiful songs I have ever heard. I wish that Strawberry Fields really was an actual place, because it sounds like the most perfect place to visit. Magical Mystery Tour is just the kind of thing you could listen to over and over again, forever and ever. All the music on the album is amazing and it’s all very different. Some of it is happy and cheery; some of it is sadder and slow. The Beatles seemed like they actually knew what they were singing about and like they had it all figured out. I used to think that The Beatles were just a bunch of annoying, overrated guys who all looked the same and who sang music that all sounded the same. That they had the same hair and the same clothes. Maybe I should experience something before I judge it. I wish that Harry would’ve done that, too. I really do. Maybe he would’ve loved The Beatles and thought they had the best music. Maybe he would’ve accepted more people and more ideas if he experienced before he judged.
When I asked Peter if he liked The Beatles, he told me he hadn’t heard a ton of their stuff before, “only the popular songs.” I asked him to come over to my house tomorrow so that he could listen to the album. He told me that he’d love to. That made me happy, because I would like for Peter to experience before he judges.

Wednesday, July 22.
Peter told me that he loved the album. When he got here we went to my custard coloured room and I put it on. We just listened to all 36 minutes of it in complete silence. I think that is the nicest thing anyone has ever done with me. I think that Peter is the friendliest and kindest person I have ever met. I understand why Harry was friends with him, but I don’t understand why Peter was friends with Harry.
After we finished listening to the album, Peter stayed for dinner, even though my parents had trouble remembering him at first, from when he was friends with Harry. He was really great about my parents though and asked a lot of questions about the baby from China and just their life in general. We all talked about Magical Mystery Tour and my mother seemed overjoyed that we both liked it, but especially about me liking it. She told us stories about when she was a girl and all the great music that came out of her generation. I just nodded and smiled along, but Peter asked her questions and laughed at the things she meant to be funny. It almost felt like the whole family was down for dinner again; father, mother, Harry & I, all enjoying another meal together. I was soaring, even though I knew it wasn’t just any other family meal. But for a moment there, it almost felt like that one year without Harry had never happened, and that made me love Peter even more.
On Friday Peter is coming over for dinner again and we’re going to listen to the whole Cat Stevens album.

End of Part One

2009-08-15T16:57:00.000-07:00

Saturday, July 4.
With my father in town for the fourth, we decided to go watch the fireworks. It’s very peaceful to lie in the grass on the bluff, watching these giant things rocket through the sky and blow up into a million tiny fragments of light, right in front of your eyes. But it’s also a bit nauseating to think about. Being shot up that high into the sky is not my idea of peaceful, which is why I prefer to be grounded here on earth than to be flying up into the crystal clear July night.

Sunday, July 5.
I wonder if the boy with icy blue eyes from the coffee shop actually cares about the polar bears. Maybe he sensed that I was about to burst out in tears, which is why he said it. Maybe he really just couldn’t give a shit about the bears, like everyone else.

Wednesday, July 8.
I went back to the coffee shop today to see if the boy was working; he was. I waited in line and when I reached the counter he looked me straight in the eyes and said “What can I get you?” right as I was opening my mouth to ask about the bears. It threw me off for a moment that he wanted to take my order.
“Do you really care about the polar bears?” I asked when I recovered. It came out harsher than I meant. “Or do you just not give a shit like the rest of the population and simply wanted to shut me up?”
That shut him up. He looked startled and just stared down at me with those blue eyes through his mop of brown hair. I didn’t look him straight in the eyes because everything between us was already ice cold. It felt like a whole minute went by before I finally nodded and walked out of the café.
No one wanted to do anything about the bears. And that made me cry. But this time, I cried for the bears themselves and not for my brother.

