the journal - h.s.

43

[amber’s pov]

“So you actually thought that when people cry - the droplets would sometimes turn into crystal drops?” He was laughing  at me again after I had told him of my most ridiculous believes as a kid. My older cousin had once made me believe this - that if the tears were real and pure they would turn into pearls or something like that.

I nodded, as I held onto his hands with a smile, remembering how often I had tried intensely to cry beautiful crystal pearls. He had his arms wrapped around me, as we stood and watched the Cloud Gate one last time in the darkness, how the beautiful reflection showed the city and created new thoughts and speculations in the mind of the viewer.

I could feel the rumbles that the laughter made run through his body, as I had my back pressed against his front. I leaned back my head and looked up at him, “yeah I was a very naive little child. Don’t even get me started on what I thought clouds were made of!”

He smiled down at me with sparkling green eyes filled with amusement, “you still sometimes hope your tear droplets turn into pearls don’t you?”

I flushed and quickly responded, “no. Of course not. That’s unrealistic!” I moved my gaze to the sculptur, but I knew he had seen through me.

“You really do! This is amazing really - that you still got such a vivid imagination! What about Santa?” He could barely hold back the laughter, though he really tried hard. 

I looked stubbornly ahead not answering, trying hard not to smile too, while he finally burst into a shower of giggles again, “really Amber? Really?”

“No of course I don’t believe in him… anymore. But,” Harry let me out of his tight embrace and took my hand instead as we made our way back to reality being the streets of the buzzing Chicago. “Like I do believe that there is something beyond our world you know? It can’t all just have come from nowhere!”

He bumped lightly into me occasionally but I didn’t mind at all. I didn’t want him to ever let go.

“I’m pretty sure Santa made a sweet deal with the Easter bunny, the tooth fairy and some of the others at the beginning of life. You know maybe the Big Bang was just them trying out fireworks or something!” His tone was so teasing and sarcastic I couldn’t help laugh at him.

“So you don’t believe in anything then? What about souls and … love for instance?” I couldn’t help feeling a little surprised. For someone with just a bright beautiful mind I would have thought he might believe in something.

“I believe in the Big Bang. I believe in dopamine being released in your brain in a cocktail of norepinephrine and phenylethylamine too, which you’ll feel as love. And then I believe that everything can be explained with a scientific explanation.” I watched his beautiful features with wonder as he shrugged. There was no doubt in his eyes about this fact. Interesting. I knew dopamine was the chemical that made you feel happy - but wasn’t love more than just some chemicals rushing around in your system?

“But isn’t that a little sad? Not believing in there being anything?” I couldn’t help thinking about his mother. I had lost my grandad in a young age - but somehow I had always been sure he was still there with me. I hadn’t figured out what to identify him as in this stage he was in now for me - maybe an angel? A soul protecting and watching over me? All I knew and was sure of was - he still lived in my heart and I still learned new things about him even though he was not here in person.

“Well that depends on how you see life. I also believe in art and beauty - and in having good times. That’s worth living for. Live - because you were giving life.” His eyes sought mines after having been settled on the pavement, while talking. I had my brows narrowed slightly, while listening to his explanation. I didn’t quite agree with him, but I could however understand his reasoning perfectly.

I wasn’t really sure what to say - I was rather sure that this state of mind had been something others had influenced him to have. And I couldn’t help thinking it might be his father, whose role in Harry’s life I grew more and more cautious towards.

“So you just think that we disappear after death? Nothing more than that? Nothing left? No soul? No nothing?” How could he not believe there was anything? That seemed as such a dark and hopeless way to see life. I would feel so alone and meaningless if I didn’t believe in .. the little things I did.

He hummed at my question.

“Yeah. Yeah I think we just disappear. Though I do believe we kind of … die twice you know? Like we live on in people’s memories of us. So first our physical body dies and later we die again when we are completely forgotten.” Harry’s raspy voice sounded crystal clear into the air with the constantly falling temperature. His breathing left heavy visible puffs of hot air, which the street lamps illuminated.

I wondered if he believed he was keeping his mother’s memory alive - he had not even had the time to see her really. Or talk with her. Or hold her hand. Or get his cheek kissed by her.

I got a lump in my troat. Maybe it was just easier this way for him?

“Like if there really were souls you know … of people I had lost or something following me or watching me or some weird shit. I think I would constantly feel like they would judge me you know?” His voice continued and he once again stopped up to look at me. He hadn’t told anybody about this before. I could read that in his jade green eyes.

“Why would anybody judge you?” I felt breathless. Everything he had done and said for the short matter of time I had spend with him had been heartwarming. How could he be afraid people would judge his actions, when he did nothing wrong?

He shrugged and we past the street making our way into the jungle of tall buildings. We walked in silence - I let him think. And thought for myself yet again about the young Harry who had been homeschooled and never met his mother. None of us noticed how the sky turned darker and darker. The clouds gathering, just like our thoughts.

“My father is always able to find flaws,” he said suddenly with a narrow faint voice. It sent icy cold needle-like chills down my spine - but it wasn’t from the coldness of the night air. It was his matter of fact tone. How guilty he sounded, how sorry too. As if all he could ever do - was do wrong.

“That’s why I had to leave,” his voice was even smaller. And he suddenly turned all nervous, his gaze flickering around the place. To the sky, to the building on the other side of the smaller street, to the pavement - anywhere but my eyes, which were filled with concern and sorrow. He sounded so shameful about what he had done - about having to move here, run off. As if he knew he had done wrong, but couldn’t take all the criticism any longer. Slowly my picture of this supposedly perfect Harvard guy, fell into place. How he had been pressured too much to be something he wasn’t, to be something he didn’t have to be and lastly didn’t want to be.

He tried smiling but it fainted just as quickly. To me it seemed as if he was on the edge of breaking down before my eyes. And my heart almost couldn’t take it. I held his hand tighter, letting my thumb run over his skin in comfort.

“I’m so sorry Harry.” My voice was thick with concern and worry.

“I don’t want you to be.” Suddenly his eyes fastened on mine, “please don’t be. I don’t want to make you feel like that.”

As the last word escaped his lips the first raindrop fell from the sky, landing lightly on his hand, which was holding mine.

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