"I'll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife." -Hozier, Take Me To Church
A MONTH AFTER FORD'S DISAPPEARANCE, THE SCHOOL DECIDES to put up a memorial-type thing by the front doors of the school.
It's not exactly supposed to be a memorial for someone who's passed, or so they claim, but more so of a way for the school to give our thoughts and prayers, as well as messages encouraging for him to come home. They use a yearbook picture of Ford, which sort of irks me- it's nothing like the picture Molly used for the missing poster, not even coming close to showing off the actual beauty of Ford's smile.
There, standing outside of Ford's 'memorial', I scrunch my eyebrows. I don't know when I started thinking about the beauty of Ford's anything, but it seems the longer he's been away, the more I began to admire his features, even though I'm not there to see them in person. It's weird, but I suppose the saying is true; absence makes the heart grow fonder.
The front foyer is even more crowded than it usually is as people try to get around to look at the memorial and write down their small messages. I don't write a message, though; I just stand in front of the desk, watching people come, write and go, like Ford isn't worth anything more than a couple of words, their signature and a smiley face. I suppose it'd be slightly selfish for me to speak up, as it would just make people feel bad and wouldn't bring Ford back, so I let myself sulk in silence, staring at his photo and trying to memorize every single detail, so I can know it by heart if the day has come that I'll never get to see it again.
Jas and James suddenly appear by my side. "A whole month," Jas says, shaking her head, brown eyes glued to Ford's photo. "Wilson, a month later, and you're still a mystery."
"He's always been a mystery," James muses beside Jas. "He was waiting for someone to unravel him."
"Now no one has the chance," I mutter.
James clicks his tongue. "More like, now we finally have the chance."
My eyebrows furrow as I turn my head to James, but his hard features' are just concentrated on Ford's photo, just as Jas' are. I sigh and let go of Jame's antics. Shouldering my backpack, I glance on last time at Ford's photo before picking up one of the pens on the table.
Wilson,
I don't really remember when our grade decided to drop your first name. It was always kind of a mystery to me. One day I heard someone call you Wilson, and from there on, 'Ford Wilson' turned into 'Wilson'. I wonder how that feels like; having a piece of your identity torn away from you in the form of words and ears. It never really seemed to bother you, but I can't help but wonder now if secretly, it actually did.
I can't help but wonder about a lot of things now. Like, when you always talked about how much you hate our tiny town, were you already thinking of running away? Or maybe this wasn't planned at all and you're dead and we're all just kidding ourselves with this fake fantasy that somewhere you're breathing, seeing, hearing, living.
But anyway.
I know you can't see this. But if you're still alive, I hope you come home. Cailbridge is kind of a boring-ass place to begin with, and with you gone, it doesn't help much. I need a smart aleck in my class to make me feel dumb, and that kid who wants to buy me a smaller cookie because he can't spare the extra quarter. Wilson, Ford, whatever you want to go by, I'm sure wherever you are, home is better. Home is waiting for you, right here, where it'll always be. We're all waiting.
I don't sign my message. I don't want anyone knowing I was the one who wrote it, after all. Even though it's on a giant page anyone can read, the message I wrote feels kind of... intimate. Like if Ford were to read it, I can imagine the small smile creep on his face at the mention of the cookie, grey eyes sparkling with intelligence and this deepness I've never been able to really understand.
Until lately, that is. It's weird; Ford's been gone a month, and only now do I find myself kind of starting to understand him. The way he always complained about our town- maybe he wanted to leave this whole time. Or the way he always brushed off hi mother's death- he didn't like talking about his feelings, so he never opened up to anyone about running away. Those are just theories, though, but I still feel like they're something.
"Come on," Jas sighs. "Let's get to class."
I nod and put down the pen. Jas doesn't read my note, but James does, not walking away to catch up to us until he's done. His jaw is kind of clenched when he joins us, but I guess I understand- this hasn't been easy on any of us.
x
I come home with a heavy feeling in my stomach. There hasn't been one night that I've cried since Ford has... left, but as I drop my bags on the floor, I can't help but feel a few tears prick my eyes. I wipe them hastily.
A month just seems so... official. It's just the beginning. More time is going to pass, month after month, year after year, and Ford will turn into another story, unfinished, just like The Mystery of Edwin Drood. People are going have to create fake endings, but it will never- ever- be satisfactory, because it won't be Ford, the one who made the story what it is in the first place.
I lay down on my bed, refusing to let the tears fall. Tears aren't going to bring Ford back. After a month, I'll admit, I've sort of made my peace. I've acknowledged that me being angry and sad isn't going to make him appear in english class. I know that. And although I have to remind myself of that every now and then, I'm pretty good with the face. I've always been a realist; Jas has, too, so being surrounded by that has brought me back to reality.
An hour later, there's a knock on my door. "Ava?"
"Yeah, come in."
My mom slowly pushes open the door, head sticking through the crack. Her blonde hair, similar to mind, is stuck up in a bun, strands falling out in random places. "Sweetheart, dinner's ready. What would you like?"
"Pasta's good. I'll help."
I follow my mother downstairs into the kitchen, grateful for the distraction. Besides being occupied, my thoughts still manage to drift to Ford. His dad has seemed really... passive about the whole thing. He hasn't spoken up about it, and whenever I came over to help out Molly (who is now back in University) he would stay locked up in his room. The one time I did see him in the grocery story, though, he hadn't been wearing the worry lines Molly had; he appeared as if nothing happened. Maybe I'm just over thinking it, but I still can't help but feel like something's off about that. It makes me slightly sick.
My mother pulls me out of my thoughts, only to bring me back to the same topic. "So, it's been a month."
I exhale. "Yeah. It has."
"Newspaper published an article on him, don't know if you've seen it."
I pause a bit in my process of putting peppers, but then continue, asking, "What'd they say?"
"Theories," my mother shrug. "Some are saying..."
"Saying what?"
My mother's voice is quiet. "It has something to do with the murder of his mom."
I drop my knife so abruptly my mother jumps. We turn to face each other. "They can't do that!" I say. "They can't just turn him into a story! He's more than that, he's a human, he's... He's more than just for their amusement to create 'some drama in this town'. We don't need drama if it costs people's lives!"
I finish with, "I need a minute."
Forgetting the vegetables, I run upstairs to my room, where my phone is laying on my bed. For the first in a month, I open the conversation with Ford.
Ava: I can't stand it anymore
Ava: I don't freaking know what to do
Ava: I'm not going to lie and say I know you as well as Lucas, or Molly, but god damn it Ford Wilson I miss you like you were my brother. No, not brother. Best friend. I don't know why, because they're right, I BARELY KNOW YOU. but you're killing me with every single day you're gone because i just want to know where you are and what you're doing and if you're safe and if maybe it's my fault because i could have just held you that day you were crying, asked what was wrong and maybe, ford fucking wilson, maybe i'd be telling you this in person but
Ava: I feel like I've known you for my whole life. And in a way that's more than just a best friend.
x
The next day when I get to school, people are crowded in the front foyer again, but there's a thicker tension in the air. I push past people once I realize they're huddled around Ford's memorial, elbowing my way through to try and see what the commotion's about.
In giant red letters, written on top of all yesterday's message, someone has wrote, HOME IS WHERE FORD'S DEAD HEART LIES.
Well, that was intense :)
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