Thursday, July 9.
I went to a second hand bookstore today. When I was walking out of the store, a group of teenagers were standing outside. I hadn’t bought anything inside the store.
“Hey kid,” a girl with red hair called at me as I passed. Her hair was greasy and it was dyed a fake-y Kool Aid red. I didn’t like it. “You were Harry’s little brother, right?”
The group of kids looked dingy and unwashed, with sallow skin and dirty hair. But I nodded at them, even if I didn’t like them.
“I still am Harry’s little brother,” I corrected them after a few moments of silence. Why did everyone always use past tense? It’s not like my brother’s death changed the fact that he existed and that he was part of my family. But the girl just nodded. One of the guys she was with shifted uncomfortably.
“So…how are you?” she asked.
“You don’t even know me.” Why was she so concerned?
“Well, just, we were friends with your brother,” she said. I nodded at her. Harry was popular and I wasn’t surprised that she knew him. She’d probably kissed him too. Harry was always going out with girls.
“I’m fine.” It was all I felt like saying, because my brother was the last thing I wanted to talk about right now, or ever, and I didn’t feel like spilling my emotions out to a bunch of teenagers.
All of a sudden the whole group looked over behind me, all at the same moment. It was one of the oddest things that has ever happened, to have all eyes burning into me and then all at the exact same moment to just snap away from me, focusing in on something new. I turned around and the coffee shop boy was walking over to the group. I began to worry.
“Hey, what’s up guys?” he called. I spun back around to face Harry’s friends. When he reached the group, he just stood and looked down at me for a moment. I tried to look anywhere but at him.
“This is Harry’s little brother, we were just talking to him,” one of the boys from the group said. He had thick black hair and a Beatles cut. I felt the coffee boy stiffen next to me. I looked at him. He looked down at me with those fierce blue eyes. His face was twisted in pain and frustration. It was a bad look and I didn’t know what to do; I looked away. Nobody said anything for a few moments. I figured he was still confused about the incident at the coffee shop the other day.
“I’d almost forgotten about Harry, for a while,” the coffee boy finally said. It was hard to hear and I’m pretty sure I was the only one who heard. It was an odd thing to say, but then again I didn’t know how well these people knew my brother. He walked over and sat on a wall that his friends were leaning against. I suddenly felt very alone standing on the sidewalk, exposed.
“So, what’s your name again?” The boy with the Beatles hair asked me this time.
“Soren.”
They all nodded. It was almost funny to see all the heads going at once, like those bobble head dogs that people stick on their dashboards. More silence followed and I felt like I was intruding. I figured they wanted to talk alone, but I didn’t quite know what to say or how to leave.
“I’m Peter,” the coffee boy offered after a minute. I looked up at him and met his eyes. They were a friendlier blue but still severe.
“I’m Soren,” I said, looking straight into those eyes. I knew that I’d already said that, but it just seemed like the right thing to do. He almost smiled.
“I already knew that you were Harry’s brother,” he said, but he didn’t stop looking at me. I had a feeling that this was our conversation, and not for the group. I just looked at him as he explained. “In the coffee shop. I’d never seen anyone more like Harry before.”
I didn’t know what he was talking about. Harry was big and buff, he had a lot of friends and drank coffee instead of hot chocolate. He was always smiling and joking. Harry and I were very different and that was the problem.
I left after that. The whole group was silent again. I didn’t want to talk about Harry anymore and I didn’t want polar bears to be brought up again. I just said bye to them and left. I don’t think they cared because I think they realized that I wasn’t Harry, and that was the problem.

Start of Part One

2009-08-13T17:54:00.000-07:00

Friday, May 15.
Soren. That is my name. Its five letters long and none of the letters repeat. Sometimes I wonder if the fifth letter is lonely. S has O, R has E, but who does N have? If my parents thought about this before they named me, maybe they would’ve given me a nice name like Wolfgang or Xavier. None of those names have lonely letters in them, not like Soren. But I am Soren, the five letter name, the lonely letter name.
I’m sitting in my room, looking at my yellow walls. My mother calls them custard, as if that was a colour. But custard is a dessert, not a paint colour. My parents painted the room before I was born and before they knew if I’d be a boy or a girl. Apparently yellow is gender neutral, but name one guy you know who has yellow walls. My walls have posters on them for bands I don’t even like and movies I have never seen. I bought them to cover up the feminine feel of my room, but mostly they make my room seem like it doesn’t belong to me. I’m not even sure what my favourite band is. Older, uncommon movies like The Last Picture Show or Harold and Maude are my favorite, but I’ve never once came across a poster for either of those. I wonder how people decorated their rooms back then, if there were no posters.

