His Dark Words

06 | To the Unknown Author

Mom's been in Europe now for months. She'll send a postcard every now and again from somewhere different; Monaco, Berlin, Paris.

I don't think she'll ever come back, if she has a choice in it. Right before she left, I remember her holding my face, her eyes all big and watery. She said I look just like my father. Maybe that's why she can't stand being around me. Grandfather said she left because of me. I asked him what he meant and he just said that my lack of self-awareness was startling. 

What the hell is that supposed to mean? 

I feel like nothing I ever do is good enough. I can get the best grades, stay out of everyone's way, not cause any trouble and still it all seems to be my fault.

Sometimes Grandfather will just look at me and I can see in his eyes the pitiful, unending disappointment. 

But what am I doing wrong? 

What's wrong with me? 

Is there just some deep, incurable thing inside of me that repulses the people who are supposed to love me? Sometimes I feel like I can feel it. Like it's a real, physical thing growing inside of me, pressing on my organs, stopping my breath. I want to just run away, I even packed my bag. 

But where would I go? 

How can you run away from yourself?

I feel so trapped. I'm starting to feel like there's no way out and I feel so alone.

There are smudges in the ink. Traces of tears angrily brushed aside. I feel utterly helpless. How is it possible that there is someone suffering so much, so close by, but I have no idea who he is? I guess no one really knows what's going on with people on the inside.

I don't know how to find the boy, but it all seems kind of futile. He has my bag, with every one of my books with HARLOW RILEY written all over it so he has to know who I am. Maybe he just doesn't want to be found?

I sit down at my desk in my pink, paw-print pyjamas and pull out a pen and paper. Outside the sun is just beginning to rise. I've barely slept all night. 

The unknown author, the Book-Boy haunts me. 

I can't find you, how can I find you? 

I bite my lip, it's all chapped from constantly nipping at it all week. I think for a moment then start to write.

Dear ...

Well, I don't know your name. I really have no idea who you are, but I know you know who I am. 

I read your book, well, parts of it anyway. I haven't told anyone, and I wouldn't tell anyone, even if I knew who you were. 

I know more about this stuff than most people and I want to help you, if I can, if you'll let me. I know you're hurting, but please, don't do anything you will regret. Pain is temporary, as suffocating as it seems. 

You can talk to me. I want to help you. Find me. Or just know how much I want to be found.

Harlow Riley

I add my address and number then fold up the paper and slip it into the journal. I guess I'll just have to trust the rest to fate.

Yawning the whole time, I get ready and arrive at school that day with dark circles under my eyes and a decided droopiness to my whole body. Alex and Vanessa are waiting for me at the bus stop and we all walk in together.