8.1
Cries and Laughters
“When you remember, what do you do? How do you pretend everything’s all right?”
8.
Book of Memories:
My heart aches as I realize that you are really leaving. But if this is for your own good, for your own development, we should part our ways in laughter and not in sorrow.
When I first saw you, I saw such peace in your face. So quiet and so reflective. Such beauty . . .
I’m sorry. I want to be happy for you. I want to wish you luck in your new journey. But sadness overwhelms me; I can’t help what I feel. What if I never see you again . . .
When you’re sad and when you’re lonely in a strange land, think of me. I’ll be thinking of you.
I could never forget you, and I know that you will succeed beyond anyone’s expectations, and any country would be proud to claim you as her own.
You have the confidence, don’t you? The confidence to do well over there even with millions of obstacles thrown your way. I believe you do. You must.
I hope we stay in touch. Write me.
I love you.
Division I Lobby. After school. Mostly empty except for some cheerleaders chatting, doing homework . . . and no sign of her.
Is she ill? Did she skip school? No, that’s not like her, maybe she forgot.
“Are you waiting for someone?”
“Yeah.”
“Who?”
“Stephanie.”
“Haven’t seen her all day. I don’t think she came to school.”
“Probably not.”
“Well, you can help me with homework while you’re waiting.”
“Sure.”
“You have a calculator?”
“Not with me.”
“Guess I can do this later — ”
“You don’t need a calculator for that.”
That’d be like cheating. What would be the point?
A confused stare: quizzical eyes, raised eyebrows, a silent question. But you wouldn’t like the answer.
“I’ll just wait till she’s done with hers.”
“You’re probably not supposed to — ” Forget it, this is just a chore for you, you don’t care.
Which ones? Yeah, simple enough. Just a matter of seeing the pattern, the rest is merely arithmetic . . .
“You sure about these?”
“Yep.”
“Thanks a lot!”
“No problem.”
Probably not the kind of help I should’ve given her. Oh well.
Go home, you’ve waited long enough. She’s probably ill, talk to her tomorrow.
“Oh my God, he’s right.”
“What?”
“He did all these in his head.”
“Without a calculator?”
“Without a calculator.”
The wonders of actually using your brain. Remarkable, isn’t it?
“I looked. Made him do some even ones so I could check against the answers. He’s right.”
I can feel your stares on my back. Don’t you know I can hear you from here? I’m no genius. If you want to make me out to be one, that’s your problem.
Just walk out the door. There’s no point in explaining . . .
“Something happen at school?”
“No, Mother.”
“Kids keep calling you. I wish they wouldn’t do that.”
“Must be the contest I won.”
“What contest?”
Shrug.
“Something they call ‘Student Council.’ Nothing important.”
Puzzled look.
“Don’t worry, they’ll stop calling.”
What were you looking for? There must be a reason you’re in the library. A book perhaps.
So many books, useless books, how will any of them help?
You’re quiet again. Just when you thought you were coming out of your shell, just when it seemed everything would be all right, you go back to square one. Except, this time, you don’t care, you have no plans to move beyond. Just stay there all your life, it doesn’t matter. Not much matters these days.
“So when’s the victory party?” they ask, all smiles and good cheer. You’ve never hosted a party, but this fact is lost on them. Maybe that’s what class presidents are supposed to do after they win. Or maybe they think they can depend on you to be the center of social life after acquiring this meaningless title.
You just smile. That indifferent, amused smile. You’re not against it, not that it’s possible, but you don’t care enough even if it were.
“We should have a huge party. Everyone will come, all the girls you want.”
All the girls except the one that matters, that’s not much of a party.
“I don’t feel like it.”
But they don’t take you seriously. After all, how can you not? You just won. They don’t understand how meaningless it is, and you don’t care to explain. And about Stephanie — you can’t explain. Let them think you’re a party pooper. Let them think you’re an apathetic jerk. Who cares? Eventually, they’ll come to accept it.
Perhaps resign and give the position to someone who will fulfill their social expectations? But can you resign? Has it ever been done? The very thought makes you laugh, who bothers with such insignificant things?
You move among them like you’re a million miles away. Surely they can sense it, but maybe they don’t want to, maybe they’d like to pretend that everything’s okay. No matter, you’re already gone, you probably won’t come back . . .
Beautiful. Dark yet bright colors painting the night sky with exquisite strokes. Gorgeous, sinister colors of the night, so evil and yet so lovely, the mask for the black emptiness. I know what’s beneath, I know what it portends. The meaninglessness.
People scurrying about their lives. Cars hurtling toward nowhere. Where are you going? To another diversion? To another obligation? How can you stand it?
When you remember, when it comes back to you, what do you do? How do you go on? How do you pretend everything’s all right?
Billions of lives going nowhere, just one trivial distraction after another. What’s the point? If you ignore it long enough, does it go away?
A serialized coming-of-age novel about a boy who must decide whether to live or die after surviving an abusive family and the death of his love: first, next.