Monday, May 18.
When a race horse falls, it breaks its legs. Race horses are bred with thin legs so they can run fast. The horse’s legs cannot heal and it is usually killed.
I’m thinking about the horse’s life. They are born to run and running is all they ever get to do and all they ever get to see. But running is also what kills them.

Thursday, May 21.
At dinner tonight my mother asked me how my day was that day.
“How was your day today?” she asked. I looked up at her as I ate my chicken. It was good chicken but it reminds me that I should become a vegetarian.
“Fine,” I told her. It wasn’t a lie. I had a fine day that day. But even if my day had been horrible, I would probably still have said fine. Or even if my day was one of the best of my life, I still probably would’ve said fine. She wouldn’t know. I always say my day is fine, because if I said it was a fantastic day or a dreadful day, I would have to tell her why. And sometimes it’s easier to just say “fine” than to explain your whole life story to someone. But today, my day was only fine, it wasn’t horrid and it wasn’t the greatest of my life. I still think I should find a solid definition for fine so that I can more accurately let my mother know how my day was. Or maybe I should just get out of the habit of saying “fine”. I think that mothers deserve to know how your day really was.
After that there was awkward silence so I asked my mother how her own day was. She told me that she had an “absolutely great” day. In fact, she didn’t tell me that, she exclaimed it to me. Perhaps I should tell her how my day was with more emotion next time. I think I will, because that is what my mother would want to hear.
My father is out of town on business.

Friday, May 22.
I’ve found a band that I really do quite like. One of their songs has absolutely no lyrics in it. I wonder if the songwriter couldn’t think of lyrics to write for the song. Or maybe he thought there was something perfect enough about the instruments alone and didn’t want to ruin the song. If the song did have lyrics in it, I think that they would be about anger. But maybe just playing the song on their guitars and drums was enough for the band to get all of their anger out. There’s something beautiful about that.

Monday, May 25.
Today it has been one year exactly since my older brother died. My father is still out of town on business, so it is only my mother and I. Well, technically only me because my mother is staying in bed today. I’m contemplating whether I should go lie with her or if it’s better to just let her be. These kinds of things are hard to decide.
I was thinking about when my brother died last year. He was in a car accident. My parents were out to dinner with some friends when it happened. Paramedics tried to revive him for nearly an hour. I was at home doing schoolwork. It’s weird to think about how my parents were out and I was in and my brother was dying and no one even thought about that. I just figured he was still out with friends and that I had homework to do. My parents just figured that they were having a great time and he was having a great time, too. When really, he was dying and all of us were off having fun. It’s a weird thing to have to think about.

Tuesday, May 26.
I just reread what I wrote yesterday. It’s very odd, too, because it doesn’t sound like me. I’m not that calm about everything. I’m really not.

Friday, May 29.
On Fridays I stay up to watch Late Night with Conan O’Brien. Did you know that Oprah is on at one in the morning? After Conan was over I began flipping through channels and came across an Oprah rerun. She was interviewing a kid who went to Mexico to be a prostitute or something. But I don’t understand why he couldn’t have just stayed where he lived to do that? Either way, the show seems dark, unfriendly, and cheap at one in the morning. I wonder what Oprah Winfrey is really doing at that time.

Saturday, May 30.
You know that problem that occurs when you have only two best friends and they just happen to be dating? And then you go to the cinema with them and you sit there feeling awkward and alone, like a third wheel? Well, I have that problem, and their names are Alison and Andrew. A lot of people find it cute how their names match. But really, it’s just awkward when your only two friends are dating.

Saturday, June 6.
School is finally out for the summer. I don’t know if I should be happy that I have no more exams, or if I should be sad because I won’t be seeing my friends as much anymore. I really don’t know, but I think I’ll be happy because the weather is perfect and I don’t have to eat a bag lunch everyday. I’ll just lay outside in the shade and read.

