Dear Stanley [Watty's 2019. Completed]

Monster

Tuesday, March 7th

Dear Stanley,

My head feels a lot better. My nose still feels weird, but it's okay, I guess. I heard from Mom that Ashley McCoops got suspended.

When I woke up this morning, Mom and Dad were sitting next to my bed. They looked very tired. Mom has dark spots under her eyes (you remember how pretty her eyes were Stanley? And when it was sunny her eyes would glint this gray, blue, brown, green, color? Remember?) and her hair was slipping out of a ponytail. It was a mess. Her clothes were crumpled, she was still in her waitress uniform, her blue skirt had some brown stains and the name tag that was on her white collared shirt was tilted and about to fall off. Her eyes seemed kind of red, like she was crying, and I heard her sniffle. I remember when I was younger, you and me always thought Mom was like the Ocean, tough and unpredictable yet beautiful and delicate. We thought Mom could never cry, but now I am so used to it, seeing her cry is normal.

Dad looked the same. They both looked disastrous and I don't even think they noticed that I was awake. For a few seconds, I stared at them and I saw something so scary in their faces, Stanley, it's indescribable. It was like...there was someone else in front of me, at first glance I would not even know who it was. They looked like monsters Stanley. There was something so sad but so frightening but so familiar in their worn out faces. I always knew that after you left, it had a very bad impact on them, I didn't fail to notice the way their smiles got smaller and smaller until they disappeared altogether, but right now? Right now, they weren't looking human.

I moved slightly - just to get their attention, just to get the monstrous thing off their faces. I felt that by seeing that, I just invaded their privacy and took a secret I wasn't supposed to. And Stanley, it was such a slight movement - like the time three summers ago when you found that bird with the broken wing and you handled it with such fragility as you took it to Dad. That's how small I moved. But Dad jumped up, like he was under attack and Mom let out a little yelp. It would have been funny, but I saw flashes of pure fear cross their face, actual fear, and I felt guilty because a Mom and Dad should never be scared of their son.

Then they calmed down and Mom placed a hand (with broken and bitten nails) to her chest and Dad muttered something under his breath and ran a hand through his graying, unkempt hair. They didn't look exactly happy to see that I was awake, but they didn't look sad either. They just seemed indifferent.

I knew Mom and Dad were embarrassed of me after you left, as if they realized how much of a failure I really am when you aren't around. When you were here Stanley, I was always hidden in your success, in your power, in your presence. But now you are gone and Mom and Dad are forced to come face to face with me, the real me that has no Stanley to hide behind.

I gave a weak smile and I saw Dad try his best to give one in return, but it wasn't that good because in the end it looked like the skulls in those horror movies we used to watch during Halloween time. When the smell of Dad's amazing pumpkin bread filled the living room, spicy and sugary and cinnamony, and we ate bucketfuls of candy in front of the T.V. with the lights turned off. You remember those cartoon skulls in the movies?

Dad just said something like, "Let's get you out of here", and I nodded my head. Mom then told me that Ashley McCoops got suspended and then she started asking me, "How are you feeling?", even though I could tell she didn't really care. She was just trying to be a mother.

Then it became quiet again once we got in the car and drove home and I felt this huge steel silence between us except Mom and Dad didn't seem to notice because they were off in their own world, probably dreaming of how it was like when you were here.

So, yeah. That's how it went today Stanley. After I got home I just laid in bed and bit my tongue to stop myself from crying and feeling sorry for myself.