I tucked the shoebox under my arm, unsure of what to do with myself or my mood. The air was cold and bit at my exposed fingers as I stepped outside. It was an otherwise beautiful Sunday afternoon.
Both of my parents seemed to be pleased with my objective to get out of the house, even if it was just for a walk. They worried about me isolating myself after Owen's death and the bus accident; if they didn't hint that to me in conversation, their concerned expressions were enough.
Hopefully they didn't question me about where I went after I came back home. I think the destination would bring alarm to their parental radars, and I didn't want that. The visit to Owen's grave really wasn't a big deal.
Or, at least, it wasn't supposed to be.
I felt that was the only piece of him I had left. The papers in the box couldn't possibly make me miss him any less. Nothing would be able to fill that role in my life besides Owen himself. Even if he was real, how could we be the same after spending a year apart? What could possibly explain his death and disappearance? Why would he show up now?
While I wanted to hold out hope for his life, there were too many opposing questions for him to be real. However, I pushed my doubts aside and focused on the atmosphere around me. I concentrated on every footstep and every breath. My mind clung to little details; all of this just to escape my fear of insanity.
The graveyard was about twenty minutes from my house. I passed by Grant's residence, only to see no signs of life there. Out of a false hope, I knocked on the door and entered to find no one. Nothing unusual was brought to my attention. Grant had fled. For what reason, I didn't know.
I sighed as I descended the steps, then walked the rest of the way.
The gravestone looked the same as it had for the past year. Every time I visited, his name was still etched into the granite with his date of birth and death proclaimed below it. I clutched the box in my hands, gazing down at the rock. The emotion I felt at first had become numb, but now, it confused me.
Should I be sad about his death? Or sad about losing my mind over him?
I pressed my lips together and looked toward the water in the pond. It shimmered peacefully, rippling in response to the breeze. I turned away from the gravestone and wandered to the edge of the water. I sat the box aside and climbed up on the boulders that encircled the edge of the oasis.
For a moment, I closed my eyes. The smell of salt hung in the air, a result of living so close to the ocean. It was comforting in the time of confusion.
Then, I decided not to wait anymore for answers. Owen had to have saved me in the crash. Grant left because of this information -- that had to be the only reason for his disappearance. I was clearly out of the loop.
I opened my eyes and sat down. My eager hands snatched the box and popped open the lid to reveal the folded papers. I took the first one carefully and turned it over in my hand. On the side that wasn't folded, someone had scrawled "11th Birthday" on it.
Desperation seized me. I flipped open the paper to see it addressed to Owen. A letter. The date did say it was written on his eleventh birthday, like the label informed. Scrunched writing took up the entire page, top to bottom. At the end were the words, "We love you and miss you. Love, Mom and Dad".
I gasped.
There was no way.
I tucked the eleventh letter under my leg, then dug into the box. There were seventeen letters in all, each one a year after another. The first was a year after Owen was born. The last was for his seventeenth birthday.
All of them were signed by his parents. His parents, who had abandon him. His parents, whom he never knew, but still spoke of with respect and awe. Owen didn't mention his parents often, but when he did, I could see the ache in his eyes mixed with the love he had for them. I never understood how he could admire then after they left him--
The letters. They enticed Owen to love his parents, despite the life they had put him in.
I sorted through the paper with shaking hands, putting them in chronological order. I tried to catch my breath as I reopened the first one. My soul thirsted for peace, it longed to know the part of Owen's life that had left him torn. I wanted to have something left to hold on to.
Dear Owen Jepth,
For some time, you will not be able to read or understand these words that we are writing to you. Currently, your mother is a bit shaken. Technically, it's me, your father, who's doing the writing. Today, we hand you off to our trusted friend, Grant, who will raise you in the mortal world as well as educate you about our community.
Son, I cannot tell you how proud I am to be your dad. You are so special in our eyes, and we know you will do big things. The possibilities for you are limitless-- especially when you are able to come back to us. Our lives will never be complete until you enter them once again.
We will always be thinking of you. Stay safe. Stay with Grant.
Love,
Mom & Dad
I scanned the letter twice, then concluded that it was peculiar. Why would they refer to this world as "mortal"? Did they have a grand secret that I had missed somehow? Wouldn't Owen have told me?
My curiosity soared. I had already taken the next letter from the box when the guilt hit me. Would Owen have wanted me to see this?
He was gone, though. Just knowing couldn't hurt me.
Dear Owen Jepth,
Today, you would be two years old. I cannot imagine how much you've grown! Grant told me in his last letter that you're beginning to talk and run around everywhere. Which is good, he needs to be kept on his toes. This time, it is your mother writing to you. Dad had to be at a Council meeting, and asked me to write this time. Of course, I said I would!