Monday, June 8.
There’s this thing that I do where I feel like I should be hungry, so I go to the kitchen and open the fridge or the cupboards and then just stare in at them for a few minutes. None of the contents even register, I just stare blankly at all the food. And after a couple of minutes, I just walk away without any food.
Well, I really hope that other people do this, because I do it all the time. I really do. And I was thinking about it today, when I realized that I probably waste 10 minutes of my life, daily, doing this. And I’m not even kidding. I guess that is the sad truth about mankind.

Wednesday, June 10.
It’s funny because I was very excited for the summer, but I still haven’t done anything yet. None of my friends have called me and I haven’t felt like calling any of them. They would want to go swimming. But I don’t like swimming, I really don’t. And if they don’t want to go swimming, they want to go on a bike ride. But I don’t have a bike. All I really want to do is go on a picnic.

Friday, June 12.
Andrew called today to see if I wanted to go swimming. But I didn’t. I probably should’ve, too, because my parents are getting worried about me not going out. Instead I stayed home and watched Roman Holiday with my mother and father after we finished dinner. My mother really loves that movie, my father tolerates it. I quite like it and it makes me laugh. Everyone was so different back then, in the ‘50s. I wouldn’t have minded living in the ‘50s. I really wouldn’t. My mother thinks that Gregory Peck is “so sexy” which really gets my dad going. My dad thinks Audrey Hepburn was “so pretty” which my mother agrees with. It’s funny how that works out. Anyways, I agree with both of them.

Monday, June 15.
I’m seeing my friends tomorrow! Alison called today and asked if I wanted to come hang out with her and Andrew and some of their other friends who I pretend are my friends too, even though they tend to bug me. It will be the first time I’ve seen anyone but my parents and my neighbours this whole summer. I’m looking forward to talking to them all again. Even the ones that I’ve never really liked.

Tuesday, June 16.
It seems like all of my friends have hung out together a lot so far this summer. And it sounded like they’ve done things other than just going swimming and going on bike rides. They talked about a couple of movies they saw together and a concert a few of them went to. I wonder why none of them asked me to come. Maybe someone called but I didn’t answer the phone. Our message machine mentions no one else living in our household except for my parents. Perhaps this was confusing for my friends.
Either way it was fun to see all of them again. We got drinks at a coffee shop and just talked about all that we’d done this summer. Since I haven’t done much, I mostly just listened. I’d forgotten how lonely I’d been this summer.

Saturday, June 20.
I’ve decided to take the leap and become a vegetarian. I’ll just have trouble giving up chicken, but everything else is easy. But I’m basically a chicken addict. I hope that my mother can think up enough ways to prepare tofu.

Monday, June 22.
Today the anchorman on channel 11 news reported that the polar bear population in the North Pole has been decreasing “at alarming rates and by 30 years time more than ¾ of the population will be gone.” When he announced it I started to cry, I really did. I love the polar bears and the coca cola commercials, so I’d hate to think of them as gone because of global warming and the human population. Maybe crying over polar bears isn’t appropriate because I’ve only ever seen them at the zoo, but they always look so lonely and they probably die alone, too. The polar bears make me think about how my brother died alone, too. I cry for the polar bears because I didn’t cry for my brother.

Tuesday, June 23.
At dinner tonight I mentioned to my mother that the polar bears are going extinct. She looked surprised that I hadn’t known and nodded.
“They’re drowning because the ice is melting and they can’t find anywhere to rest,” she told me. It seemed as though she accepted the fact and had moved on.
“Don’t you care that all the animals are dying?” I asked her, ready to begin crying again. I get worked up easily, I really do.
“They’re not all dying,” she told me. “Just the polar bears are. Of course I care, but what can I do?”
I fought off the tears as I looked down at my tofu. That was all? What could she do? I thought about a polar bear…I remembered seeing a stuffed one at the science museum, 9 feet tall. It looked angry, its great mouth open and its teeth bared. It’s hard to imagine this huge animal with giant paws, swimming through the water, not finding any ice. I could hear it snarling and calling out into the emptiness as it grew tired and eventually gave up. What could my mother do? I tried to pretend that there was something that could be done. Maybe it was for the polar bear’s sake, maybe it was for my sake, but it was probably for my brother, even though I knew he wouldn’t have given a damn about the bears. I just couldn’t let there be nothing anyone could do about them and I didn’t want them to die alone.

Wednesday, June 24.
I forgot to mention that my birthday was last Monday, the 22nd. I guess I was too upset about the polar bears to remember. Also, I didn’t celebrate it on Monday because my father was out of town. Instead my family celebrated my birthday tonight. Birthdays really are not a big deal to me. It’s just the day you were born on. It just means that you were lucky enough to survive another year. I think that I used to like birthdays and I used to like getting presents. I just don’t anymore. Birthdays aren’t that great.
We went out to dinner, and I got asked if I wanted a kid’s menu. The kid’s menus are for boys and girls 12 and under. I told the waiter that I was 15. I look young for my age, I know that. Anyways, we got chocolate cake after dinner. It was very good. That’s one thing I like about birthdays – chocolate cake. As long as there are no candles.
I don’t really like getting presents. I don’t want anything in particular anymore and I don’t like when people sit around and watch you open up presents, waiting for your reactions. I’d rather take them up to my bedroom and open them up by myself. I’d rather not get any presents.

Friday, June 26.
I went to a street fair today and there was a lot of art there – cool art, but still nothing interested me. Sometimes I wish I could draw myself to be interested in stuff like paintings or sculptures. I really do. But to me, all of this is just strokes on paper and funny shaped rock. I ended up with a hot chocolate, sitting outside a café watching people wander around. I had my back to the door of the café, which always makes me anxious, but that way I could watch all the life around me. I love people watching, but I try not to judge. People look at me and think I’m innocent because I’m some skinny little boy who couldn’t hurt anyone if I ever even tried. And I don’t think I would ever try to hurt anyone, at least not physically. But to me, words or thoughts have a lot more power. They can cause more hurt than punching or tripping. That’s why I try not to judge.
When I went back inside the café, a new boy was behind the counter. He refilled my hot chocolate, asking me why I drink something hot when it’s hot outside. I had no real answer for him. He had some of the bluest eyes I had ever seen. They made me cold and reminded me of the dying polar bears. His eyes were like the arctic ice, but maybe they would never melt away.
“I just like the flavour of chocolate and I miss the polar bears,” was all I told him. I don’t think I meant to say that, but I did. He seemed confused but didn’t ask anything more. I like that, when people don’t always question about your feelings. If they do, it’s like they’re just trying to make you screw up your words to prove that your thoughts and feelings are all wrong.
“You heard that all the polar bears are going extinct, I’m guessing?” he asked as he handed my hot chocolate back. I nodded sadly, hoping I wouldn’t start crying again.
“Nah, don’t believe any of it.”
He was looking out the window now. His blue eyes searched the sky quietly, but he looked frustrated. I just nodded and walked away; what else could I do?

About

2009-08-13T17:42:00.000-07:00

I started writing this story more than a year ago. I was watching the horse races and one of the horses fell and died. I thought about that horse for a long, long time and eventually wrote down a few sentences about it. Afterwards I thought I'd keep a journal-type thing of my random thoughts, so I wrote down how my name was five letters long and how that had always bugged me.

Then one night when my parents were out with some friends, one of their friend's sons died of a sudden heart problem. The kid was only 18 and I kept thinking about how his parents were out having fun and not knowing that he was in his dorm room dying. It haunted me to think about it, so eventually I started this story.

This story is about Soren, an ordinary boy who has ordinary experiences but reacts to them in extraordinary ways. Not everyone will open up about certain things and not everyone will dwell on the tiny things. This is just what happens when you open up and feel the turbulence of life and all the small, unimportant details it hurls at you.