While I long to raise you as you should be, your father misses you more than he will ever say. He also asked me to explain a few things, so allow me to do that for you.
When you are seventeen, you will be allowed to come back to us. It is your choice whether you want to or not, but I selfishly hope that you will. You are called to such a higher purpose than mortality. Living forever not only allows you to experience everything, it also lets you understand and process how important our role is.
Anyway, I hope your birthday is especially wonderful this year. I love you more than you know.
Love,
Mom & Dad
My mind spun. How was this possible..? It couldn't be.
I grabbed the next letter.
Dear Owen Jepth,
This year, we are finally writing this together. We decided, even though you are hardly old enough to understand, that you should know what there is to know about our lives.
While we would love to come and bring you back right at this second, the system has to be fair, despite our parental values. Allow us to explain--
"'--why we are not in your life, and why we constantly think of you.'"
I let out a short-lived scream at the sound of a voice. I spun around, nearly flinging the third letter from my hands.
And there he stood.
Owen himself.
My eyes opened wide as my jaw dropped from surprise and shock.
He smiled sadly, eyes distant. I couldn't tear my gaze away from him. My muscles were frozen, refusing to move from the denial that overtook me. Was he really standing in front of me?
Carefully, he sat down beside me on the rock. He searched my expression, a little concerned. His hand reached out to me, then finally rested on my shoulder. I tensed, then relaxed under his touch. My thoughts were so muddled, I could hardly remember what I had been doing only moments earlier. All that mattered was that he was here.
I continued to watch him, afraid that if I looked away, he would disappear.
He scooted closer to me and then wrapped both of his arms around my shoulders, securing me in his embrace. For a moment, I didn't know what to do.
Suddenly, I became aware of the tears burning behind my eyes and the water falling down my cheeks. A strangled gasp escaped my lips. I returned his hug, clinging to his t-shirt and burying my face into his shoulder. All the grief I felt over the loss of him was released, then returned to me as he had; in the form of peace, security, confusion, and hope.
All too soon, he pulled away, gaze never leaving my face.
I wiped the tears away in an attempt to keep myself together. We sat in silence for a long moment, just staring at each other. His brown eyes seemed so much more complex than I remembered; intricate patterns in his brown irises, filled with so many wonders and worries. They were vivid, bright, but also nervous.
Finally, he looked out over the lake.
"'...why we are not in your life, and why we constantly think of you,'" he began, quietly.
I quickly glanced at the letter in my hand and realized he was reciting it from memory. Instead of focusing on the paper, I focused on him. The words were more real, more true, more alive when he said them. As he spoke, his voice became sure.
"'First and foremost, there are two different realms that most people don't know about. The one you know is the mortal world, which is where hardship and evil rule. It is the hardest place to live. Believe us, we have done it. You will one day understand why. It is dangerous, unpredictable. To reside there without salvation is death.
"'However, you were born into the immortal world. Here, it is safe. All things good -- joy, love, freedom -- are here in their truest forms. Fortunately, since you are our child, you will have the chance to experience it. It's very simple to come in. When you are seventeen, you will have the choice to stay in the mortal world or come to immortality. You will have a year to decide, but if you don't by your eighteenth birthday, the window is closed. The only requirements to enter are three tests, but you will hear more about those in the future.
"'We want to remind you that this is your choice. Some people thrive in the mortal world. Some thrive in the immortal. Either way, we will be proud of you and will love you forever. We are eager to hear from you when you are old enough to write and understand. We love you, Owen. Love, Mom and Dad.'"
My heart pounded within my chest. He didn't bring his eyes to meet mine, for he was still lost in thought.
His "mortal life" now made sense-- why he was an admirer of his parents, why he was so excited for life. While I didn't fully understand, that fact didn't matter. I couldn't get over how he was... He was here.
I swallowed hard.
"I'm not leaving forever this time," I whispered, remembering what he said to me on the night of the crash.
He turned to me and nodded.
"So, seeing you was real," I concluded.
"Yes," he answered. He forced a smile. "And you are really alive."
"Oh." I laughed. "Yeah. T-Thank you." For some reason, I was unexpectedly nervous.
"Of course." His voice was kind, passionate. Even with those two words, he was genuine.
I wanted to hug him again. He was breathing and talking. He was reciting letters from his parents (which I didn't fully understand) and was sitting with me. I beamed at him and he laughed quietly, smiling back.
In that moment, it hit me--
Owen was alive.
<<<<<<<<<<
{July 29, 2017}
(PC: brandonwoelfel || Instagram)